Exponential Detritus

Happy Valentine’s Day to one and all, from the girl who always has candy:Virtual Hersheys Kisses.

And following that, an excerpt from a strange story…

I dont know what it was anout Bowie that really spoke to the core of me, even more so than previous obsessions such as Pink Floyd or John Lennon or the vast array of punkdom. Maybe because it was more than music. Bowie wrote philosophical science fiction epics and passed them off as rock albums. He was odd and brilliant and full of strange light. His genre was a sort of postmodern vaudville, theatre and sound and sexual energy combined with tremendous energy and wit. And even though he was an elder statesman of sorts even then, to us in the Reaganoid wasteland that was 1988, he was an undiscovered country. Little rebellious, oddball teenage girls with literary pretentions and dragon rings, reading Dylan Thomas and watching Dr Who over the phone on Saturday nights. No hero more fit for us than this exotic creature with two toned eyes and engulfing aura, who was both outcast and idol, icon and iconoclast. Or, in his own words, “comedian, chameleon, Corinthian, and caricature.”

Random Bowie moments:

1991 – Senior year, we are assigned to audition freeform solo projects in Choir. Lizzie and decide to collaborate on a relatively odd and unknown Bowie song “The Man Who Sold The World,” with me taking the lead vocal and Lizzie on piano and harmony.

1994 – Kurt Cobain less than a week dead, I flip on the radio to hear Nirvana singing “my” Bowie song. Chills run down my spine.

1995 – At last we have a chance to see the Man live, in Phoenix, on tour with Nine Inch Nails, on the “Outside” tour. That story I shall relate in the next installment…

For now, Friday Five:

1. Are you superstitious?

Superstitious, Obsessive Compulsive, tomato,tomahto…

2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?

My parents gave up an oppurtunity to see a solar eclipse in Mexico because they thought the Rapture was coming, I swear to god.

3. Believer or not, what’s your favorite superstition?

A superstition prevalent in my own family’s tradition is that one must include money in any gift of a purse or wallet. Every year for Christmas, my sister and I would claim we needed a new wallet

4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?

Number of icons, necklaces and soforth that give me a sense of personal comfort.

5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?

I believe all forms of divination are akin to inkblots. Useful as a means of perspective rather than actual fortunetelling.

So far, the primary message of the movie is that poetesses write better poetry when men treat them like shit. The movie “Frida” seemed to imply similar things about women artists. Disturbing trend. Do you suppose there’s any truth to it? Is misery a prerequisite for great art? And if so, is it better to have a society full of happy individuals with no creative output, or one with a few unredeemably ravaged souls, but lots of beautiful forms of expression?

How’s that for a loaded question?

Whilst, a bit of a cliche as well, I suppose.

So no points for me today originalitywise…

This is part one in a series leading up to my actual review of the concert.

I feel that first I must expound upon the import of Bowieness upon the formation of my youth.

Bear with me as I was nostalgic and self importnat…



Part I: Ziggy Saves

When I was 14, my best friend lent me a copy of “Never Let Me Down” and rented the movie “Labyrinth” for me.

I lapped it up like cream set before a housecat and was dying for more. It was 1988 and Bowie’s catalogue had not yet been rereleased by Ryko, so the only way to find the bulk of it was to go trolling the aisles of Bookman’s for ancient original cassette releases.

Sophomore year, I found what I was after. Manna from heaven. The Holy Grail. I came to possess a copy of “The Rise and Fall Of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars.”Lying on my floor, feet up against the dresser, eyes closed, I imagined the story of the Starman rock saviour coming down to save a world that had only five years left to live. I was transfixed, I was transformed.

coming soon…why Bowie?

****************************************************************************************************************************************

Bowie as the nine of Pentacles

mythology

detritus

opinion

****************************************************************************************************************************************

Myth of the Day:

Why has David got odd looking eyes?

He has a condition called aniscoria, which is the medical term for unequal pupils. In 1962, aged 14, he got punched in the eye by his school friend George Underwood, during an argument over a girl named Carol Goldsmith. George’s knuckle caught David’s eye and dislodged something. David was admitted to Farnborough Hospital, where it was found that the sphincter muscles in his left eye were damaged and he underwent two eye operations. He has an enlarged pupil that remains permanently open, giving the effect of different coloured eyes. David and George are to this day still life-long friends.

George played in early Bowie groups and eventually became a commercial artist. He was involved in the design of the album sleeves for Hunky Dory (1971), The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars (1972) albums/posters/flyers, graphics for The 1980 Floor Show and The Man Who Fell To Earth book cover.

Obviously, there will be a Bowie review shortly, but until then I shall address more important things, such as…
How To Swear In Five Celtic Language Variants:

Scottish Gaelic
Irish Gaelic
Welsh
Breton
Manx Gaelic

Also, how to swear in Trainspottingese…
And in Latin!

There’s brain candy for thwarted English Majors atJollyroger.com.

All manner of classical literary and philosophical geekdom resides in this “portal of the open source online renaissance.” Still, there’s always going to be a bad egg or two. For example, in the Greek Mythology forum, somebody posted “I need pictures of Uranus for my project, does anyone know where to find them?” to which there were several tasteful replies of “$%&# you” because they don’t actively swear at jollyroger.com, apparently.

But seriously, name your major literary figure and there’s bound to be a forum for them on the site. Plus they take poetry and digital photography submissions and soforth. The web is truly doing its part to destupefy the unwashed lethargic masses these days, methinks.

If you’re not so literarily minded at the moment, though, check out the guide to swearing in multiple gaelic dialects…

John Lydon aka Johnny Rotten:punk iconoclast, or big f&$*ing baby?

A postmortem shall appear whence I’ve had a chance to fully digest it all.

But in a nutshell, I saw the Reality tour and it was a quasireligious experience, to say the least.

For now, a Friday Five, even though it’s cheesy and you guys almost never answer them…

1. What’s the most daring thing you’ve ever done? Natural childbirth…top that if you can…

2. What one thing would you like to try that your mother/friend/significant other would never approve of? Absinthe. Or possibly a very unnatural hair color.

3. On a scale of 1-10, what’s your risk factor? (1=never take risks, 10=it’s a lifestyle) Maybe a 5? Want to take risks, but have children to think of

4. What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you as a result of being bold/risky? Renewed a friendship through frank disclosure.

5. … and what’s the worst? Near fatal embarrassment.