Dear Chicago,
There's always something left to say. I type this, my fingers numb from cold. My fingers hitting random keys whilst I try to spell words correctly. If that happens, then maybe this time, you'll get my note.
Do you remember those fiery nights in front of the fireplace, smoke occasionally sputtering from the fire, the light allowing us to see our work. Papers upon paper, scribbles and notes all in the margins. Creased photographs and glowing red bottles of wine. It's ok. I remember enough for the most of us.

words fell like water...

Sometimes, I don't know where these words come from. Are they like that Ryan Adams song you liked so much...just merely words? Could I be reading more importance to them then it's worth?

Right now, I light my cigarettes from burning candles that are meant to be in churches, prayers said for the dead. But I'm here in my cold, little room. With these candles that burn for endless hours, even while I sleep. A cheap glimmering light that is just *there* when I need it to be. So afraid to sleep, and for it to be another day. It just means it's closer to the time I have to go. And we both know how much I love leaving.
Maybe this time will be different.
Love, Gish

Labels: David Usher, Dear Chicago, opinions, pharmacology, relationships, run, running, sleep, travelling, writing

Mother
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I took this photo a little while ago. The word 'mother' stood out to me. My mother is worried about me. I adore her, and it hurts me when she is worried. I'll talk about my mother in more detail at some point.

I've been listening to a lot of Matthew Good (for night time music) and Ani DiFranco (to get my Bitch on). Instead of cursing anything that has gone wrong the past month, I'm in the unique position (again) of concentrating on getting even, and looking at things to do that I would normally pass on.

The evil nasty down mood hasn't been around for a couple of days, I actually feel like my old self today. Yesterday was a little manic, I did some things pretty impulsive. I got two two new tattoos (small ones) for a very reasonable price at Addictive Tattoo here in London. I also bought some new skirts as the plan is to remain in skirts, tshirts and flipflops all summer. I also splurged on a manicure and pedicure (30 dollars) and some Starbucks coffee (which I normally don't bother with). I was a buying machine yesterday.

Today, I will see my two nephews, Riley and Danny for the first time in 2 years. I was able to work out an agreement with their father who used to be quite unapproachable (I think the court papers I prepared had something to do with it) and now, I and the rest of the family will have regular access to them. So, later on today I am sure my mood will change as I will have a lot of questions to answer.

The weather around here is on crack. 35 degrees one day, then 18 degrees the next. Consistency would be nice.

There are a few concerts I would like to attend this summer, but with having no job I doubt I will get out there. Buckley likes to eat watermelon, which I usually snack on before bed.

And thanks to Mattie, I have a thing for cheese now. Freshly grated Parmesan and asiago on top of any pizza I'm eating. I can only hope I do not move on to Tapas after this addiction, as I'm currently broke and can't afford such things *grin*

Anyway, my youngest nephew, Nicholaki is having a birthday party tomorrow, he turned 2 earlier this week. I got him a ball he can jump on. I better put a helmet on him, just in case.
Love, Gish

Labels: coffee, depression, family, Gish, habits, layers, Matthew Good, nephews, opinions, relationships, spending

the border
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Dear Chicago,

It seems that some of us live our lives, aspiring or thinking of....'one day'. I have to admit that I'm one of those people. It's not a an issue, but the problem with that is...I'm not really sure what I want my 'one day' to look like.

I talk about these things with my friends. They tell me (which I think is a huge injustice) that it's ok, everything will work out and I'll be happy with whatever I end up with. One of my biggest fears is that I will wake up 10 years from now with 3 kids, a dog, an SUV and wonder what the hell am I doing. I'm afraid that I'll hate my choices. Afraid of boredom, the sense of having settled, the sense of not doing or being all that I can be.

Scary, heavy stuff. But, what the hell. I'm nearly 31 years old. At some point, I will have to stop thinking and start doing. Sometimes, I just don't know where to start.

I cross borders and look for new things, carrying on my love affair of maps.

I wish I could believe that my future lies in wait with one who has walked your streets before. Maybe he was shopping, or working, or just loving the way your concrete meets the ground. But, I stopped believing in fairy tales and fantasies in my 20's. I know there are those who, unlike me, are nursing hurts and broken hearts. Such luck to have held it for that time, and such luck to have another chance to find it again. And so much thought and effort devoted to and building up of achieving a single emotion.

It's foolish. And inspiring.

Labels: drama, fools gold, habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, layers, melancholy, opinions, photographs, relationships, underwater, writing

There’s a manhole in my kitchen
I step around it when I’m reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of cold water in the mornings. Lemon flavour. I don’t really care that it could be Listerine or maybe Mr. Clean, I just need something to wake up.

We’ll just have to adjust
Ok, I didn’t have any issues with waking up today. It seems I’ve returned to my old routine of waking a few minutes before my alarm. I can tell I’ve been in one spot all night because Buckley is exactly where he was when we fell asleep. Sleeping like rocks. I didn’t know that rocks could get tired. Anything really is possible.

