Goodbye Blogger.

Hello,

To the few who read this, I thank you. I'm now moving everything you see here to tumblr. I will continue to do very small dog and pony show over there, with a much nicer look and more options. Now come along children, off to a new world!

- M.

Snapping around town with an accompaniment.

I've got some pretty good tunes to share as well as some new and old photos.

The first play list is essentially a little electronic music that makes me think of feeling a little provocative. Its fun mash up of some newer finds and some old favorites.

This next one, I'm particularly happy with. I've never really been that into the 80s, but I like the trend of electronic music taking on the role of reinterpreting the era's music. This collection is a gem. It'll be playing in the lesbian lunchbox for awhile.

Last week I found myself just meandering around the artist hovels in the Jersey City and finding my favorite thing to document--urban decay. Rife with it! Have a look:

These are from the print shop I work in. Its a rather dreary place to be, but the shadows make it interesting. I decided to use brown and white for these--just for a little change. Zero black can be a bore sometimes. I think I still achieved my overarching style of strained coloring.

Video Game Classics

My first RPG was A Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, on the SNES. The drama seethed in the opening theme--you could practically smell the moldy old tombs, the dank caves, and the evil that had permeated the land. It was at this moment that I knew music and word could make or break a game for me. More recently a beloved franchise, the Final Fantasy series has led me to complete disappointment. With the loss of Nobuo Uematsu, the chief composer for the music, I had nothing left but some fanboy glee that the 13th installment would revitalize my interest. No such luck.

In any case, I'd like to share a trip down memory lane with some tunes from a couple games. These aren't from in game. They are the original pieces of music and played by a full orchestra, sung by a soprano, etc. For anyone who truly enjoys something, I believe knowing something about the past about whatever you enjoy will only heighten your enjoyment and understanding of the given subject. Music, for example, comes in many genres and sub-genres. But they all come from classical music and even that comes from something older.

The first track, Horragath, by Matt Ulemen, who is of Diablo notoriety. The expansion for Diablo 2, The Lord of Destruction, featured an entirely orchestrated soundtrack. Horragath is the first that the player hears. It embodies the frigid heights of Mount Arreat--ripe with struggle, pain, but the sound also has a familiar tone of happiness and the hope for survival past the coming strife. The climax at 3:40, is without a doubt my favorite, meshing all of these emotions into one. It begins with a low guttural bassoon, coupled with light winds, and eventually ending with timpani ablaze and the brass breathing a sighed crescendo. Not found in this particular piece, but Ulemen takes influence heavily from Gustav Holst, especially from Mars.

Second is the theme from Castle Hyrule, from A Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, by Koji Kondo. The sound is very eastern--Japanese to be exact and regal. I'd go as far to say with slight Argentinean influence. The backing syncopation could easily be used in any tango. Either way, the combination is foreboding and interesting. Again, the ending is my favorite. Its loud and sounds as if some emperor is about to sit and everyone is waiting.

Everyone knows Mario. My personal favorite incarnation was Super Mario World, from which the next track is from. It was also composed by Koji Kondo. The music from this 90s classic, was influenced deeply by the 1930s-1950s swing music. The piece is just fun and a little over the top. The brass and the percussion dominate this track with very little need for the strings at all.

Switching back to basics, Secret of Mana 3 was never released in America. It was one of the first games to ever allow choosing party members. In addition to this, the characters would always face different obstacles depending on who was chosen, reacted to events contradistinctly, and grew in a unique way. The track titled, Meridian Child, is characterized with strong crescendoing of the brass ala Leonard Bernstein and tinged with bits of medieval decorum throughout. The middle and ending are without a doubt the best parts of the piece.

Chrono Cross was one really screwed up sequel to the much beloved Chrono Trigger, an RPG engaging in extreme time and dimensional travels. This piece isn't really classical, but just listen to that violin solo and you'll understand why I included this. Its breathtaking, even after ten years of listening to it. The track was composed by Yoko Shimomura.

