Summer has a weird way of turning things upside down. More than Mercury in retrograde, it bungles the mind, messing with the matter in the head. Maybe it’s the sun – that glorious, vicious, life-giving orb – pulsating and pulling us to it, never quite letting us go, keeping us in orbit, bound forever, circling in the slightest parabolic curve. It brings us back to the past, much as it pushes us ahead. Like a myth, we take our places in the firmament.
COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT I SAY I DON’T WANT THAT, BUT WHAT IF I DO? ‘CAUSE CRUELTY WINS IN THE MOVIES I’VE GOT A HUNDRED THROWN-OUT SPEECHES I ALMOST SAID TO YOU
EASY THEY COME, EASY THEY GO I JUMP FROM THE TRAIN, I RIDE OFF ALONE I NEVER GREW UP, IT’S GETTING SO OLD HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
Some of us suit up, preparing for battle. Better to go out fighting than waiting to win. A victory of being right is always a valediction of some sort, because who could put up with that for too long? But we won’t give up that easily. The fight rages because the heart knows no reason. Summer fuels the madness. And a summer moon… well, who has a chance? We will ride out in the night…
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER I’VE BEEN THE PREY WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
DARK SIDE, I SEARCH FOR YOUR DARK SIDE BUT WHAT IF I’M ALRIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT HERE? AND I CUT OFF MY NOSE JUST TO SPITE MY FACE THEN I HATE MY REFLECTION FOR YEARS AND YEARS
We build our castle, and I make it as pretty as possible. A spear-studded iron barricade of youth, rusted and entwined with a climbing hydrangea. A glass windowpane, unbroken, and impossible to put together again if it were any other way. Memory rides on the breeze. On humid nights, the old Ko House organ releases scents and molecules from a lifetime ago, when we’d peek around their banister to see if the adults were still by the fire at Christmas. It still carries its song, music like scent, senses placing us back in our childhood. The summer stickiness pulls me back there then jerks me back to the present.
I WAKE IN THE NIGHT, I PACE LIKE A GHOST THE ROOM IS ON FIRE, INVISIBLE SMOKE AND ALL OF MY HEROES DIE ALL ALONE HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER, I’VE BEEN THE PREY SCREAMING, WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
These floors of wood once felt so solid, once felt so secure. They creak now, a bit battered, a bit worn, even a little warped. They’ve seen the seasons, they’ve paced the years. Crumbling into their waves, my body is not what it used to be. It creaks now too. It buckles and cracks and brings pain. It goes down, brittle shell meeting splintered resistance. This will not hold you like the earth. No arms will embrace you. Nothing will give you what you want. Nothing will give you what you need.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
‘CAUSE THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH CAN YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME? THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
A summer fairytale. Why would we ever trust the words of a fairy? And why ever in the summer, of all available points of time? That sun is on the rise. That heat is waiting to ascend. That army is ready to assemble. One crisp white shirt. One suit striped of pin. One tie of silk and elegance. Black belt in leather. A pair of shoes tipped with wings. Armor isn’t just steel and metal mesh. Looks can kill.
ALL THE KING’S HORSES, ALL THE KING’S MEN COULDN’T PUT ME TOGETHER AGAIN ‘CAUSE ALL OF MY ENEMIES STARTED OUT FRIENDS HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER I’VE BEEN THE PREY WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
The war has always been within. Storms may circle, shots may strike, but the battle for your soul can only be won, or lost, by you. That’s the most difficult battle of all. Usually it’s impossible. Have you ever tried playing chess against yourself? Or any game for that matter. We are our own worst enemies. We know our weaknesses, we know our strengths, we know just where to strike to pierce the most vulnerable piece of heart. We know and so we guard against it, but in doing so we cut off all other aid or support. A self-fulfilling summer prophecy, cut with shards of sunlight and salty sea water.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME) WHO COULD STAY? WHO COULD STAY? WHO COULD STAY? YOU COULD STAY YOU COULD STAY YOU…
What kind of a fucked-up world are we living in that people are complaining about Nick Jonas and his body? These photos may reveal that’s not in the impossibly-killer shape he was in a couple of years ago, but if anyone thinks that kind of perfection is easy to attain, much less maintain, they are too dumb to read this. Personally, I like the supposed Dad bod on display here – this is something I can make happen this very summer. And if it’s an indication that Mr. Jonas has found a comfort and joy in wedded bliss, well, no one should find fault with that. I feel happier when other people are happy too. Good for him.
Hunky goodness times two, in the forms of Tom Daley and Nile Wilson. Both have been featured as Hunks of the Day: (see Mr. Daley’s here and Mr. Wilson’s here). But they both have been in other skin-baring posts too, and I’m going to leave that to you and the ‘Search’ feature to see what treasure trails are buried in the archives below. Seek and ye shall find…
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
I suppose I should be grateful that the worst songs from Madonna’s ‘Madame X’ album are getting thrown out here first, not unlike the way the roll-out happened earlier this year. It will make the cuts to come that much sweeter. This is the dour ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ and the sooner it’s finished, the better. I like the sonics of it but the lyrics are messy and the melody mostly misses. Almost every Madonna album has a head-scratching clunker. (Even ‘Like A Prayer‘ had ‘Act of Contrition‘.) This is the one for the otherwise-excellent ‘Madame X’ opus.
