Some Songs That Make Me Feel Good!

If I’m ever feeling a bit flat, listening to one or two of these usually puts a wee spark in my eyes. Limited List of course, otherwise this will turn into a book. I am completely missing out my child hood obsession with 1950’s music (Poison Ivy, Duke of Earl!) and my fondness for certain strands of Country Music.

My Sharona,

The Knack.

This came out when I was around 7 and I loved it. Fortunately I didn’t understand what he was saying when he desperately crooned “I always get it up for the touch of the younger kind”. The rumour is that the singer went to a party with his girlfriend and she bought along her much younger friend (about 17).

The singer decided this was much more his speed, dropped his girlfriend and took up with the teenager. Thus inspired, he then wrote My Sharona. I particularly like hamming it up at the end when you imagine all his whining is the sound of him finally coming.

It Must Be Love

Madness

From the opening plinkity plink of the piano leading into the casual English accented delivery, this song had my heart. I was 10 years old and living in Whangamata. Mum’s youngest brother had just died (he had just turned 13) and my whole life had been turned inside out. Again. I loved the sound of the piano, the violin, the sweetness and sadness of this ‘love song’. When I eventually saw the video I was a bit shocked,  but in the context of my own life it made sense. Madness was the first tape I bought with my own pocket money. I played it over and over again. Other songs that had a great impression on me around that time were ‘Fascination’ by Human League,  ‘Fade to Grey’ by Visage, ‘I love Rock n Roll’ by Joan Jett, ‘Little Red Corvette’ by Prince, and of course ‘Bright Eyes’ by Bonnie Tyler.

Piece of My Heart

Janis Joplin.

The pain, the angst, the passion. I was about 15 when I fell for Janis and her troubles.

Another Girl, Another Planet,

 The Only Ones.

This also came out during my child hood, but I didn’t hear it till I was a teenager. The sex of the singer was mysterious to me, it could have been a boy or a girl. Particularly like the line ‘you get under my skin, I don’t find it irritating, you always play to win, I’m gonna need rehabilitating …”

This song was popularised (in my mind) by the movie ‘Different for Girls’ (1996). A hot manly English bloke ends up falling in love with an old school friend. The ‘catch’? The old chum is now a woman, a post operative transsexual. Definitely want that sound track if I could find it.

Rip Off

T-Rex

When I was 15 I was obsessed with T Rex and Kate Bush. This love has never left me, and though it’s hard to choose one T Rex song, I picked this because it never used to do much for me, and then one day I was listening to it again and felt like I was under some kind of spell. Not keen on the excessive sax at the end of the song, but hey, it’s worth it to hear Bolan singing about a girl in man skin pants.

Suspended In Gaffa

Kate Bush

As with T Rex, there are the songs everyone knows, and Kate will always be remembered for Wuthering Heights and Babooshka. I was a little scared of Kate when I was eight, the year Wuthering Heights hit. As with T Rex, there were songs I passed over without much consideration and Gaffa  was of them… “suddenly my feet are feet of mud/it all goes slo-mo … I don’t know why I’m crying … am I suspended in gaffa? Not ‘til I’m ready for you, not ‘til I’m ready for you … can I have it all?”

I find this song really energising and cathartic. She also looks hot and somewhat bondage orientated in the video (not known until I was all grown up of course).

Touch Myself

The Divynls -    

I was always trying to encourage people to masturbate more, especially when I was a Christian. I don’t mean that I gave sermons on it, or that I would arrive at a fellow believer’s house waving a vibrator instead of a bible.  Sometimes I’d just offer my opinion on it, that I really couldn’t imagine Jesus minding if someone released a bit of tension, especially if they were celibate. In addition to liking the fact that the song was about getting off with yourself, I loved the way the song sounded. She could have sung anything and it would have sounded good.

Crucify
Tori Amos
This came out the year I left church. Perfect.

Hey

The Pixies

This song has the power to still thrill me right to the soul and clit, it’s one that’s best sung in the car where no one can hear you screaming;

 “UGNGH! Said the lay-dee to the man she uh-dored and the whore’s like a choir, ugngh ughgh all NIGHT – and Mary aint you tired of THIS UGNGH?! Thatssss the souuuuund that the MOTHER MAKES WHEN THE BABY BREAKS!!!”

and you’re  screaming this in the traffic and it feels like part of you is breaking out, born, bloody, alive.

I first heard this when I was around 20; I lent a massive and heavy load of records from the impossibly cool Jacinda Klouens. We were on a pre-graphic design course and I was still a Christian. We went to gigs together and she introduced me to Cornelius Stone since I was into cartooning.