Nobuo Uematsu in my mind is a great composer and worthy of any accolades that come his way. Anyone who can give a game a distinct sound throughout and mimic a period so impressively, is amazing. Aria de Mezzo Carattere or Aria of Half Character is an homage to Italian baroque opera. This piece is sung by Svetla Krasteva, a Bulgarian mezzo soprano. The strings are practically lulling to the harpsichord to keep the them in beat as it is the only essence of percussion available. The song really doesn't need an explanation. The sound speaks for itself--something I can't say of much I've heard lately.

An opening always needs to have something to grab you. Legend of Mana, has a great title theme. Starting with a foreboding piano and opening into an inviting psalm, just before releasing a passionate exhale into chaotic banging. That oughta get your attention. This piece is a little soulless compared to the others I've talked about, but it did catch me off guard. Again by Yoko Shimomura.

Organs. I've loved the sound of organs since I heard Bach's Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor. It was a real treat for me to go to morning mass in London and hear it played at Westminster Abbey. The stone halls reverberated with the bass of an age old instrument. It was astonishing.

Kryie, in muscial terminology is a "musical setting of sets of petition and response." It is also the title of the organ and soprano based track from Parasite Eve. The organ originally begins both the call and response in the piece, but as the soprano enters about midway, she begins to call. Although she only sings along in a rather breathy vibrato, there are no words.

Finally, I end with a real personal favorite. Fighting, from Final Fantasy VII and a real piano masterpiece, by Nobuo Uematsu. This is one of the most complicated sounding pieces. Imagining the fingers moving this quickly is simply too much of a conundrum for my mind to handle. So I'll show you how someone else does it.

The energy in this song in deniable. I love the drive behind the keystrokes, powerful and unabashed at any ounce of dissonance. Its about wiping the floor with whatever is in front out and the sound is direct at allowing you understand that.

I believe that'll do for now.

Return: Fashion Friday #5

At the request of this lovely young woman, I have decided to write something about the world of clothing, as I see it. Over the past year I've decided that I really have no interest in popular trends or what I see in magazines. Having not actually been able to purchase new clothing, the situation has made me have to be much more resourceful with the things that I already have and make new ideas out of the old. I find that I tire of the typical and quite overbearing nature of what it is to be a stereotypical homosexual. I don't care for the music, the shimmering softness, or whatever it is that's in. I simply like what I like.

Now before I continue on my path of hatred for everything (especially people), I give you: Evil Stick Man.

Listen to this as you read:

I love neutrals. Black, gray, beige, silver...with just a dash of red--as if you couldn't tell from my dated layout. This combination is all about dramatic straight lines. It's sharpness at its finest. Anyone who knows me knows I like tight fitting clothing. Not obscene gonna bust the seams and look similar to a can of popped biscuits before brunch on Sunday afternoon, but, tight as in, its as if my clothing has been tailored to my body.

Let's start from the bottom up. I'm vain. I love to hear myself walk and clicking is essential, if not vital to my daily routine. I got my first pair of wingtips from a Steve Madden when I was 22. Wingtips can dress up anything--even some ripped up jeans.

Slim fit dress pants are nice, when you want add a little flair or if you dislike the regular boxy shape of a basic chino. They are much more body conforming than a skinny jean, which means you can breath and still look like you have some sort of shape.

Ties are only for for work and court. When you're there and have the audacity to wear this, a tie can at least say, "I'm here to work."

The military fit of the black shirt adds to the overall straight line effect. If one has relatively good posture, this would flatter the male figure with ease. The grey cowl-neck jersey is to be work under the black military shirt, with the first few buttons undone. What's the point in having detail if it's covered up?

Accessories. The bag in the picture, is a Ben Sherman messenger. I actually got this very one for my birthday this year. Its fantastic, roomy, but overall a little heavy. It is not good to carry electronics in and is basically all for looks, unless you need to carry papers or a light change of clothing.

