The Melody Remains the Same?, and musings on Homo sapiens of the male species...

Sunday morning talk story:

Lounging in my flat listening to a remix of Rolling Stones w/Bossa Nova beats- SWEET stuff. I love how music brings one back to a specific place and time. This mix brings me back to Istanbul 4 years when I was living there temporarily and focusing on yoga classes. So I had just left Hawaii and my boyfriend and my cat. It was time to exit the relationship, yet so difficult to sever relations, as with all my relationships. I moved to Hawaii and he to New Jersey... Likely I got the better end of the deal... I kid, I kid, and I'm sure he is reading this, as we always seem to float back to one another when in the same city at the same time. 

So I was living in Ortakoy at my friend Ebam's. It was a long journey to get to yoga class each morning, and the scorching summer heat didn't help things any. Dutifully I would don my garb every morning and trek down the steep hill to catch the first of two buses that would drop me off at the Yoga Shala in Nisantasi. So I would put on my headphones to avoid dealing head-on with possible stares/reactions I would receive. I always toned down my 'look' with something loose of course, but still... the looks continued. 

Now, I had something like 40 days of continuous music on my iPod, as I was the girlfriend of a DJ for years so there was no want for a lack of choice of music to listen to. But 'Bossa & Stones' were the choice tracks for the times- 'Fool to Cry' being an especially delicious remix...Over and over again. To this day I likely remember every detail, every thought, every feeling from that time. It is for this reason that I write as well. This thing, life, it is precious and necessitates documentation of some sort- in my mind anyway. This is the true art of ethnography. My words are my personal time capsule to my events deemed important to remember. 

Another relationship necessitated listening to 'G Love' & 'Cake' constantly. Yet another was Maxi Priest. And then that one guy, it was 'Supreme Beings of Love' that I listened to. The Turkish death metal musician... what did I listen to? I can't remember... Oh yea, Burhan Ocal & the Trakya All Stars. The Barry White phase, that was a sweet loss... Groove Armada, another lovely memory. 

Currently enjoying the Bossa & Stones revisit this morning, and thinking I'll have to drop 'him' an email this week & catch up on our separate lives. Also thinking about the Turkish Airlines direct flight from Istanbul to New York City leg of my journey en route back to Hawaii next summer... Hmmm. Why is he the only person I know not tech savvy enough to have a Skype account? 

But I digress... back to my headspace this beautiful Fertile Crescent kinda morning: Music... The fog has lifted, creating a higher ceiling leaving me more space to breathe it seems. I should be listening to Chaka Khan, as that has been the theme this week ('One Night in Tunisia' live track featuring Chaka Khan with Herbie Hancock & Stanley Clarke just rocking it at the Roxy years back). Now, there's an "Every Woman" for sure. Damn that girl. She's my heroine. The era of her & Rufus & Herbie Hancock & Stanley Clarke & Miles Davis, etc... sultry music that just slowly rocks your body into a rhythmic pulse of good vibes. 

A recent hiccup this week, in the form of my iPad insisting on having a mind of its own and somehow sending an email without my express permission... (don't you just HATE it when that happens), prompted me to write this entry. I lost track of my thoughts and started writing a blog entry, instead of keeping with the theme of the email... 

I was reminded of how music from a region has a lot to do with cultural relativism. For example, extreme northerners have a fascination with dark, heavy death metal. Is it due to the months of extreme cold and darkness? What led me to this thought was doing a search of what the acronym COB stood for. First I found (mistakenly) 'College of Bahamas', and then (mistakenly) 'Children of Boredom'- a black Finnish death metal band. Now, this amused me so I listened in. Totally distracted from my initial search at this time now. I related this music & region, to what I was involved in back home in Hawaii. Maui's underground dance scene, in its inception back in the 90's was where it began for me. First my fascination with DJ's, and then the music that I learned to love separately. The love of music stemmed from the feelings it brought- to my mind and body. The release of logical thought. The booming bass (remember, it's all about the bass); the nocturnal parties underneath the full moonlight; the intimate, primal locations of the soirees inside caves, on the beach, on high bluffs overlooking the beach; the sensory perception of all breathing things in its most highest form of goodness; the close community of individuals all brought together by a communal love of life & music. Inhibitions had no dignity at these gatherings- a feeling all too familiar in today's greater society. I learned so much from embracing these experiences. 

