77777

77777




So, there were so many synchronicities on the road….. but some of them were just downright odd… for example, as soon as I hit Palm Springs and all the way to Tucson, I swear to god, every third car was from Minnesota. It was getting downright freakish. I began to test myself, because I am famous for making magic out of molehills (it’s the Piscean in me, you see, or the me in the Piscean: Rose Colored Glasses.) I started really seeing where the cars were from. I mean, I figured, since I was from Minnesota, I might just notice more often when cars are from there. What if I had grown up in, say, Ohio?

But nope, no cars from Ohio at all!

Illinois?

Hmm…… well, while I was waiting, I started ticking off where the cars actually were from:

California… Arizona… Minnesota. California. California. Minnesota.

Once I crossed into Arizona… Arizona… California… Arizona… Minnesota… Arizona. Minnesota. Arizona. New Mexico. Arizona. New Mexico. Minnesota.

Hmmm…….



SUNDAY, MARCH 14TH:

FROM TUCSON TO SANTA FE

STARRING MY LUCKY NUMBERS 7 AND 11!


Saturday night in Tucson I was up until about 2:30 am. I got back to Joni’s little cabin, nestled in beneath piles of cozy Mexican blankets, and, guarded by her Native American Animal Masks, fell asleep…

For about two hours. I awoke suddenly, just past the witching hour, and had this burning desire to get on to Priceline and book my hotel… Why Pricline? Well, no, they don’t do product placement… I like to try and get 4 and 5 star hotels for super cheap prices…. I’m a Bohemian on a budget with Glamour Girl taste in nice hotels. Trust me, I’ve slept everywhere from park benches to beaches to campsites to sofas to the backseats and frontseats of cars to Le Georges V to the Taj Mahal to castles outside Dresden to…. etc. ad infitum. I like experiences and adventure, even if I’m trying to have neither! I still get them. BUT I discovered that you can go on to Priceline, find the average price for a 4 or 5 star hotel, and then get the deal at half price sometimes if they aren’t sold out… so I like to take my chances. Which is what I did! I ended up booking two nights at the Santa Fe Inn and Spa in, well, duh, Santa Fe… I had been waiting because I wanted to feel guided to stay there, and because I was imagining myself stopping in a few places along the way and you never know who you might meet or where you might end up when you’re on the road.

…I didn’t have a gig in Santa Fe. I was going to see this painting by an artist friend of mine… he’s a friend, sort of. We’ve never actually met. But we are fans of each other’s work, and he painted this painting listening to Poet’s Lovely Daughter. Plus I’d never been to Santa Fe, and I wanted to check out potential venues for my next tour. So!

I tried to get back to sleep but there was no having it. So, I packed up all my items, drove over to Colleena’s Gallery, packed up my gear, left the key in her kitchen, and hit the road.


77777

I had started seeing 7s everywhere, in groups of 2 and 3. I kept seeing “77” on license plates, on signs, streets, exits. And so I decided to get on Highway 77 and head north to New Mexico.

I also began to see all the Minnesota cars again. Arizona, New Mexico, Minnesota. (What the 77 was going on!?)

As the mileage on my car hit 77,007, I passed by a town called “Oracle,” which is a song I wrote for my first and even more obscure album, “Mermaid on Dusty Grounds.” The lyrics are thus:

I walked numb and drunk
to the oracle at Delphi
that I might inhale Pythia's smoke
and gaze into tomorrow

I met a priest who drank
the wine of wisdom
he told me to go home
but instead I stole his cup

and the gods have grown
bored with my possibilities
I can tell by the way my prayers are left
bleeding in the dust

over the entrance to the temple
an inscription reads
Know Thyself

I know my gods
I can smell them on my hands
I kneel at an altar made of rain

but i want to be Athena
babies in my oceanic belly
gods of war sucking at my breast
Oh, Oracle, do not leave me alone with the vanishing smoke
ask of me something I can give
but the Oracle does not ask, it tells
and in this darkness where I stumble
I discover
I do not know the question I want to ask
I had originally written that as a poem either just post or previous to my very first trip to Europe. I can’t remember exactly the timing of it, but I remember sitting in the Kitchen at Keep In Touch, this place I used to work at just after I finished massage school and just before recording that album, and I remember writing in this little travel journal, scribbling those lines…
Anyway, I had to laugh, here on highway 77, because more and more 7s were everywhere. Then I realized it was my Grandmother’s birthday, and her lucky number was 7, and so I called my mom, who confirmed that yes, it was my Grandmother’s birthday.
“She would have been, oh, let’s see. 88!”
I had to laugh… then my mom gave me some bad news.
“Well, your Uncle Bud died.”
That was a sweet pain.
“Oh, no!” I said.
“Yup. He was 98 years old.”
Now, my Uncle Bud was my grandmother’s older brother. He was the last living member of her siblings. My grandmother herself, Grandma Winick is how I knew her in my mind, although her name was Mabel, had died when I was about 12, just before I turned 13, in fact. I remember the night she died, my aunts and I died laying on of hands healing and read from the Book of Psalms. I don’t think it was their intention that I be there, but I was, and although I’ve never told them this, it was my first memory of the experience of energy moving from some source outside of myself and yet within myself and through my hands. It is because of My Grandmother Mabel Winick that I am a singer, a writer, an actress, and a massage therapist/ healer. It is ALL related to experiences I have had with her or because of her… I’m writing a cabaret about that, for my next tour… about the influence of her love of music and movies on my performer life AND my love life. (I’m still looking for my Clark Gable.)
Uncle Bud was a cool guy. I remember sitting next to him at my Aunt Debbie’s wedding a few years ago, and he and my ex boyriend/ drummer and I were having a Heineken and he turned to me, bright shining blue eyes twinkling, and said,
“So! What do you do for entertainment?”
“Well, Mike and I here, we’re in a band!” I said.
His eyes got even bigger and he smiled.
“Oh, yeah? Well, gee! You know, I used to pal around with the Andres Sisters back in the day… they were from the old neighborhood! Oh… you probably don’t know who the Andrews Sisters were…” his smile started to fade a bit.
“Oh, you bet I do,” I said. “’Don’t sit under the apple tree with anybody else but me! Anybody else but me, anybody else but me! No! No! No!”
I started singing that old WWII hit and my Great Uncle Bud chimed right in.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I said now, in 2010, to my mom on the phone. I told her about all of the 7s and she said, “Shouldn’t you be going to Vegas instead of Santa Fe?” We laughed as I passed another car from Minnesota.