My new office mate is working feverishly on a document. It’s nice to see someone working so hard, not so nice because he doesn’t want any music or other distractions in the background. Which makes it hard for me to concentrate when there is nothing in the office but sounds of tapping keys and muttering from his corner. I even brought a new cd in to put on my work laptop so I could have a variation to the routine of Pete Yorn and Interpol that I’ve been listening to.

Also, I’ve sent out a variety of emails in response to some I received last week. However, my email inbox is now like a dusty old West town. Cobwebs hanging in the doorways, empty cans rolling in the wind. Tumbleweed ghosting by with every new gust of breeze. Not a single email since yesterday. I’m convinced I am the world’s biggest loser, the world’s most unpopular girl, or the world’s loneliest girl. Any way you cut it, it’s kind of lame, which is also annoying. I sent out some interesting emails which I think should garner interesting responses.

But nada thus far.

Instead, I’ve been concentrating on working on my admissions essay for Columbia. To say that I am stuck between a rock and a hard place would be the lamest description to use here, but it’s so true. I just can’t seem to get off my ass and answer the questions. They aren’t hard questions, but they feel like redundant ones. This of course, coming from the girl who thinks she should just be accepted to any school she *looks* at, let alone applies to. I know, I know….the ego of this girl.

In any event, that is what I will be doing in between taking calls from angry clients who insist I never call them back. Even my clients don’t want to hear from me.
*sigh*

Maybe, I've finally succeeded in getting all of the squatters off of my island.

Labels: habits, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, music, neurotic, opinions, School, work

You know when your work life interferes with your real life? I mean, I know I have no life other than work to begin with but at this moment, that is beside the point. Like usual, I completely forgot about a show I wanted to go to. I know I had written down somewhere but because it's not in my face, I completely forgot. Until I stumbled upon the notice while surfing the net.

Interpol is playing tonight in a crappy club not far from my house.

Interpol!! So of course, I rush out to get a ticket, and I've been listening to Turn On The Bright Lights all freaking day. Even subjecting my clients to the music when I've had to transport them. And asking my younger clients if they listen to Interpol.

The reaction was less than what I desired. Turns out no one knows who they are, even the self-proclaimed 'music guy' in my office. Take that, Music guy. Turns out even though I live like a hermit and currently have an addiction to banana cream pie pudding and Royal Gala apples (of course, not together) that I eat while watching CSI reruns.

Oh, and sending funny ecards to my officemate, who as it turns out, has a sense of humour. Will wonders never cease. Just kidding. Mostly.

Anyway, I grabbed a ticket for tonight's show but it looks like I will be working late and may *just* have enough time to slide into town for when the band goes on. I mean, I could work late any other day but here I am, having to work late on a night I *actually* have plans. Like, really freaking late.

Figures.

Anyway, I do have a spare hour so I may sneak out for a bite to eat and a bit of black clothing shopping, so I can look at least somewhat street cred in the event I do make it to the show. Also, am looking for a way to smuggle my gigantic camera into the venue because in the past they have been jerks about photogs.

But it's Interpol!!!

Labels: drama, how not to be an idiot, job, late night, music, neurotic, New York, opinions, photographs, work

"I just did a Google search, and I came across this page. Sure, it may be nearly 3 years after your post, but that song isn't by Jeff Buckley. I don't know who performs it, but I downloaded it from a p2p program a few years back and it was labeled as a being by American Football, but I don't think it's them either.Strangeness. Very good song though."

This is a comment that was left for me at my old journal. The entry the comment was posted on is over three years old, something he/she mentions and I hate to be nitpicky, but I left a response to it anyway.

I said something along the lines of the song being by Jeff Buckley and that one can find it on his 'Grace' album. If he didn't write it, then at the very least he covered it.

Geez, at least know what you're talking about before leaving a comment. Although, it certainly livens things up around here, if not back at the old Blurty haunt where one can find over three years worth of Gish diatribe. Oh yes, I was vigilant. I updated almost every day. Here, I barely remember I have the journal. Trying to be better at updating.

Pete Yorn is really summer music. Not for the gusty cold days like today. If I weren't supposed to be chained to my desk today, I would go out and take care of some business. But alas, I must attend to duties here. Like a caged animal. Just kidding. I have an office at least, not a cubicle.

Friends come and go, but zopiclone is forever. Charging up my camera battery, ready to take some new photos and post them. I haven't posted anything I've taken in over a month. Mostly lack of inspiration, but that will change. I want to catch leaves jsut as they unfurl. Morning skies with the promise of sunlight, but the reality of clouds. Tomorrow after all, is another day.

Later, beauties.
G.

Lose You - Pete Yorn

Labels: habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, music, neurotic, opinions, work, writing, zopiclone

my new writing machine
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
If I were the classier sort of girl, that typewriter up there would be an Underwood. I have to find some ribbons for it. It will be a bit like being a detective to find the right ones. I really have no idea how to start.

I've eaten about 5 chocolate Popsicles tonight. Something about the texture is really appealing to me every time I pass by the fridge. And now that I want to go to sleep, the guy who lives upstairs is testing out his bass equipment. I wonder if I have enough moxy to knock on the ceiling with the broom handle, as though I live in prewar New York City.

I've rediscovered the song Black by Pearl Jam. So, I've been falling asleep to the sad story every night.