So, this is the abrupt end of this chapter. Time to seize the day. I leave you all while listening to... "I'm Every Woman'" w/Chaka Khan. The music fits the man, as it always does because The Melody Remain the Same?

For your listening pleasure:

Chaka: A Night in Tunisia


Bossa & Stones: Fool to Cry

Supreme Beings of Leisure: Under the Gun

Chaka Khan: I'm Every Woman


Eyes Wide Shut remixed with my hazy musings on French Romanticism

A morning with a low cover of moist mist blanketing the city enveloping its denizens, while coquettishly enticing me to remain underneath the warmth of my Canadian goose down sleeping bag. It is here, nestled in the warmth of my thoughts, that I build castles in the air.

 It's the kind of morning that takes me back to my jungle- sans chill. This morning, though, I shun that island paradise. In lieu, I desire to travel outside my requisite comfort zone to a morbidly fantastical land conjuring up phantasmal imaginings. What has triggered this fetish? I soak up the dreary, dreamy landscape from my balcony window- this morning's instigator and stimulant.

Through the diaphanous trance of fog, or perhaps haze a more apropos term as I watch rising coal smoke haphazardly dancing in formless shapes from the rooftop army of apartments standing at attention that partially invade my view of a quiet forest refuge in the near distance. Little toy soldiers of black smoke wafting up to the heavens and dissipating, exhausted of their tour of duty keeping apartment dwellers cozy and warm throughout their night watch. In their wake of destruction, though, residuals find refuge lodging deep inside my lungs. It is this feeling of congestion that triggers my morning predilection to be a fringe dweller looking into some delusive scene of yore.

My body compass innately points to coordinates: Latitude Longitude: 48° 51' 44'' North 2° 21' 3'' East 
The setting: The Industrial Revolution of Baudelaire's existence- my fantasia, or fool's paradise... I must excogitate a phantasmagorical identity for the journey into flesh, fantasy & soporific libations. Perhaps an androgynous persona would be most behooving. All the better to straddle the best of both worlds.

Astride the magic carpet floating atop the pillowy chiffon mist I travel thru time. Somehow I end up at a  rickety square table of dark mahogany stained with forgotten memories of the few so inclined to take on such suffering with compatriots akin to the infamous Club of Assassins, where Baudelaire & Gautier took refuge, under the character "Dr. Moreau" from their world rife with the rising Bourgeoise that were steadily multiplying from the successes (?) of the Industrial Revolution.  I seek shelter in the back of the smoke-filled room. Through the haze I focus on the cast of characters.

They reek of last evenings' mischief,  criminal congress, and other such lascivious behaviors that accompany such folly, or wisdom- however you wish to interpret. All the while awaiting the next evenings encounters while idling away daytime drudgery by instead investigating such pleasures as the city's art galleries, the flourishing cafes, the architectural monuments to humanity, etc.

Enough waxing poetic about my story. I tire now of this. It's time to recess into the depths of my dark consciousness and, alas, put down the keyboard to end my story in my own private world. Regalia to finish off my story?

Perhaps I'll feel so inclined at a later date to divulge the outcome...

Henri Matisse's portrait of Baudelaire, a Parisian dandy...


Fertile Crescent Sagittarius Star

Start of an evolution of an evening

My Turkish harem birthday dinner par-tay!

supporting the local talent

the observed getting to observe

our motley crew wondering which way to the beer garden

"beer here", uhhh I mean... tea. Tea for me!

adorable kids
happy to have a day pass outta Petek...

the observed observing

Go Gaziantepspor

motley crew trotting off to nearest watering hole


a great improvement to the previous dive bar we wandered into...

can't go wrong with Efes...

a real jazz club!

snow even fell down from the ceiling. Oh, and lazers... 