FROM AZ TO NM (WITH A DASH OF MN)
I drove north through mountains and the Gila National Forest. I kept waiting for inspiration to stop, but I just kept feeling the urge to keep on ahead! Soon I entered New Mexico, where I saw a sign that read, “The Land of Enchantment.” All along I had been seeing 7s, and I had been seeing reminders of the last guy I dated, which was frustrating, because of course the word is “dated,” i.e., PAST TENSE, and I really didn’t want to think about him, but there was the car he drove, which must be the most popular car on the road, and there was a street sign with his last name on it (seriously) just as my phone started spontaneously, on its own, playing a song that reminds me of him (from the first night we met and the second night we met.) I screamed. “Argh! Erin, really!? Get that out of your mind!” And then I laughed. Because this, I am famous for this. I end things with a guy and then he’s everywhere. It was like that with the first man I fell in love with, and then every time I have felt that powerful “connection,” be it lust or love, if I try to get out, the images are everywhere! I tried to test myself. “Okay, Erin,” I said aloud,
“obsess over Mike.” Mike was one of my best boyfriends, a relationship that lasted 4 years. And there could be a LOT that would remind me of him. We went through music tours together, traveled Europe together, owned about 7 different cars together and lived in about 5 different houses together. We had a lot of adventures together. But I looked and looked and could not see a single Minivan, Vanagon, RV, (!), signs about dinosaurs or Americana music or punk rock, nothing about Tauruses or drummers or Florida. I couldn’t tune into public radio, which he loved, or hear any Rolling Stones or John Hiatt or Robyn Hitchcock or Sade. The only thing I could see that had anything to do with him was all these cars from Minnesota, and now THIS was getting REALLY curious, because an hour or two outside of Albuquerque, I swear to god, every other car was from Minnesota. I guess there must have been a LOT of snowbirds in New Mexico?
Then I forgot all of it as I approached Albuquerque and the gorgeous grey mountains in the horizon. So beautiful!
I thought about stopping, but it was about 6:30 pm, and I thought, naw, let’s get up to Santa Fe, I’ll be there in an hour and I can check in and get dinner and go out and check out the nightlife…
Ha!
Rounding a curve on the 25, I left relative grey late spring for
a blizzard.
Seriously.
Suddenly, halfway between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, there was
a blizzard.
I suddenly could not see more than one car in front of me and we were driving about 20 miles an hour. I thought about how this little Jetta, which I bought in Santa Monica, CA, had probably never seen snow or ice before. I, of course, spent my formative years learning to run on ice, drive in the snow, etc. So I wasn’t worried or scared exactly, except…
It was bad. All of the exit signs were completely covered in snow and I had no idea where I was. Thank god my iphone was working so I could keep track with its GPS and know approximately which exit to take…. we were driving in a tailgate train of cars and trucks, because you just couldn’t see. 20 miles an hour and we were still slipping and sliding and just trying not to flip off the sides of the interstate, which was now only one lane.
So. NO WONDER EVERY OTHER CAR HAD BEEN FROM FREAKIN’ MINNESOTA! The gods of weather and traffic had been trying to give me signs: IF YOU CONTINUE ON THIS PATH YOU WILL BE ENTERING MINNESOTA (at least weather wise.) It’s as if I entered a portal through space and time (well, I did, but that’s another interpretation of the story) and suddenly Minnesota and New Mexico were one. Wild,
Two white knuckled hours later, I followed the train into Santa Fe. We all were going into the city, I guess, although if I had been smart enough to listen to the weather and traffic radio channel, I would have heard that they were closing off the highways and exits in about half an hour. So none of us would have had any choice, anyway!
I used the GPS to get approximate directions to my hotel, but still stopped twice to inquire and get further directions. I was exhausted I had been driving for hours and hours and then in the blizzard and I was having a low blood sugar and the backs of my legs were wobbly and I was getting a searing headache. Finally I pulled into the registration parking area of my hotel. I got out of my car and looked up at the beautiful snowflakes and as they hit my lashes and melted, I thanked god for getting me there safe.
I went into lobby to check in. It was a lovely hotel, run by Native Americans, all Santa Fe themed, of course. The gentleman in line in front of me was telling the concierge that please, please, please. He needed a room. He and his wife and daughter had tried three different hotels, and there were no vacancies!
“We’re sorry sir, but we are fully booked,” she said. He buried his face in his hands. Then I heard him say that they were closing the roads and what was he to do? Oh…. I felt so bad for him, but really thankful I had woken up in the middle of the night, way too early, and booked the room here. I was so thankful I had just gotten on the road and hadn’t stopped, since I was apparently hell bent on getting to Santa Fe to see this painting…
Another concierge came to the front desk.
“Yes, miss, can I help you?” he said. I smiled. I was about to finally get to check into my room, call my mom and tell her I was alive, and eat something.
“Hi! Yes. I’m Erin Muir,” I said, pulling out my drivers license.
He typed at the keyboard of his computer for a moment, then looked up and smiled.
“Welcome to the Hotel Santa Fe Inn and Spa,” he said. “We’ve upgraded your room to a King-Sized Suite.”
I smiled.
I was gonna make it, at least for tonight.
“Thank you,” I said.





MORE TO COME:
CONNECTION AND SPIRITUALITY VIA PAINTING AND SONG
STIGMATA IN THE MORNING
DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS, THERE’S NO GAS IN THE GAS STATIONS IN PECOS,
AND THEN,
AUSTIN, SXSW, RED GORILLA MUSIC, AND ME, SINGING AGAIN…..

The SW Oddysey: of Love and Music and Writing, Part One

Springtime Oddities and Oddyseys…

From Los Angeles to Tucson to Santa Fe…

March 15th, 2010

I slept in this morning. No, really. I awoke beneath a huge white downy comforter in a bed in a Suite at the Hotel Santa Fe and Spa in, well, Santa Fe, with the shades drawn, having barely any idea of the day and date and absolutely no clue about what time it might be. In fact, with daylight savings and time changes and all, I still have no idea what time it really is. And I like that.

I opened the fat wooden blinds to see that the trees were frosted in crystal snow. I look over the parking lot and see my little Jetta from Santa Monica, CA is covered in snow. No wonder I saw so many Minnesota cars on the way from Palm Springs to Arizona to Santa Fe…. the gods of weather and traffic were giving me fair warning that I would be driving in to Minnesota like conditions! Did I pay attention? Kind of… I kept wondering what the heck was up with all these Minnesotans on the road! LOL… Duh.

But I’m getting ahead of the game…






FRIDAY, MARCH 12th, 2010

SUPER EARLY, GIVEN HOW LATE I WAS UP THE NIGHT B4

SEX AND THE CITY

It’s about 8 am and I’m doing yoga, having stayed up until the wee hours packing and watching the final season of Sex and the City on DVD. (I know you won’t believe me, or maybe you will, but I have never seen the final season! I missed watching SATC regularly as a fan when it was on tv, and in these last many years of syndication… now, I know you are probably wondering how a girl like me, a girl of the cosmopolitan/ artsy/ writer/ fashionista/ sensually oriented persuasion could have missed Sex And The City, the holy grail of programming for women in the new millennium. But I assure you. I miss a LOT when it comes to TV, especially years 2001-2008. I was on tour so much, and moving around, and doing so many projects that kept me from the social verve, I just… never got to it. but I am getting it now!)