I really am going to die alone and Buckley will chew my knuckles and wrists for food while he waits for family to realise it's been a couple of week since anyone has heard from me and come calling.

yup.
Whatever.

Labels: Gish, habits, home improvement, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, neurotic, opinions, Sylvia Plath, zopiclone

cleavage {18/365}
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

First, when I think of love, marriage, or the connection two people can experience in two second standing over a candy machine being introduced, I think of little photographs I would like to take. His kissing of the inside of my knee. Whoever he is, sleepy eyed and freshly awakened by my moments in bed on a sunny Saturday afternoon. His hands on my face. His hands in mine. Him. Whoever he is. That's what I think of, when I think of what it would like to be in love. I think I have it all wrong. But that's ok! Because I wouldn't want to spoil my near perfect record.

Some news drifted this way about a Hawksley Workman show, and I think I will attend because it's been awhile since he was my man. *grin* Sorry folks, only Matt Good and Hawksley fans would 'get' that last little bit.

I just realised how melancholy the song; Purple Rain is. Melancholy in that all I didn't know I had, when I had it. Shit, I hate when that happens.

I'm practically chain smoking over here, about to go lie down and try for some sleep, read a bit and listen to a movie in the background.

Let's see what is new with me: new fridge (landlord paid for, of course), new gym membership (because I really am too fat for words, at the moment), new webcam (which is so seedy but I couldn't resist the portability and the fact that I have never ever, ever been on a webcam before), and I guess that's it.

Ok, so here is the end of the entry. If you've read this far then you'll know that what you read below, is not my writing but that of Hawksley Workman. And if he were real and not an apparition, he is the sort I would fall in love with.

written by Hawksley:
the downy feathered chests of proud hawks sitting timeless in highway sidetrees. and this morning i was up so early. pissed outside under thestars. 5:30 am. i thought of winter ravens. that maybe they fly atnight. imperceptibly. between the dots of bright galaxies. and the batsmust be asleep through this. skied through the cold today. a pure blueconnection from me to the beyond. the horses wore blankets in immaculatefields. there's a natural order to things. harmony is the only option.did aristotle say the birds flew under the ice in winter? i'm incrediblypositive these days. i see possibilities. i see hope. it's been a funnywhile in the music biz, i must admit. over the last year or so i'verecorded a lot of music. my love and faith is restored every time i playlive these days... but the studio is testing me... my patience, myfaith. i feel the deck stacked against me... but i've never felt morefocused and fresh... i made a record... finished it before christmas.somewhere between then and now it was shelved in favour of starting over again from scratch. the record felt like a lover i grew apart from...when it was finally completed we looked like strangers to each other.kiss... it's been lovely... i need to be alone. i've been working with my brilliant neighbour and friend andre wahl... he's a real clever kid who, back in the autumn picked me up and dusted me off... so we're planning to start again for real this time... early march. as i said earlier... playing reminds me of the importance of connection... i feel blessed to be able to travel and play. the starling tour saved my life... again i thank all those who shared those nights with me... it was amassive reconnection with myself and the music. over the next while i'm going to play a few shows... get back in shape... i want my voice to soar (not a sore voice though) when i get back into the studio... so please i say... reach for what's positive... cherish love and peace...seek it in heart and mind... i have such a wonderful feeling for the year. may wisdom be yours too. h.

Labels: Apostle, cold, drama, fridge, habits, hawksley, hawksley workman, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, late night, layers, love, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, opinions, Prince, webcam, writing

OK first things first: Has anyone other than myself, heard Willie Nelson's version of Leonard Cohen's SMASH hit Hallelujah? Raise your hands, if you have heard this cover. Don't worry, no on can see, just raise your hand for a final count.

There are so many versions out there ought to be a cut off point somewhere along the line.

So, I officially here and now, declare the cut off point. No more covers of this song that is called Hallelujah by Leanord Cohen. The man has enough money at this point in his life, and even if you think it's the crowning glory on your newest record, he probably doesn't really care. The time to stop is now.

Don't get me wrong. I dig Nelson's (we're on a last name basis now) cover of the song. In fact, I would put it as my second favourite cover of this particular song, given there are about six different versions to be found ranging from Johnny Cash to Rufus Wainright. And those are only the versions that I personally know about.

Enough already.

Because in the grander scheme of things, hands down, the best version of this song is by Jeff Buckley and that is all there is to it. The end. But not really. There have been a lot of changes taking place in the industry they call 'music', when it encompasses so much more than that, these days.

For instance, a lot of the musicians and songwriters are taking power back by spending as much time in the sound booth to ensure what they hear in their heads, is what comes across when you purchase and listen to their art. In this particular cover tune, we have Ryan Adams to thank for the help Nelson recieved in the production of his new record, Song Bird .

I know you think you know what music is. But I have this theory about it. I think of music as an art form, inasmuch as painting, poetry, writing, or sculpting something with your bare hands. And although emulating someone else's sound could be the highest form of flattery.

Sometimes, it's just time to say ok, enough.
So...enough.

Love,
Ms. G

Labels: cover songs, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, Jeff Buckley, late night, music, music opinion, opinions, Ryan Adams, song