Going to 61 Mt Eden Rd felt like coming home. It eventually was home as I ‘put my name down’ for when the  Frank Zappa girl moved out of her huge room. I loved that flat; it was a minimalist’s nightmare. As you walked down a short dark hall way you were confronted by the fact that every centimetre of wall was covered in pictures. Photos, illustrations from old books, slogans, posters, all overlapping.  Even after living there for three years I would still go into some kind of ‘wall trance’, noticing something I hadn’t seen before. One morning I was in one such trance as I walked down the steep stairway and slipped on the threadbare carpet.

I was carrying a cup of tea in my right hand and remember seeing it flying up as I crumpled down, falling towards the window at the bottom of the stairs.  Because this was happening in  slow motion I had time to put my hand out into the window instead of my face. I have a strange deep scar on the meaty bit of my thumb, narrowly missed a major artery according to the sadistic and cold eyed male nurse that flapped open the wound and rubbed it clean.

Without a loan of Jacinda’s records, I might not have improved my musical tastes beyond my obsession with the 60’s and 70’s, and I certainly wouldn’t have ended up flatting at 61 Mt Eden Rd.

Sheila Take A Bow

The Smiths

I was a late comer regarding The Smiths. I refused to listen to them at high school as I assumed they were sort of limp and depressing. It wasn’t until I was around 21 that I ended up with a ‘best of’ tape. I’d finally left my stinky church and was deeply depressed.  I listened to this tape, and Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds ‘Tender Prey’ almost non-stop. I side stepped suicide with the Mercy Seat or Morrissey’s reminder “Is it wrong not to always be glad?”. Of course there are many Smiths songs that always make me feel good, but this one still packs the same note of hope into my heart now as it did when I once contemplated hanging myself.

John, I'm Only Dancing

David Bowie

Of course there are too many good Bowie songs, but there's something so delicious and fun about this one. I feel super camp and happy singing along to this one.

This is the Day

The The

Well. Just listen to it. How could this not cheer you up? It's the best sort of 80's pop you will ever hear. Sort of real, sad, sarcastic and yet so uplifting. THIS IS THE DAY YOUR LIFE WILL SURELY CHANGE. I got the tape 'Infected' but only ever listened to this song (kept rewinding and rewinding it and wrecked it).

Chris Knox

And I will Cry (From ‘Seizure’).

 I was so excited when I bought ‘Seizure’.  I’d wanted it for ages and finally got it from the second hand record shop. ‘They’ tore down that block of shops and built The Sky Tower.  There were three of my favourite shops along that stretch, antiques, records and a really good op shop.  I nearly cried the day I saw it all demolished, and I am not exaggerating. It felt like a hole was ripped inside me. I remember saying to people ‘what are they doing? Why? Aren’t those heritage buildings?’ but no one seemed to know.

I knew that I would never be as edgy in my tastes as some of my friends, that I would not pass any kind of alternative music test, but to know and appreciate the tender and brutal beauty of Knox ‘s talents felt good enough for me.

The Ship Song

Nick Cave

So much Nick, so little time. Nick of time. Anyway, from the first moment I heard this song I knew it would always be mine.

 There are too many songs to list. I knew this would happen. How can I leave out ‘Creep’ by Radiohead, or ‘Lithium’ by Nirvana?  And what of all the songs that have saved me and changed my brain chemistry in the last year? The way felt when I heard Tom Lark singing ‘All night long’? How a song like “I’m afraid of Everyone” by The National has the power to paralyse me?

Yes, it would take a book, a book that never ends. If in doubt, get music.

This is the day, your life will surely change ...

Jaime Lannistar! Oh My God! Osho Meditation again.

In case you were not aware of it, I am happily addicted to 'Game of Thrones'. If you are also of this slack jawed and wide eyed persuasion then you've already seen the third episode of the third season. If you haven't, then who am I to give the game away? I am the person who keeps thinking JAIME LANNISTER'S HAND!!!

I have to admit I'm a bit lost as to what's going on with the actual war and all the subterfuge, it's the passion and human vulnerability that has me by the ovaries.
I visited The Painter and Miss Monday last week and I bet they know what's going on with the politics side of it. I've decided to re-name her. Miss Monday will no longer do. The Muse is better. I like that. The Painter and his Muse. Anyway, we all like GOT, but I hadn't yet seen episodes two and three. If I had known, I would have realised The Muse has chairs similar to the ones shifted around by Cersei and then Tyrion when they're having a meeting with their dad. 

"Yes Candice, I am also thinking of you".