I’m struck, watching Carrie go to Paris to be with her artist boyfriend, how Carrie I personally really am, or how every woman Carrie really is. I mean, I don’t have the shoe thing. I have the vintage pieces thing. And I don’t smoke and never did. But I definitely have the Big thing and the Aiden thing. I definitely had an international, cosmopolitan boyfriend that swept me off my feet and who got me to go with him across the pond only to feel mislead about the nature of our relationship (guess what? He felt the same way) and get slapped (only not at Georges V but while staying in a castle outside Dresden.) (Nobody go get up in arms about FtG. It was a long time ago and a long story and it was back when my nickname was Spanish Lady If that gives you any idea of the give and take.) But there was no Big to come rescue me. I remember thinking very clearly:
Should I call my Dad? I had five euro in my pocket and nothing else to my name… No. He WOULD fly across the universe to come get me and it wouldn’t be pretty. No, Erin, you got yourself into your own mess, you get yourself out of it.

Nope. No Big, no Aiden, no father, no brother rescued me.

I rescued me.

And then I am struck, actually, at how much I have grown in the last few years, personally. I had no idea what life was all about back then. Oh, I thought I did. But I didn’t. Now, I know that I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. And that’s actually really beautiful, taken in context of love and faith in the process of life itself.

Anyway. Lofty philosophy and memoirs aside…







FRIDAY MORNING

SLIGHTLY LESS EARLY, NOT YET WORTHY OF PANIC

YOU FIT WHAT INTO YOUR CAR~?!?!?

ALTERNATIVE TITLE:
VOLKSWAGEN OWES ME FOR PRODUCT PLACEMENT

After yoga I pack up my car. One little grey 2003 Jetta which I bought in Santa Monica, and I fit in:

a massage table (you never know when you might pick up a client or run into one of your regulars on the road) (seriously, happens a lot to me)
two sets of massage sheets
my massage bolster
a bag full of massage supplies
some bungee cords
a sleeping bag
my mini Peavey PA system with four track mixer
my Yamaha S30 keyboard
my keyboard stool and brand new pedals
a guitar stand
a mic stand
my seagull acoustic guitar
a huge suitcase packed to the brim with everything from sandals and sundresses to sweaters, leg warmers, long underwear and boots. And a bikini. I always pack a bikini for everywhere I go.
dresses and costume pieces and hair feathers and flowers and falls for my gigs!
leather jackets and my thigh high boots
two yoga mats
a bag full of toiletries and hair stuff, curlers, false eyelashes
another bag full of makeup
my backpack with my laptop, three DVDS (The Gun, the series by Robert Altman, and two “Legends of Jazz” DVDs)
my ipod
my iphone
a new charger for my car that doesn’t work (!)
the books I am reading, a sketch pad, my diary
my lists of things to do, collated into a manila envelope
CDs and merch
Poet’s Lovely Daughter posters
CDs for duplicating promo CDs
my Sony zi6 flip cam
a 20 pack of water
a 12 pack of soda (I know, I know, but it’s a ROAD TRIP!)
a bag of snacks: pretzels, trail mix, mangoes, tea, supplements

WHEW!
And I could still make room for another person, if I wanted.

Who knew that Jetta could fit all of that!!!

I set my intention for a safe journey full of fun, growth, musical success and amazing adventure, and I hit the road…





FRIDAY AFTERNOON

THE CELINE DIARIES…

So, here’s a little guilty secret that I’m coming out with.

I LOVE singing Celine Dion songs. In fact. Just because I write brooding lyrics doesn’t mean I’m relegated only to the lands of Leonard Cohen. I love singing anything emotive, and lemme tell ya. Celine’s got it goin’ on when it comes to that.

My next album, I think, maybe, just maybe, is gonna be a bit more crossover, including some more of my cabaret and classical and jazz passions (don’t ask me how, it’s in the works) but… I see myself as more of a Bette Midler type. Someone who sings lots of songs in lots of genres and yet is always herself. Yup, that’s me. I’m always Erin. There’s no one that sings like me and I sing like no one and I am finally accepting that… so maybe I’ll never be a straight up any kind of singer. So what? I’m having quite the journey in my music career, from my classical beginnings to my rocker chick road trips to my cabaret effusions to my emo indie life to my crossover who knows what the heck is next. One of my friends who is still working for the dinosaurs (major labels, sorry guys, not trying to be mean, but, um, it’s time to evolve. Not that I have a CLUE what that looks like) gets so disturbed by this sort of career path… he can’t believe I don’t just find a genre and stick with it. Maybe I will, if something hits really big. But until then… I think he is underestimating the palate, sophistication and curiosity of music fans and people in general. My god, I have a fan page started by some awesome teenagers in Malaysia. And I have a huge GLBT following in the Midwest. And my hipster NY friends like me, too, even when I sing Carmen and then Kermit the Frog songs in the middle of my very serious hipster joints. And everyone is on line, and everyone is listening to everything from the Pussy Cat Dolls to duets between Luciano Pavarotti and James Brown. So if someone is top 40 pop straight up, that’s great. But Green Day just turned their album into a Broadway Musical and I applaud it and wish to emulate that sort of willingness to cross into all opportunities for expression and sharing music.

So I’m taking the opportunity, from Los Angeles through Palm Springs and all the way to the 8/ 85 bypass of Phoenix (thanks to Anastasia for the tip for avoiding Friday Phoenix Rush Hour traffic!) through Gila Pass to sing, sing, SING! Celine songs at the top of my lungs.

You know what? That woman can SING. Those songs are not easy to sing, with that power and in those ranges. I gotta give it up to that woman. And, you know what?

Sometimes, I too, am frightened, but I’m ready to learn about the Power of Love.

I mean it.

(Sing along, now everybody! “As I look into your eyes… The power of love…”)

(YEAH…. I know you WANT to!!!!! Even you, moody chick with black eyeliner in back. Which, by the way, would have been me. Still is me. HAhahaha.)





FRIDAY EVENING

JONI IS AMAZING

I get into Tucson around 7 or 7:30 pm that evening. I disregard the directions from my iPhone maps and decide to see if I can figure out how to get to her cottage near the University on my own. I can’t.

And so I consult the iPhone map. Boy, am I OFF! I actually went the wrong way every time! Which bugs me because I supposedly pride myself on my excellent sense of direction. Ha!

But finally, I arrive, and Joni, whom I have not yet met, is a friend of my dear friend, the poet, Chris Shillock, and she is a psychotherapy student at the University, but also she is a former actress and singer who lived in Minneapolis and has generously offered to let me stay at her cottage, and she will stay in her friend’s yoga studio across the street. !!!! Such kindness and generosity!!!

And, can I say? She’s WONDERFUL. She makes me the most amazing vegetarian stirfry, brown rice, veggies, mushrooms, veggie protein, tea. And we stay up late talking cabbages and kings, and astrology, and channeling, and human behavior, and music and love and sex and passion and everything I love to talk about and read about and learn about. I see why Chris connected us.

In her dear little cottage she has posters from jazz festivals, and paintings of flowers, and books and books and books and music! Jazz, and French singer songwriters. And she has lots of blankets, very important to cold little me. She has dream catchers and jar after jar of herbs and powders and seasonings. It’s like I’m staying in a Wise Witch’s Alchemical Kitchen. (Well… in another time….) And she has MASKS. NATIVE AMERICAN ANIMAL MASKS.