I like sunglasses. The bigger the better. I have never really cared much for being without them. When you can't see someone's eyes, it makes you wonder what's underneath. These particular shades really make the outfit. Being only thing to really have a slight curve, it is offset by the rest of straightened nature of the ensemble.

Now this watch I picked arbitrarily. I like large faced watches, because I have relatively small wrists. If I could, I'd make it white or black..maybe red? And go with a black wallet. I'd also not make it BVLGARI and $7500.

Hair. My hair has gone through a bit of evolution as of late. Leaving me with a bit of an apache mohawk.

Little face paint never hurt anyone as far as I'm concerned--gives you that dash of character your television father always talked about. However, after a week of sulking to my man about my woes, (Yeah, that actually happened.) I learned how to do a slicked back conservative do. Similar to this head strong Chihuahua-faced douche:

And there you have it. Straight, clean, and little frill-- and shaved to boot.

Photo Adventure

Been awhile, but I've just updated my FLICKR and here are the results from a fantastic weekend. Also, enjoy this music. It will make you feel both loved and relaxed. Have a drink with it. Even better.

Enjoy.

Words of the Elderly: Ep. 1

I've been lucky enough to be included in a club of sorts that makes funny shorts. These shorts are made by way of Xtranormal. Its quite simple to use. All you really need to do is put in your text, choose your characters, change some camera angles, and your setting. That simple. Anyways, here is what I am considering doing a running series of.

Words of the Elderly.

Real Mountains

Living in Jersey has taught me many things: People are out for themselves, survival of the fittest, and how to have an alcohol tolerance of godly status. However, something that these people have a misconception of is what a mountain looks like. Everyone clamors on about how the mountains of Watchung are grand and such a beautiful sight to behold. They are simply some big hills in my opinion. So what if they're tree covered and have a couple rocks sticking out of their Frankenstein stitched bases made up with suburbia to cover Mother Nature's blemishes?

Take a look, these are real mountains.

Knowledge.

Wrangler Provocateur.

This was more or less an attempt to show what happens when I listen to a good grouping of music. I usually play some story out in my mind and for once in my life, I actually wrote something down. Almost a month later, here it is. Each story part is punctuated with the song name in italics.

Wrangler Provocateur

Personal Jesus

Mother warned me about the snow this evening. She said it would turn into a storm—said it would cause me to catch a death of a cold.

Her voice lingered in my head as I stepped out of the shower. The street lit snow reflects through the window onto my wet skin. I pick up the orders with damp hands and let the mission sink in. Since when did the feds want to know what the fags were up to?

The black towel drops from my waist as I pull up a nicer, daintier pair of underwear. I lotion my legs, wrap them tightly in denim, and outfit my feet with motorcycle boots. I choose a t-shirt from the sea of white inside my drawer. I pick up my hooded leather jacket from my doorknob and kiss the dog goodbye.

My car is already waiting for me. It’s just snowing.

I tell the driver, “take me to 14^th, between 1^st and 2^nd”.

Want’n Her Again

The gents line dance back and forth upsetting the layer of bar smoke—a sea trying to calm amidst an ailing and thrashing floor. Laughter coupled with synchronized wooden stomps, dry claps and I’m watching and half impressed—half happy.

I’m broke and drinking the swill they call whiskey. It’s why I’m half happy.

An hour passes, three more shots drank and seven more songs play, four people leave and five people enter.

Someone touches my shoulder. I don’t turn or look surprised or excited. My eyes shift to the side and then up. He asks if I’ve been waiting long. I don’t answer and he laughs asking me if I’m a mute. He laughs again, pointing out my furrowed brow. I haven’t even said hello and I’m already being picked apart. I hate this. Why did I agree to this particular job?

He asks for a dance. I get up to leave and he grabs my arm and with a discretely forceful tug in his direction, reminds me I have an objective and I agreed to do the job.

Talk to Me

We’re waiting outside the bar for the car. It’s still snowing. The sidewalks are covered in busy footsteps and glimmer in shades of flutter brushed rusty orange and pale green. His swept back blond hair shifts in the breeze and catches snow.