I'm sure people must be having GOT evenings all over the world, whipping out rustic mugs, fashioning strange ensembles out of fur and silk, discussing which characters they'd sleep with and in what order. John Snow is adorable, but I think Tyrion's body gaurd, Bronn, is also quite do-able. 

I enjoy trying to figure out who is the most despicable, yet I am quite attached to them too. 'King' Joffrey is the best villian I think I've ever seen. I have just tried to write a sentence that can capture his brand of Nasty Mental, and I can't. Such good acting. He's perfected the look of absolute disdain, as if there's a maggot under his nose. Remember when Sansa fancied him back in the first series? Ah, seems so long ago, dear sweet Sansa (and yes, you start talking like that when you've just watched an episode or two).

I went to an Osho Meditation again last night. This time it was Kundalini Meditation which involved shaking, dancing, meditating and then resting. I arrived late and a hot Brazilian girl did too. We weren't sure whether to go in. 
"The theeng ees I do not know what to do" she said
"Oh, I read about it, you allow energy to pass through you as you stand there until you notice what wants to shake. So then you shake, but not all on purpose. Don't make the shake. Allow the shake to make you. Then you dance around. Then you rest. Let's go in."

We went in and I really didn't think I'd be able to shake. I stood there. I relaxed. I took notice of my breath, and then how my knees felt a bit weaker than the rest of me. I relaxed my knees and they began to shake a little, and soon I let myself be taken by it. The shaking. Erratic. Not beautiful shaking like some of the others in the room. Mine reminded me of that kicking feeling you get when you're low on magnesium. Went with it. Felt good.
Then the dancing. Amazing to dance around in a trance like state with such freedom. I felt very Kate Bush, especially since I was wearing this insane black onesie that I got from an op shop for about $3. Excellent dance outfit it turns out. People were very free with their dancing, it all looked very LSD (in a good way). Towards the end when people were winding down from the dancing, one girl twisted herself into a pretzel in the middle of the room. I thought that if I were a man I might have got a hard on. Even her tracksuit pants couldn't diminish the charm of such flexibility. 

Afterwards a few of us went for a drink at a bar that used to be an Organic Butchery. Wylie Cyote texted "What r u up to?". I told him and then I texted "Watch your drinking". I went and got a bit of snapper from the takeaways first, I was so hungry. At the bar I drank water. 

I'm gearing up for Vipassana in May. I'm scared of going without writing or coffee (two of many requirements of the course). You also can't speak to anyone, but I think I'll go and talk to birds if I have to.

I had a really good conversation with The Rooster on Thursday too. I couldn't help but feel a swell of wary love. I'll see him next week - I still want to give him the hideous Gary Glitter LP for his birthday as a joke. Wanna be in my gang? 

Also 'in talks' with The Sexy Ex about the nature of our friendship. Would like to have a reasonable outcome there, but it's all gone a bit strange. Perhaps cutting off contact with him altogether really is the best course of action. Seems a bit sad after 8 years, but even the best of friendships sometimes reach their completion date.

And so here's to friends, to lovers ... to Jaime Lannister and his hand! Wah!!!!

The Frisky Masseuse and Osho Whirling Meditation!

'Masseuse’ is a funny word isn’t it? Very ‘essy’. Can’t help but think of Dr Suess. Dr Suess and the frisky masseuse. Then your start singing that song ‘Hey Suess where you been?” (3D’s). 

Yesterday I was in a far flung Eastern suburb in Auckland after having a catch up with my doctor about my ADD. I told him about my miserable experience with his receptionist last year (not in great detail). He watched me with bemusement and didn't say a word. I said “I don’t think she really understands ADD. Why would you suddenly stop having 40mg of a Ritalin a day? I know it’s not the same as antidepressants, but I still crashed really hard and had massive anxiety attacks.”

He said “She does know what she’s talking about, and stopping Ritalin isn’t the same as stopping other medications.”

“Yes, I know, I've researched it. But if you have a history of depression the anxiety can be really detrimental … and I have a history of depression.”

He didn’t answer. I could see he was stonewalling me. I didn’t mention the cases I’d read about people self harming and committing suicide when they suddenly stopped their medication. They were rare, but they certainly did exist. It seemed flippant to dismiss my concerns.

“Is she your wife?”

“Yes” he smiled

“Ah,” I smiled back “I get it now”.

I turned and said to the young trainee nurse sitting in on our session

“It pays to keep on the good side of the doctor’s wife!”

Oh how we laughed. I went away with my prescription feeling quite flat and depressed.