She tells me she is Native American, herself, Omaha. She introduces me to the animals- Bear, Wolf, Raven, Crazy Hawk. I feel watched over, safe and cozy. And blessed.





SATURDAY, MARCH 13th, 2010

LATE MORNING

RUNNING THROUGH TUCSON

I have slept in. I feel amazing. I get up, throw on my running shoes, and hit the roads of the Sam Hughes neighborhood in Tucson.

Running is a great way to get to know a new city. You get to get out on foot and see a city from a viewpoint of health and wellness, and you learn pretty quickly about safety, air quality, generosity of drivers, and, of course, one of my favorite parts, the flora and fauna.

I give Tucson two thumbs up. It was a lovely run! Apparently there were desert bloomings, but nothing affected me. It was an easy run in regards to breathing, so I know that air quality was probably pretty decent. Of course, I live in Los Angeles, so in general, most cities offer better air quality, more or less…

I loved the smell of sage and oranges. I ran past sweet Southwestern ramblers, peach trees and these strange partridge dove looking birds. I wished my Dad were there with his bird book so he could tell me what they were! I will have to look it up. And everywhere, the lawns were dotted with bright orange and yellow flowers, as even the wildflowers and weeds were springing forth in joy at the sunshine and at spring!

I passed a street called “Forgeous,” and of course instantly converted it, in my mind, to “Gorgeous.” And it was.




FRIDAY AFTERNOON

COLLEENA CANDELABRA

I had arranged with Colleena Hake, owner of the Candelabra Gallery (where I was to perform) to set up my sound system and sound check in her gallery at around 3 pm. There was a gallery walk in Tucson that afternoon that was winding down- and Colleena’s gallery was featuring the artwork of Lisa Kanouse, Tucson native.

In her email, while we were booking the gig and arranging the particulars, Colleena had informed me that I would LOVE Lisa’s work. SHE WAS RIGHT! Paintings of love making and beautiful women in all their glory, with a slight romantic and maybe even gothic bent! And a few other favorites- Dia De Los Muertos style skeletons, featuring a couple on a swing, and the gentleman skeleton, in a Frank the German (my ex) style Tyrolean Hat with Feather is copping a feel on the lady skeleton who wears a flower in her hair. I laughed out loud once I saw that one.

Colleena is a very beautiful, inspirational woman. She runs the gallery, but is also a performance artist, visual artist, healer and yogi. She’s the kind of woman that inspires you to live your passions and encourages everyone around her. You just feel, comfortable, and happy, and… inspired. That’s it. You feel inspired to be yourself around her.

I set up my little stage on a beautiful Persian rug- keyboard, guitar, and ipod. ;-p

And I set off for Maya Quetzal for some nosh before my performance.




SATURDAY EVENING:

THE OUTFIT

I am wearing a one of a kind, made by my friend Susean Morrow skirt. It’s floor length, purple and dark blue, and it wraps around just below my hips and fastens on a diagonal. Beneath it I am wearing my black boots, but no one can see that they are boots. I chose to wear those because they will be warm, and because the heels are super high! (Maybe I do have a little Carrie from SATC going on when it comes to shoes.) (Okay, so for the record, they are Baby Phat boots.) I wear a purple, sleeveless turtle neck that fits to my form and has these gathers along the sternum, between the breasts. My hair is straight and long and raven colored these days, and I wear lots of dark eye makeup and my Hand of God bracelet, and green and gold hoop earrings and matching Amazonian style arm bracelet.

THE SETLIST

I am performing two sets, and I decided that within each set, I would make it progress from acoustic guitar to keyboard to full tracks from the album.

SET ONE:
Never, Never, Never (Shirley Bassey/ Mina’s song, in English and Italian)
Don’t Mind Me (new song)
Sober (new song)
It’s Not Easy Bein’ Green
La Vie En Rose
Too Much (off the record, but on piano)
Black Butterfly (off Poet’s Lovely Daughter)
Faith (PLD)
Heart Given (PLD)
Poet’s Lovely Daughter (PLD)

SET TWO:
The Habañera from Carmen
Things that Are Gone (new song I wrote with Infamous Upstairs Zack)
K-15 (off PLD)
Shadow and Silt (PLD)
Supernatural (PLD)
Dreams (the Stevie song, on acoustic guitar)
City Behind the Sky (PLD)




SATURDAY NIGHT:

HOTEL CONGRESS AND TUCSON

So, after the show, I meet the most amazing crew of Tucsonites. Tucsonians? Tucson denizens. Hm. Anyway.

Adrienne, who works in the music industry, and used to live in LA, sort of takes me under her wing and along with Colleena, and Manuel and a crew of other really cool peeps, we walk along to the place my roommate Linda and my Ladies Who Brunch friend Anastasia said I hAD to go to, the Hotel Congress. We end up talking late of music, of the industry, of Tucson facts and figures, of art and academia, of passion. You know. Erin stuff. Life stuff.



MORE TO COME

For now, I’m off to yoga, and then the Georgia O’Keefe museum, the Pop Gallery, and the Loretto Chapel. In the snow…. I’ll walk! Thank god I’m staying within walking distance of everything! Because despite the fact that I was born and raised in Minnesota…. I do not have a SCRAPER for my windows on my car!!!!!!! hahahahahahhaa!!!! The story of the journey along 77 and 77,000 miles on my car and the blizzard (shall I say bli77ard?) will have to wait for the next installment…. this girl’s off to explore.


;-)


LOVE TO YOU

FOLLOW YOUR BLISS

IT MIGHT LEAD YOU TO TUCSON
OR IT MIGHT LEAD YOU BLIND INTO A BLIZZARD

BUT IT LEADS YOU STRAIGHT INTO YOUR HEART

~Erin~

Rockwired.com's Best Female Artist of the Year Award 2009

Hey, everyone!

I am so honored to announce that I was awarded the Rockwired.com's Best Female Artist of the Year Award. Thanks to all who voted!

Frequently Asked Questions

Erin Muir

Frequently Asked Questions

HOW DID YOU WIND UP IN INDIA?
I’ve always had a fascination with yoga and meditation; the stories I could tell you about cutting class to study them back when are hilarious! But seriously… after moving to Los Angeles (from Minneapolis), I began working with acting coach Candace Silvers, who’s an extremely astute observer and teacher of human behavior. Every year, she takes her students to India to work with a teacher in Rishikesh (where The Beatles met the Maharishi). She told me my future absolutely relied on going there. Though I didn’t have the funds at the time, I somehow knew it would happen… The next morning, an overdue check arrived for the precise amount needed to cover the plane ticket. I nabbed it, then turned to creative fundraising to handle related expenses. When Candace saw how committed I was, she offered to cover the difference if I paid her back. I was really, really touched... She was right on too… That trip completely changed my life!