I WILL BE GAY, IF THE GAY ARE BURNED I’LL BE AFRICA, IF AFRICA IS SHUT DOWN I WILL BE POOR, IF THE POOR ARE HUMILIATED I’LL BE A CHILD, IF THE CHILDREN ARE EXPLOITED
I KNOW WHAT I AM AND I KNOW WHAT I’M NOT
Despite my non-enthusiasm for the song, I’m interested in seeing what Madonna does with this for her Madame X Tour. It’s screaming for drama, and nobody does drama better than Madonna. It may also grow on me. I was playing the album while lounging by the pool and this one was surprisingly effective. Maybe it was the sun and mental meanderings of Portugal. Maybe it was the tequila.
I’LL BE ISLAM, IF ISLAM IS HATED I’LL BE ISRAEL, IF THEY’RE INCARCERATED I’LL BE NATIVE INDIAN, IF THE INDIAN HAS BEEN TAKEN AND I’LL BE A WOMAN, IF SHE’S RAPED AND HER HEART IS BREAKING
I KNOW WHAT I AM (GOD KNOWS WHAT I AM) AND I KNOW WHAT I’M NOT (AND HE KNOWS WHAT I’M NOT) DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE? (MM) WILL WE KNOW WHEN TO STOP?
SONG #153: ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ – Summer 2019
You won’t catch me in Saratoga until the track season is done. They got off to an earlier start this year, but we managed to sneak in a dinner at 15 Church before our little sabbatical from the August Place to Be. We also tried out Hamlet & Ghost for a pre-dinner cocktail, and I’d highly recommend it if you’re looking for a carefully-curated cocktail selection (and the careful measurements and high-cost that go with along with it).
I love a cocktail that you can drink with your eyes beforehand, so feast upon these and stop by Hamlet & Ghost if you’re strong enough to brave the August crowds. We’ll be back in September.
Due to a new work schedule, I’ve had an extra hour or two each morning before I’m scheduled at the office, and it’s been a happy reminder of how much I missed being up in the morning (and how much I can actually get done in the early hours, such as writing this post). As much as I love music, there’s something equally riveting about the morning silence. Actually, change that: morning has its own music, the world just needs to be very quiet to hear it.
A bouquet of pink chrysanthemums (daisies, for all intents and purposes) stands in an old-fashioned vase, blinking sleepily in the morning haze.
Water vapor rises from the pool, the welcome coolness relief from a string of hot days.
And then the song: a gentle trilling of bird chirps, the call of a distant insect, the pitter-patter of squirrel feet on the roof. Muffled, moving, and contemplative, it’s a music that matches the mist of morning, before the veil of the day gets lifted and folded gently into sun-soaked oblivion.
How sad – we are almost at the end of July! Where did it all go? Personally, I’m not totally unhappy to see it go – tomorrow marks the last day of this terribly-wretched bout of Mercury in retrograde. Lots of crazy shit happened during this one – not the least of which was me almost burning down the kitchen… but that’s another story that need not be told so soon after the fact. Peruse the links below – I’ve included a few extras because this is going to be a light day on the blog. It’s summer. Go out and get it.
The main event of the week was this Pier 1 Imports pillow debacle. Customer service is dead. So are all the items that Pier 1 puts in redline status.
When throwing a Flower Party, the featured fragrance should be, well, floral, no matter how non-groundbreaking that may be. At the very least, the invitations should have a floral scent to them. Enter Balenciaga’s sumptuously flowery ‘Florabotanica’ -which is what I used when crafting summer invitations earlier this season.
Balenciaga created a pair of fine florals a couple of years ago, and Florabotanica spoke to me because it had a green freshness that worked to temper the sweetness of its floral focus. The literature for this fragrance is as over-the-top as the scent itself, so of course I adore it:
The astonishing FLORABOTANICA came to life in a four-hand score. The two composers are Olivier Polge and Jean-Christophe Hearault. These two internationally renowned noses have written a music of scents that play on two major accords, like a plant world within a world. The Vetiver, Amber and Caladium Leaf accord to create a resonance of mossy and mysterious dark wood. And the Rose, Carnation and Mint accord like an exhilarating note with juvenile freshness. It should be specified that we are not talking about those extremely well-known roses from the Vulgaris Rosacea family. It is a hybrid rose born of the olfactory imagination of our two orchestrators. We cannot reveal all the secrets of these two floral, alchemists, but the Experimental Rose finds its origins in opulent Turkey. To give it a fairytale air, the two perfumers have added a formula of psychosensory plants, making it particularly enchanting. This Experimental Rose has the power to endlessly charm.
This isn’t one for everyday wear in my world – it’s too potent and dramatic. (And if I’m saying that, take heed.) But it is a beauty, one that opens up like its proverbial rose inspiration, and dries down to a slightly more delicate form. It is definitely floral as fuck, and shot through with enough greenhouse dreaminess to entwine the wearer with wreaths and tendrils of jungle sweetness. A guaranteed precursor of a summer swoon to those brave enough to try it on.
Sometimes costume gimmicks create themselves, as was the case with this semi-home-crafted fabric-glued party ensemble that had me adhering silk flowers to a watercolor robe, only to have them slowly fall off one by one during the entire duration of a party. It worked out well enough, and I promised that something magical would happen when the last flower fell. It’s good to build anticipation, even without a payoff, as we never did reach the final flower. A bit of performance art, that lasted but a day, and all the more beautiful because of it. Hey, you gotta have a gimmick, and I’m no good at bumping it with a trumpet, so falling flowers it is.
Are you the kind of person who cuts all the pancakes before you start eating them, or do you cut one bite at a time? In my life, I’ve mostly been the former.