As I was driving I noticed a little group of shops I hadn’t seen before. There was a sign for massage (from $10!) so I stopped. I needed a massage badly. My left shoulder has been nagging me again, and I must be sleeping with my head up my bum because my neck is so sore. The massage place wasn’t one of your usual shitty little mall set ups where the masseuse has to try and get to your steel like tendons through a towel and clothes. Instead it had soft lighting, orchids, and little curtained rooms with proper massage tables. I decided on the 40 minutes for $45. The smiling proprietor asked if I preferred a man or woman to massage me. I said I didn’t mind, then realised I did. It was rare that a woman massaged me as well as a man. 

He was already deciding for me anyway, a young man who was very good with acupressure points. ‘Oh excellent’ I said. He was tall, broad, strong and very young. As he dug into my pain with expertise, he tried to up-sell me to the one hour massage.
“Oh I can’t afford it sorry.” I said truthfully.

He continued to massage expertly, really good and hard. There are places on the middle of my back that make me laugh when I’m massaged and he said that happens when your system is really overloaded.

“Yes,” I said “I feel overloaded”.

“Oh,” he said softly and kindly, “perhaps you just need to be held?”

I laughed and said “probably”, but my mind was suddenly going a million miles an hour. Was this a little invite into the world of male prostitution? It would be a good way to do it. I’d only just said I was broke though, so what kind of tip did he think he’d get? $2?

I pretended to think it was normal he’d mentioned it, then after a short while he said

 “Did you know that kissing is also very good for you? People should kiss at least three times a day, it’s very good for health. Hugging and kissing very good.”

I laughed again and said “is that right?”

“Yes,” he elaborated, “but length of kiss important. Should be 30 minutes for full benefits. Releasing endorphins. Helps to live longer and stay young.”

Now I really knew he must be trying to ‘up-sell’, but the whole thing was so interesting that I didn’t feel annoyed. He wasn’t doing anything ‘borderline’ with his hands (like the astonishing massage I had in Kota Kinabalu in 2010).

Fortunately silence ensued. I agreed that kissing was beneficial but much depended on who it was. I hoped that he got the hint; I didn’t want to kiss him. Despite this, my imagination was now on a roll.

I smiled to myself as I imagined that I was this rare creature that inspired such tender lust. I continued to smile into the face hole of the massage table, because I wondered how many other women got the kissing question each day, how many of them hungrily reached out for him? Bored housewives of the East, keeping their secret, possibly passing it on to others if they could be trusted.

When he massaged my legs with oil I enjoyed it a little more than I would have if it had been a woman administering to me. I felt quietly ashamed and thrilled by this. Even though it wasn’t directly sexual it was undeniably sensual. The fact that he’d talked about kissing certainly added to the intensity. When it was time for me to turn over and ly on my back he said “when you turn over, then I can give you a hug?” and I laughed and said “don’t scare me”.

He laughed but did not attempt to hug me. He looked at me with concern, almost motherly (or is it fatherly, I don’t know?). I closed my eyes so that I couldn’t see his unbearably kind, young, attentive face. 

He massaged my face and neck. He stroked hair away from my forehead, once, twice, three times, slowly and with great reverence. He was more attentive to these small things than are most lovers. I felt cared for. When the massage was complete he hovered over me.

“A hug?” he enquired.

Oh fuck it, why not.

So he hugged me and I hugged him back. A firm, strong hug that lasted about 8 seconds. Then, as we disengaged, he quickly enquired “kiss?” as he moved towards me, full lips already puckering up. I turned my head to the left very quickly laughing “no, no, that’s okay!”

So if you’re in the market to be a male prostitute that scores women (of your choice) then I think being a real masseuse is the way to go. Start small as with our man here. Suggest a kiss for ‘health benefits’ and then build up. Once he gains trust he probably talks about his sick mother/high cost of education and is able to get money off the women he services. If the woman steadfastly refuses to kiss then you know you won’t be massaging her vagina for ‘health benefits’ any time soon.

After my frisky masseuse experience I felt considerably rejuvenated. I went to the supermarket for my over-priced gluten free bread, a couple of bananas and a smoothie ‘with Guarana and Caffeine!’. Thus invigorated I drove to Grey Lynn and was early for the Osho Whirling Meditation.

What is Whirling Meditation?

There’s this guy Osho who concluded that most Westernized civilisations need a different approach to meditating. Our bodies are accustomed to a very different way of moving (or even of being still) compared to early yoga practitioners.  We sit in chairs. We watch screens. We’re all bung with stress and imagined worries. We need to let go, and moving in ways that are circular somehow helps us to do so. If you’d like to know more, just google Osho and heaps of stuff is available. There are plenty of things about Osho (died in 1990) that sound really dodgy, but I’m not much concerned with that.