YOU PERFORMED FOR PRESIDENT CLINTON AT THE WHITE HOUSE: GIVE US A PLAY BY PLAY.
I arrived in Washington as part of John Jacobsen's "America Sings"- a gathering of young vocalists from across the country. The day of, we met senators, representatives- all sorts of world leaders. It was kind of a blur because I was seventeen and so darn nervous that I’d barely slept all week. We went down the line, shaking hands and suddenly there was Hilary… then Bill... He was just as charismatic and charming in person as on TV. There were throngs of people everywhere and everything happened so fast. The music began… And I was so swept away by this feeling of great elation and light... I stepped forward for my solo and the thrill of the meeting, the music, the moment, the energy… Everything about it was so uplifting. We met Senator Paul Wellstone after, who was still alive at the time. Being from the same state, he invited us to his office and gave me a personal tour of the Senate Building. It was an amazing experience. I could go on and on…


YOU’VE BEEN NOMINATED BY ROCKWIRED FOR FEMALE ARTIST OF THE YEAR WITH “POET’S LOVELY DAUGHTER”. ITS CMJ SINGLE “BLACK BUTTERFLY” CAUGHT MY ATTENTION; WHAT INSPIRED THE SONG?
I wrote it sitting in the back of my 1973 Vogue RV on Harvest Gold cushions… I’d run away from college and sacrificed everything to go on the road with International Girl. We had a lot of crazy experiences- some fun, some scary and everything in between. We’d ended up touring to Florida to play in a Spring Break cover band. A lot of musicians look down on cover bands, but I’ll tell you, I learned more about song writing and structure in one year of that than in my entire academic life! Plus, we almost randomly wound up in Cuba, but that’s another story for another time.


PRAY TELL ABOUT THE CUBAN CONNECTION!
That's one of those crazy touring stories. We were still down in Florida playing covers and people would often invite us over to their mansion/house/apartment to party afterwards. One night, this particular fellow who came to shows invited us back to his yacht. By about 4 a.m., I was exhausted and fell asleep while the rest of the band was living it up. The next morning, I woke up still on the yacht. Michael (our drummer) and the aforementioned fellow piped up that we were on our way to Cuba for cigars and Dulce de Leches. Groggy as I was, I was pretty clear that was NOT a good idea. Don't worry… we never made it to Cuba. Or at least, if we did, I can't tell you about it!


HAS ACADEMIC TRAINING EVER INTERFERED WITH PLAYING IN A ROCK BAND?
Naw. As the Dalai Lama said: “Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.” I began piano lessons at 5, but always wanted to be a singer. At 13- after a great deal of begging and pleading with my parents- went to study voice with Teri Larsen at St. Cloud State while continuing piano with Dr. Edward Turley (Dean of Music, St. John's University). On the other hand, my Dad was a huge Jazz and Blues buff, so we listened to lots of that; there was also this great college radio station [KVSC] that played pretty much everything. At St. Cloud State, world music was a trend. I was constantly exposed to so many different KINDS of music… I’m really grateful for that. Balancing the academic with the heart is what that I strive for, always. Well, that and breaking the rules!


HOW DOES THEATRE INFORM YOUR LIVE PERFORMANCES?
I’ve very thankfully done my time as an actress in various films here in Los Angeles… Musically, I spent several years performing in cabarets. You can’t be afraid of an audience- especially in that environment- or they’ll sense it right away, or worse yet, leave! There’s a lot to handle performing in that arena- hair pulling fights, back stabbing, bustiers; and that's just on stage. I loved it… It’s influenced my song writing, my love of falling into a song, passionately expressing it and of course… my style! We’d always put together these amazing outfits- all very Folies Bergeres- with ruffled bottoms, corsets, top hats and stockings. Or long length evening gowns, wigs and ginormous false eyelashes. I love the camaraderie of the theatre, I try to carry that into band situations. Depending on the venue, I also always try to carry a little burlesque torch with me too!


HAS LIVING IN HOLLYWOOD INFLUENCED YOU AS A SINGER-SONGWRITER?
Certainly! Hollywood has everything. Literally… Everything you could want is here. That doesn't mean you get to go grab it at will, though. Whatever you’re putting out, you’ll see and find. That means, if you desperately want fame, it's here. And whatever you secretly (or outwardly) believe you must do to obtain it and believe about having it will come true. It's like a metaphysical candy store and it’s so easy to choose what's bad because it looks good. That said, there’s a very special creative energy here. Some of the most dynamic, brilliant artists and entertainers in the world live here; it's hard not to find that energy infectious and inspiring. Since everything’s here, there are many ways to be of service, to be kind, to give back. There’s lots of cultural blending. Being here is an extension of all of my life, which has been full of cultural as well as stylistic mixing and matching, which I try to bring to my work.


YOU JUST CAME HOME FROM TOURING “POET’S LOVLEY DAUGHTER”… WHAT’S NEXT?
I’m heading to Austin, TX to play a March 20th date at the Red Gorilla Music Festival. Also just finished starring as "Vangela" in a film called "Pretty Boys," about a Bowie-esque Glam Rock band and their trials and tribulations finishing a sophomore album. I play the band's manager/lead singer's girlfriend. It was directed by Everett Lewis; they’re editing and premiering the film in 2011 at various film festivals. I’m also working on a book- “My Life As A Phone Psychic”. Among the many, many day jobs I’ve held, one was "phone psychic." I originally wrote a play about it, which we produced in Minneapolis. My sister recommended I reincarnate it as a novel, since I'm such a voracious reader. I absolutely love the art form and format of that, so I did, and am in draft two. Thanks for asking and stay tuned!

My Own Nine Lives

My Own “Nine” Lives

I saw “Nine” with my friend Alison the other day. We went in the middle of a very wet and rainy day in Los Angeles to one of the screening theatres at the Landmark in West LA… she knows my love of the comfy sofas in those theatres… I had heard a lot about this movie because, well, anytime anyone who knows me sees a movie featuring sexy women in lingerie singing and dancing torch songs about love and sex and passion and religion? They call me and tell me they just saw a movie “right up my alley.”

(What alley is that, exactly?)

No, I’m kidding. I’m flattered. They call me and tell me that because years of singing my own crazy version of the habanera from “Carmen” while dressed in a bustier and garter belt in Le Cirque Rouge Burlesque Cabaret have led people to associate me with all things Folies Bergeres… ;-) Okay. SOME things Folies Bergeres.

I want to write about a moment of my own life, my own foibled, fabled life, inspired by the part when Louisa, played by the EVER amazing Marillon Cotillard, does a number in which in her fantasy, she torments her husband, the guilty philandering Guido, by performing a strip tease for other men. My take on that- it’s her way of trying to show him how she feels, how painful it is to be betrayed like that… but you know, when it’s YOU being the one betrayed? It takes tremendous awareness to be able to see those places where you yourself did the betraying, and this method rarely exacts any response that creates greater love and harmony.

But we’re not talking about love and harmony. We’re talking about passion, commitment (or not), betrayal, sex, fear, anger, and fire…

I know, because that scene mirrors the first time I ever did a burlesque striptease.

