-Prince
me.today.vibe:EternalSunshineoftheSpotlessMind.for real. And da kine. Always da kine.
I've been meaning to comment of the floral bouquets wafting through the air in the early mornings here when I'm power-walking or running around the building complex here. Lockdown restrictions have been lifted somewhat recently (since Ramadan started) yet I've been lingering around my health den, my cocoon of cleanliness so to speak. If I'm being honest, as a host of you know, I'm not the most organized of housekeepers... And it's perfectly fucking fine...
So you know... yes, the flowers... Each day I've gotten into the routine of starting out on my 1st lap just getting into my breath, trying to establish consistency: deep inhalation.hold.controlled, constant exhalation. Over and over. Let's get all that shit outta our lungs, right? Am I right??? [I call this covid-19 protection. That's right, I drank THAT koolaid and I wanna believe. An, unrelated, unconfirmed coronavirus claim I recently said that smoking MAY protect you from the virus... Weird. Wouldn't that be a strange conundrum...]
Flowers. Yes. So I sense this aromatic sensory sweetness. Yes, it's sweet. Because it's fleeting. And you have to work for it. That is the challenge here: finding the beauty where you can- either externally or internally. Da kine. Right?
By the 2nd lap there is a flower in my pony tail (I'm thinking to bring back the term 'pig tails' this season...) or my right ear. Because, Hawai`i & shit. I do miss the shit outta Hawai`i. I try to live Hawai`i as much as possible here. Everywhere.
How can someone greet a flower with a grimace? Someone can't.
[side note here, I just finished reading Tom Robbins' Villa Incognito & there is a knock-knock joke that frequents some chapters:
knock-knock
who's there?
It's me. Himself
...I'm not entirely sure why I brought that to attention. I believe it was the 'someone' & the 'himself' association. I could be wrong though].
So, books. I've got a lot of 'em. I've plowed through many of 'em. I'm quite impressed with myself. Kinda like braggadocio rights I give to myself. This reflexive instinct, however misguided, puts me into another category as a compulsive book collector.
You see, I can't turn away a free book. I carry them all around the world with me. Different bookshelves in different countries they sit. Awaiting that one day, what might never arrive, for me to pick it up, look at the flyer or postcard or museum ticket, or receipt of something incurred while traveling... Next in the process is to read the back cover. Last, delve into it.
I picked up a VERY eclectic selection when I lived in Yosemite. Nothing but sweet fucking memories of pure goodness working that gig. What a trip it was. The fucking Sierra Nevada!!! Anyway, Parkies read it all. I mean, Tom Robbins? I poured through his quiver 30 years ago while living in the jungle on Maui doing that thing that one does living in the jungle... Yes, it's true. All of it.
While I'm pondering books, I recently read some unpublished work by a colleague. Short stories is a 'newish' genre I've delved into. The result? I enjoy them. There is something to the structure, or how you need to structure your mind, energy, psyche for short-story enjoyment. I enjoy the challenge, the science of it. My brain digs the chemicals it produces. So does my body. I mean, I work hard to produce the right chemicals. Tirelessly.
So the stories got me to thinking about connections. While I couldn't find a connection between all the stories, I sensed that there was. I just didn't know what it was yet. I was rewarded in the end to find that indeed a ribbon was weaved through the stories, traveling to-fro contemporaneously or sequentially. Yea, my brain digs these treasure hunts; sifting through the sands to get the satisfaction of discovering the jeweled nuggets.
OH OH OH you guys. You NEED to listen to this podcast: Prince: The Story of 1999.
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/prince-the-story-of-1999/id1488187430
Sheer fucking genius. The Prince Foundation does an excellent job of presenting these intimate grains of sand of Prince's vast desert he surrounded himself with: Deserts of art, music, friendship, experiences. Each grain goes through this hourglass of information learned about his sheer fucking genius.
The part about working with his favorite studio sound engineer, Peggy, to working with Lisa (and her interviews are so raw and descriptive) to Desmond describing when their band opened up for the Rolling Stones, which ended up a total disaster. It's said that the Stones' fans were not ready for Prince's 'show', and things got ugly.
Even if you're not into Prince, the podcast is well produced.
Peace. A purple protective perspective piece of peace to you all
Some projects as of late...
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