All I know is that whirling for around 40 minutes to music with a group of lovely people was deeply hypnotic. I became still within my own wheel of movement. I felt my face relax into a sort of ‘nothingness’. When I could whirl no more, I finally collapsed to the floor and fell into a deep state of relaxation. My eyes were so heavy. The floor melted up into me in coolness. Once everyone had eventually dropped we lay there for about 15 minutes. I heard my own breath and felt the singing of blood in my body.

The whirling itself is not overly prescribed. It isn’t out of control either, because you want to retain your balance for the entire 40 or so minutes. It truly helped to take me into the ‘Now’ instead of ruminating on any ‘issues’ or concerns. It’s what we instinctively do as children when we find an open space. Spin! The beauty of it? You can do it anywhere and it’s easy. The guy taking the class advised looking at one of your (left) outstretched hand as you were spinning if you needed to. That shift in focus was amazing, it made it appear as if you were the one that was solid and that it was the world that was moving.

And so what a day it was. From frisky to whisking! I woke at 5am and felt amazing. Went back to sleep and rose to the snuggliness of my fur baby. Had coffee. Had toast. On life turns! x

Lovely Easter 2013, Men, Desire ... on it all goes ...

9th April 2013

I haven't written in awhile as helping mum move was a much bigger project than I originally imagined it to be. It was one of those situations where I kept repeating to myself 'it is what it is what it is ...'. Wonderfully calming. We fought of course. Bitched and carried on, but quick to make up, have a hug, cup of tea or coffee and then carry on. 

I wonder if that's why I'm so different to other people who grow up in those more repressed environments where they didn't having screaming fights with their mother? I seem to have lots of friends like that. Overt aggression is not done, but neither are displays of affection. Mum was really strict on me growing up. Sort of treated me like I was an adult from a young age, but also encouraged a lot of silliness and self expression. An interesting mix. I am therefore a stickler for manners, but I might sing loudly while walking down the street. Don't try and tell me not to either. That would be rude of you. ;) 

  Anyway, moving mum was intense. I cursed myself for not asking anyone for help. The only friend who offered wasn't able to do so due to other commitments  I asked the angels for a bit of assistance as I knew there was no way we were going to get everything out on the specified date. That day I got a text from ex-lover 'Wylie Coyote' . 

He said he'd dreamt of me. I didn't ask what he dreamed. I asked if he had a trailer and wanted to help out. At first he made an excuse, but within another five minutes he was on board. Sort of freaky. I haven't seen him for more than a year ... or even two years? I had studiously avoided him due to his inability to tell the truth or commit to me. He looked amazing which was a pity. Long legs, broad shoulders, deep blue eyes. Good at backing a trailer. That sort. We behaved in a very platonic way. No flirting. No lingering hug. He texted me later saying I looked really good. I replied 'as do you'. I might be playing with fire, but it is nice to feel supported and desired.

I hadn't been the way of mountains in New Zealand for at least seven years, so the Easter break at National Park was most refreshing. The drop in temperature as we swooped along in Johnny's new second hand Lexus had me reaching for a jumper. He noticed that the Warrant did not display the same rego number as the car and started to quietly freak out. Lou and I joined in with quiet anxiety, imagining the car was stolen. 

Fortunately there was a reasonable explanation quickly provided by the man who sold Johnny the car. In the meantime we concocted violent revenge scenarios worthy of the nastiest Tarantino script. The scenery slipped by in a cool blur of blues, greens and browns. Lake Taupo shone with a level of white light that felt over exposed and raw. We'd gone the long way and were exhausted by the time we traipsed in to the beaming reception provided by Ros and Nettie.  

It was a truly lovely weekend. We walked for hours, then sat around and talked (three parts shit, one part depth). We ate a lot, drank mostly moderately and farted incessantly. It was a great success all round.

Walkin'.

Walk Two: Lake with mist. Ros is the tall one. I am the other one.

Twas a great time of reflection. I pondered my choices in men, but mostly existed in the moment. I wondered how The Rooster was. He'll find a motherly new girlfriend soon enough I imagine. The Sexy Ex is moving in with his girlfriend. I was a bit surprised by this, but I wish him luck. I suspect that it's mainly a money saving scheme. Aint love grand.

I can't hang out with him anymore. I was fine being friends with him when I was in a relationship with The Rooster, but I am now single. When we caught up recently the chemistry still crackled between us. I might be single, but he isn't. So that's that. De-friended him on FB and said it would be best he didn't call. He said "I understand". I wonder if he does.

Whatever bro'. The sky is blue and the air is crisp. I don't feel at all lonely. I feel good. Life

is grand and wonderfully amusing. Onwards and hogwards! xxx