I joined the motley crew of burlesque performers in Minneapolis at some point in the early days of its inception. I had seen a notice that Amy Buchanan and Ophelia Flame (and others) were forming a Burlesque and Vaudeville style cabaret… it was listed somewhere in Minneapolis’ alternative weekly newspaper, City Pages… a number of my friends in Minnie had seen the notice and thought of me, too, and a few of my friends went out their way to email me and call me to tell me to check it out.

See, I’ve always had this thing for performing in slinky vintage slips. In fact, my very first time performing in such a thing was when I was 11! No kidding. I performed as an Egyptian Slave Dancer in my middle school’s talent show while my friends lip-synched to “Dance Like an Egyptian.” My mother and teachers and my friend’s mothers had no idea I was going to do this, or they probably would not have let me do so. And I, as yet innocent, had no idea that this might be in any way inappropriate for a pre-pubescent sixth grader. I just remember that my friends and I had rehearsed for days and days how we were going to do this little number, and I wore black kohl eyeliner and proudly marched my little butt out onto stage wearing just a bed sheet wrapped around me like an Egyptian slave girl’s costume. The audience LAUGHED and laughed and laughed. To this day, I’m still not sure WHY it was so funny, and yet I am grinning ear to ear because I remember how hard they laughed! Oh, and the starlet was born.

So, back to Le Cirque Rouge (and relative adulthood)… I went down to the club Amy and crew had built out of what had formerly been “The New French Café.” It was all dark red and Frenchified and sexy, even in the middle of bright and snow-covered Minneapolis afternoon. I think I sang Carmen, and then “Whatever Lola Wants.” They liked it. I was in.

It took a few months to get into the groove of costumes and egos and breasts. Don’t get me wrong. I had a lot of costumes and a lot of ego and two of my very own, thank you. But so did everyone else have PLENTY of supply of all those things (*except Garron the Houseboy, of course. He had everyone else’s breasts, but none of his own.) And then there were the endless performances, some great and some terrible, and the fighting, and the hair pulling (kept on stage for audience benefit!), and the jokes and the magic, and then there was the great and terrible SCHISM from which formed Lili’s Burlesque and etc., I won’t get into the nitty gritty here, you can Google search all of this and get everyone else’s story about how it all went down.

IIIIiiii want to talk about MY strip tease. See, in all the time I was with LCR, I never did a strip tease. Amy used to ask “why not!?” “Why not!?” And my reply was usually something like, “But I’m already wearing next to nothing while singing.” I remember trying something out while singing “La Vie En Rose,” in which I was wearing a Marlene Dietrich style man’s shirt and jacket, with just a garter-belt attached to some fishnet stockings and little black high heels. At the end of the song, after the “la, la la la la la las…..” I sang once more the line “La Vie En Rooooooooose” and tore open the white shirt to reveal my vintage black and white lace bra… and I noticed that although the audience hooted and hollered, they cheered longer and louder when I sustained a very high note earlier in the song. I realized I was probably better off showcasing my VOICE and my SONGS then showcasing my… ahem… pasties…. I’m not sure why. Maybe I should be offended that my voice is more impressive than my décolletage. Or maybe I should be proud…. but…. It probably had more to do with my belief in my voice over my belief in my body… Oh, hyper-analyzing my own psyche aside…

Really, the real deep down other part?

I had a boyfriend and he was a really great guy except he had this… jealous streak. He was excited for me to sing in the cabaret, because a) he got to hang around and watch the beautiful women dance, and b) he loved for me to sing and perform, and c) he was a drummer and picked up gigs as a fill-in for when the other drummer couldn’t make it. But his response to me performing the strip-teases?

“No. No Way. That shit is MINE.”

Well, fast-forward through four exciting and beautiful and crazy and at times, difficult years with this man, to the point where, eventually, he and I broke up. We had a really difficult break up. I mean, it was just awful. I wasn’t just losing a boyfriend, I was losing my way of life. We had a band together, a home together, cars together, gear together, dreams together. But… for some very specific reasons, the relationship ended. It broke my heart. And, in my immature response to that pain, I did what all drama-queen kitty cats do after a tough breakup. I broke all the rules I wasn’t allowed to break while I was IN the relationship!

Now, the funny thing is, I had been dating a loose cannon, anti-authoritarian, environmentalist, former punk rocker turned jazz drummer turned Americana singer-songwriter. So, there really weren’t too many things I had not been allowed to do for the sake of the relationship. Really, there was only one.

The Burlesque Strip Tease.

And damn it, I was determined to carpe diem and, in my ex’s own famous words, strap on a pair (of pasties) and get ‘er done.

It was New Year’s Eve. My friends Erin and Josh and I were going to a NYE Party hosted by my friend Sean, featuring a number of different burlesque performers as well as DJs, bands, body painting, food, booze, crazy light shows, all in this huge-o warehouse somewhere in Saint Paul. I had a mission in mind, and I quickly located my friend Stan the 3-D Man.

Now, Stan had invented a 3-D machine that could cause LIVE Performers to appear 3-D. This Tesla- loving scientist inventor was so smart and wise to introduce it to Burlesque Dancers, and he, along with the dancers, had invented what was known as “The 3-D Strip Tease.”

Imagine… the audience puts on 3-D Glasses and enjoys as the dancer, behind a white scrim, does a strip tease seemingly CENTIMETERS from your face! It is truly an amazing experience! When she tosses her items of clothing off, it appears as those they are landing in your lap. When she swirls the tassels on her pasties? Well. Let’s just say, it’s pretty darn exciting.

I’m serious. It really seems like the Dancing Lady is Dancing In Your Lap, only she’s not, she’s on stage, and you’re wearing 3-D glasses, and it remains that Sexy-Silly-PG13 style fun.

Stan was setting up the 3-D machine and was going to be running the show for a bit in this corner stage.

I walked over to Stan and said,

“Stan, I wanna do the 3-D strip tease…”

I had rendered a very eloquent man speechless.

“Good then,” I said, nodding, and accepting that his silence implied his consent.

I walked back behind the white scrim on the stage. I was wearing a black and white pinstriped pantsuit and black stilettos… not exactly a burlesque costume, but for tonight, it would work. There was a box full of props and costume pieces and I applied the necessaries… feather boa, pasties, top hat.

“Ready back there?” Stan asked….

“Ready as I’ll ever be…” I said.

And the music started…

You learn a few things fairly quickly- like-

Have the right costume. So, it seems like maybe a black and white pinstriped pantsuit is very sexy in a Marlene Dietrich kind of way, but I figured out pretty fast, if you’re intending to perform an old-school, vintage-style burlesque striptease to a song that’s 3 minutes long? That’s a LONG time to keep it PG AND interesting. The right costume will help GREATLY.

Thank god for the box of props. I somehow figured my way out of the pantsuit and realized I hadn’t yet utilized the 3D Machine, so I made sure to take a feather boa and toss it to titillate the audience. The way it works is, there’s a light machine between you, the dancer, and the scrim. The audience is on the other side of the scrim. You play everything to that light machine and it causes the audience’s perception to see it as 3D.