partaking of the local customs to feel localized

pretty awesome shot

Lee with not a care in the world

our resident superstar. The kids would not leave the man alone at the game

funky-ass bar we found. Definitely on the radar for the rest of the journey

Steve our resident Secret Serviceman/bodyguard/rockstar having a go

newlyweds! Awwww


Turkey trotting: Hatay/Antakya (ancient Antioch)

kitty kat basking in sun

Antakya on brilliant display

St. Paul's veiled in secrecy


a glimpse into antiquity

Mary M. hung out here

Rachael off roading

Sunday morning bizarre bazaar

Rachael on the go

attention to detail

something about it caught my eye

my what a tangled web we weave

not the most beautiful of waterways... but still made for a lovely Sunday afternoon stroll
Rachael & I on an odyssey to Hatay one weekend...

Fairy Far Out Tale. Part I

Just a little something I've been working on...

Fairy Far out Tale: Fairly AWESOME Tail...

Once upon a time there was a princess who had to travel to a far away land from her jungle castle that floated in the middle of a deep blue ocean haven. Her passion for the unknown brought her to this new land, and she was happy. One day the people of this land got mad at their ruler and rose up against him and his evil wife. He eventually fled the land, but not before causing much harm to his people, and to people the princess knew well. Things got so bad that the princess had to flee and return to her island princess home. She was sad, but she accepted this. 

The princess soon tired of her island paradise and started off agin on another journey that brought her to another strangely exotic & intoxicating land, not so very far away from the land of unrest. To a place she knew she would always return. Some time ago she ventured to this land that straddles Europe & Asia & knew she would one day find her way back to it. She temporarily found herself here on occasion, and even this land starred in her dreams from time to time. She was really happy in her new surroundings, and with her friends here. Something was missing though that she did not yet know herself. She is a clever girl mind you but sometimes one just overlooks the obvious. 

The princess, the daughter of her father, a wise sage king who would not be king except of his own household, and her mother, the rose of her fathers garden and center of his universe.  His universe weighed him down with the intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the universe for he was always trying to associate mathematical equations with said universal knowledge- something which has fairly religiously been set aside as a task for the gods & goddesses in the heavens above. 

In having access to this all, the princess grew up, amongst her kinfolk, as an inquisitive sort and alone with her thoughts. When a child, her days were filled with wonder with both the physical and metaphysical world. The daily grind seemed to just gloss over. Her sage father instilled her with the confidence to know she would be someone of virtue able to making her own path in life as she traipsed along in the way an intrepid traveler will wander into the unknown will unabated enthusiasm. Said sage father also instilled in her a fierce independence which effectively aided the princess from feeling that she needed to rely on someone else to achieve her happiness- for he was wise. He taught her to love herself first before any frog-prince entered the picture, vying for her affections. 

Many frog princes tried to have their say, as well as their way, with the princess, but she could not be bothered with mere mortals for  long periods of time, at the time. She experienced such sensual pleasures with each new experience, but some thing always kept a part of her private, and no false prince managed to truly escape through that door & into her wonderland that existed body & mind & soul. 


Bayram 2011 Part II: Turkish photo odyssey

Istanbul bloody beautiful sunrise

Osmaniye metro station, Istanbul

...And she's climbing a stairway to... 

Istiklal Caddesi charm


Cannakale stud

Cannakale by night

feline fine in the sunshine at kitty kat cafe. Hmmm wonder what's on the menu...

Aegean Island bound

my not-so-secret admirer for the afternoon
1st sighting of Bozcaada



beautiful wasteland


Bozcaada street gang

blast off

antiquity with a modern flair

past life

nowhere in particular
hidden treasure

inlaid treasures

from higher ground

fading memoirs

couldn't resist: my favorite WMD

da bush needs a trim

nocturnal headquarters


please have a seat & proceed to just relax & space out into the distance

sleepy harbor

just another typical night we're settling into...

sassy puddy cat

Ceyda on her ride


Ceyda merging into the artistic scenery at our #2 headquarters 


Ezine- famous for its delicious cheese

Ezine bus station- back on the bus heading outta here for next destination on my Bayram 2011 Odyssey: Izmir!