So, I took my feather boa and I snapped it right into the light. The audience shrieked and giggled. Whew! All was not lost.

There was a sword in the prop box, so I grabbed a chair, danced around it for a moment, and then took the sword, pointed it right into the light. The audience shrieked again. Then I sat down in the chair, and did that trick where it looked like I was swallowing the sword.

Oh, so naughty.

Now I was relaxing into it and actually having fun with what was going on! I started mimicking my burlesque heroine, Ophelia Flame, doing all of her kinds of long leggy moves into the light.

And then, that moment divine, when suddenly you and the music and the lights and the moves and the impulse and the feathers and the tassels are all one, and you move without moving, you sway without direction, you are just in the dance. The feel of the feathers trickling down my arm, the fine soft downy hairs sparkling in the bright lights, my legs kicking high and round, my heart in pulse with the bass and drums, my hips curving in joy of femininity…

And then it was done. The audience was cheering, and I think I may have poked my head out to bow and blush, and then I grabbed my clothes and Garron the houseboy was there and he picked up the rest of the props, and my friends were smiling and I ran to the makeshift backstage, energetically high. I know dancers for whom this is their art and their passion, and I can see why. It was exhilarating, and- fun.

And then there was a moment- just a moment- when I was alone, and fixing my little pantsuit, and touching up my makeup, alone in my heart despite the booming crowd out there... And I thought of my lost love, for that moment. I thought of the night we met, and I thought of the night he and I watched the full moon rise over the Chateau de Chambord in France, and riding on the back of his motorcycle clinging tight to him… I thought of the nights we spent playing music together, and the time he got mad at me on stage and threw his (my) guitar at me, and I laughed aloud then, because he always had such a temper, but he was always trying so hard. And as I laughed, a single boa feather fell from my long raven hair onto my lap where I sat. I felt sorry, as if I had betrayed him, his wishes. Without having any feelings about what the art of the striptease is or is not, without having any opinions about what it may or may not have meant, I knew that, having done that… I was sealing the relationship, at least for me. That sounds so… final… to write it like that. But. It was. I had done the one thing he didn’t want me to do.

It was over.

grocery shopping with erin: in three movements

grocery shopping with erin

In three movements


ALLEGRO
Sunday evening, almost Monday morning
In Los Angeles, featuring a rare but welcome rain.
Traffic lights blur in the cool blush of sky tears.

I am on my way home from work, driving along in my Jetta with a check in my wallet, and, regrettably, the knowledge of an empty refrigerator,
an empty pantry,
an empty cupboard,
and an empty stomach…

With delicate counterpoint, I weave out of traffic and into the Ralph’s parking lot on La Brea. Eyeing the other cars in the lot, I spy no drug dealers,
no window smashers,
no hubcap grabbers
(*that I can tell.)

Andiamo, then, into the Ralph’s on La Brea,
into the toxic fluorescent mash-up
of late night nurses picking up cereal
and last call drinkers pulling out pizzas-
(it’s not delivery…)

Who is the DJ in this grocery store at this time of night? And by what prejudice did he decide that we, the late night grocery shoppers, deserved such a woeful listening fate? Just because I’m here at only ever odd hours… well, I think that means I fortissimo deserve good music to listen to… Perhaps I like the lack of long lines when checking out… or meeting the new trainees receiving the least desirable shifts… whomever you are, and you know who you are, it’s time to Come To Jesus on this mix.

And yes, I heard the guy with his Polo shirt tucked into his running shorts singing along.

I believe that is all testimony we need….

ANDANTE
Every time, it is the same story between me and the groceries.

Confronted with actual food for sale,

I seem to forget entirely what it is I actually eat.

I wander endlessly through the aisles, stopping to stare at the things I

* might *

put into lingering combinations over the stove
with the sweet harmony of flavors headed
directly for my lips…

But, no, I have no clue what I eat, once I am staring all this foodstuff in the eye.

Apples? Plums? Do I dare to eat a peach?

Rice cakes. Yes. Rice cakes, one for each… I….. Wait. Rice cakes? Or… was it Wasa bread? Oh, I don’t know, so instead, I shall stare at the Pop Tarts, but I know that if I take home fake food, I will eat fake food. I had better pick up a carton of oatmeal instead.

I know I don’t really “do” dairy, so ice cream is out, but that never stops me from picking up a pint, walking to the next aisle, and then turning and returning to place Ben and Jerry’s back on the shelf.

Meanwhile, two stoney boys with their pants slung low have passed me by three times now, and I know that during the next pass they will try to catch my eye. I’m not sure I want this recapitulation, as I miss that one note where the composer shifted it from sharp to natural. Always just a half a step ahead of myself, and yet never quite inside the groove, we’ll play it out again… I guess… or not, as I feign deep interest in Boboli pizza crusts and thank god I had put away that Ben and Jerry’s five minutes ago….


RONDO

A race to the check out then,
I see the girls in miniskirts and big earrings eyeing my basket
as I eye their champagne and potato chips.
who shall make it first?
None of us. We were all eclipsed by the old lady with a can of cat food.

Waiting to be warmly met,
I should still be waiting yet,
were it not for magazines that let
me indulge in a trashy fete…

And here we are now, Ralph’s Club Card, please!
And cash, down to the penny, but ten dollars I’ll need,
So, debit or credit, whate’er you prefer,
Paper or plastic, damn! I left my cloth bag in the car.
…
And now I here I am at my little Spanish style fourplex,
pulling into the long driveway,
Singing along with the music at the top of my lungs,
Shoving dried cantaloupe in my mouth.
Managing all five bags and a purse in one arm
with my keys at the ready in the other,
Home!

And I put away the groceries only to discover that
I already had lettuce, and carrots,
And I really should have tossed this guacamole out a long time ago,
And I have literally three jars of raspberry jam and still no bread for toast.

My roommate, however, appears to have bought chocolate covered caramels and
Honey sesame almonds at Trader Joe’s.
I’m sure she won’t mind if I borrow a bite….
After all, she has full access to all my groceries.
Mi miso es su miso.
And finally, as I tenderly put away a duplicate container of oats (seriously)
I notice she has bought those sweet terrors of fake food-

all hail

the forbidden fruits.

Behold:

poptarts

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens the silver foil packaging; only something in me understands
the voice of sprinkles and frosting is deeper than all whole grains)
nobody, not even the rain, has such sticky hands

…………….


I needed the energy to practice?

D.S. Al fine.

Song of the Sea Bathed Siren

….aj ondas….

Love, along a mystical shoreline,
Where we throw away so easily these
(small) gifts-
sand. pebbles. deep, wondrous sea.

Where words become meaningless
despite my stretching, and
‘mystical’ and ‘love’ ever fast,
now approach the loss of
truth, as
symbols of my
heart (love.)

But breathless, now, my heart, my love,
let not these words fall in vain,
drop by drop against your hopes.

I beg of you, if you can hear me calling,
here on this distant shore,
close your eyes and feel the beating of my heart
pressed against yours.
I desire never your anguish,
Nor ever did I dare to cross the Sea of Faith
to prove I am but a cheat.

Hear me-

Where once a poet dreamed of sailors
taking first voyages to lands unknown,
dreams of beauty, riches, ritual attrition,
(Valhalla, I am coming)-

Now we have come, still wet
to a country neither you nor I have known.

I will not scuttle across the sand
which has worn away my shell.

I am here,
I am here,
and I lay in wait, soft upon the strand.

….aj ondas….

Each day, I linger in the rising of the sun,
watching infinite the waves
which called me to this foreign place.

Each day, I bathe in salted sea
and witness my legs, growing dark
beneath the punishing sun.

The walking. The crags. The inlet streams.

I am watching, I am waiting.

Penelope? I renounce that fate.
The churn of day by day by night by day-
The stories I have told
of star made heroes,
star made shadows round-

Where is faith now?

Where once, this poet dreamed of mermaids
echoing in sleep,
I have heard the mournful cry in truth, and
it was mine.

In the reflection of this molten tide,
she, the mermaid?
She was
me.

From my better makers,
I steal sounds which pierce my heart
that I might take from it
its healing juice
and revive your withered mind.

I will give you this heart, ‘though it has broken open.

But were you here-
your ear close to my lips-
your heat enclosing my sunbaked body warm,
your fingers untangling my white washed hair,
I would not cry.
I would tell you, instead,
my stories from the sky,
and sing you melodies
from sirens I have heard within
the echo of the tide.

I shall wait. I…

And see here, how fine my cerulean gem
which I have plucked from oceanic sparkle!
I wear upon my finger, here,
and there, upon my cheek,
at times, around my neck,
and in sorrow at my feet.
In hope I touch my lips to it
and cast it out
to fairer days,
that it might bring tales
of the sea of faith,
and the sailors calling,
alee, alee.

Film Log November 14th, 2009, with a new song

Just checking in with everybody in video nirvana...

I don't really have a title for this song just yet... but I really like it. I have been very creative lately, producing and producing and producing!!

For Maggie, A Song

Dream, to make it worth waking from sleep
Plant the seeds, 'cause it's worth the dream
Winter covers the ground
So seeds might reach for light
and the great one turns the page,
bringing spring in its time...
Even if you don't know where it leads,
even if you may not succeed,
still,
you gotta dream...

Cradle your beloved in your arms.
Take this moment before its gone.
You know spring returns,
but you know so does fall,
So love it all,
love it all, love it all..
Even if it breaks your heart,
even if it takes so much to get back up and
start
again...

Now it is time to throw down your sorrow.
Find your breath and the promise of tomorrow-
Discover beautiful day...
Dream of greatness and stay
Here in your heart,
Come what may...
I will do it with you-
I am here, and I will do it, too...

seven years of love songs

i have burned every love note,
every desperate scribbling on a bar napkin,
on a Post-It note,
letters written and labored over for three days' time,
drawings and comic books that tell of love between me and

oh, pick any lover,
for just as
whose lips these lips have kissed
and when and where and why
has been my (romantic) (swan)song

i have known only the thrill of the falling
and have come around to the deep seed of love
unfolding softly
as an ex girlfriend
as an ex "love of my life"
and never as
one who said yes to the ring

so i have many, many friends
whom i know SO well
and who come to my aid in times of deep trial
and who safely and wisely counsel me
on my own folly
and vice versa,
for we know each other SO well
in the safety of no future possibility
and no fear of loss of the love from the other
for we have already lost
and now can throw our hands up in laughter and
be here to help each other

men, lovely men,
with whom I have experienced seemingly karmic levels
of forgiveness and redemption

and with whom
i shall make never home nor child.

and the wind blows,
and the pages of the calendar flip
and a secret child is born and dies
and a career is rewarded and then denied
and the throngs of ignorant revelers
join a madness they never created,
only agreed to on accident...

and inside this bubble of insanity
an entire world of true love reverberates
inwardly and outwardly
every cell of every being

calling you, it is calling you as it is calling me
as it is calling every soul,

drop this lie
drop this madness.
now.

i, myself, am awakening to the unconsciousness of my own
hell pain rendering

so what a surprise this morning to find, tucked inside an old text book,
between the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
and
Sweeney Among the Nightingales

the last remaining love letter

a note i somehow never burned in ritual
(full of pomp and drama, i have
renounced my mistakes in romance
for the sake of finding a true love
never noticing the tender slowness
of partnership)

my first love,
secret, forbidden,
an obstacle built by age and position
and family relation
full of poetry and pain
that continued
an un bel di
for seven years.

now we are seven years past.
i do not love him and he does not love me.
i wish to have a partner, not a father, not a teacher.
he is long married to another.
and yet
as if it were the echo of some ancient dream
rounding the corner of this mountain
my heart aches to discover
his plain song to me,
a love song for me,
one written after seven years of trying
and failing

when my ship comes in...
my ship has come in, again and again.
i have always run to another shore too soon
to enjoy the unloading of the ship
i have just lighted to shore.


ah, ego. i temper myself
and enjoy the agony of love lost.

"Erin (I am in her so much"
by M

(Hope it's okay I put it here, my love,
and I am not sorrowful at our parting,
I am grateful for out meeting. By the way
I love this poem you wrote)

"I am in her so much,
that the tender brine
of the tears left behind
still pull
as she slides out form under me, forever.

I am in her so much,
that the slender spine
of the crimes rot behind
still ill
as she slides out from under me, forever.

I am in her so much,
that the slander sign
of the hopes shot behind
still shrill
as she slides out from under me, forever.

I am in her so much,
that the candor rhyme
of the love said behind
still thrill
as she slides out from under me, forever.

I am in her so much,
that the decanter wine
of the truth sipped behind
still will
as she slides out from under me, forever.

I am in her so much,
that the torture blind
of a world so unkind
still kills
as she slides out from under me, forever.

I am in her so much,
that a joyous time
of a world still divine
will shine
if she slides into me, forever.

...

Illness roaring in
settle over our fine dreams.
A crippled, dull fog mystifies me.
But you,
you,
you are a reminder
that God has not disappeared-
You are a reminder of Beauty in this world.

..."



the rest is too personal
even for me
to share
and already I am probably making M
mad at sharing his personal letter to me
here
on the other hand he may like it
if he reads it he will let me know

but

I like that poem
a lot.
I wish i had not burned all the rest but
they say
what every poem, every war, every tango, every ant says on the inside of its words
the seed of intention is
love
even inside fear
there is a deep love
drop down
drop in
find that word
and all the world becomes a lovesong.

moonsong

leaning over the bow, my chestnut hair/
flows into the wind as i sing unto heaven/
sweet, tremulous air/

for i render all as sweet, my love/
'though I am lost in a storm of faith/

i have witnessed/
with the sailors upon the water/
that the sea draws near the moon/
and back again/

this turbulent hope/
this succulent pain/

round the shores once more, my love/
embrace the mist of day