He’s talking about his trip here. I’m not paying attention. He moves closer. I can smell whiskey. I wonder if he can smell me.

The car arrives. Essex and Grand he tells the driver. He continues talking. He tells me about his objective. He’s lying. I’m looking out the window, no longer interested and wishing he’d been drunk enough to spill his knowledge. Instead here I sit listening to him shoot the shit about the woes of his very matter of fact lifestyle.

He’s quiet. I welcome the silence, but it’s broken by the sound of skin meeting skin at an alarming rate. The sting sears my cheek and it’s the first thing I’ve felt since I left the house.

He comes closer, quickly, sort of like an oafish spider with an eleventh leg—demanding that I tell him about the mission and that I if I cannot give him the respect he deserves, to at least cooperate for the means of success. I tell him he talks too much and that I’m here to discuss the whereabouts of Alistair. He calls me callous and cold. I ask him when he became the caring sort and I get no reply.

The car slows and we’ve arrived.

“Nice to see you again too.”

Fresh Blood

The car drives away in a black mist and left us in front of a dilapidated cathedral.

“These your digs?” I smirked. “Just the top floor.”

The doors were recently painted, a vibrant blood, not like classic Dracula, more like the way lips used to look when your grandmother was my age—the kind that meant oblivion and sex wrapped into a secretive piece of paper left next to a half empty martini.

He unlocked the door and holds it open for me, gesturing for me to enter. He leads me up a spiral staircase into a large loft with high wooden beams and ancient unfinished floors. A clean kitchenette sat in the back left corner, an ivory tub with large feline feet in the upper right hand corner, and a faded purple fainting couch in the middle of two stained glass windows.

“Make yourself comfortable, you’ll be here for awhile.”

He’s walking to the kitchen and undressing as he goes. I watch him take out a bottle and two glasses and fill them with surprising care.

I remove my boots and jacket and take a seat on the couch, awaiting the warmth of whatever fills the glass. A naked limb weaves into my eyesight and offers me the drink. Whiskey. Real whiskey. I can be happy now.

He lies behind me on his back and lights a cigarette. He has no intentions of talking business, Alistair, or of anything. His heat already branding my back and I can feel his eyes tracing my spine. He’s moving closer now; his breath is hot and laden with alcohol. He ashes and blows the last of the cigarette’s life into our atmosphere.

He’ll have me tonight.

More Adventurous

His hair covers his eyes as he lies in a satiated slumber.

It always amazes me how you’re never the same thing in the spring or never the even the same person by summer. Last spring. I wasn’t taking these types of jobs nor would I have allowed this fool within two feet.

I brush the hair from his face and finish dressing myself. I’d stolen his mission statements in the car. It was time to go.

The red door makes a hushing noise as I shut them quietly—carefully. The car is waiting for me silently. The snow is picking up with the wind. It feels colder now, dryer, and darker. Before I get in, I take a moment to notice the vanity of this rare moment: the red doors, the white cathedral, snow, and my spot of black.

“The piers, please.” Goodbye, cowboy.

Atticus/Running Up that Hill

I can see Alistair on the edge of the boat. His back is turned, but I can feel his smile. I remember the last time I saw him and thinking his teeth looked like glass. So unnaturally white. I need to see how long I can last. I’ve got to get to back to the cathedral.

He turns before I’m close enough to say hello. The wind is too loud now and snow stings my skin and my tears are freezing. I stop for a moment and look at his figure being little more than a tracing against the snow and the speeding winds. My eyes are transfixed on watching him and I’m startled to feel a hand reach from the spectral background.

“Its really good to see you again”, he whispers into my ear.

I can barely hear him, my heart is racing, the wind is howling, and snowflakes are blades to my skin. I part my lips to respond and a gloved finger hushes them.

“I wondered how long you’d play both games, being good sometimes and reveling when you were bad”, he continued. His face never stopped smiling, but his anger was apparent.

“How long have you been sleeping with that common bounty hunter?” His comforting finger had transformed into two leather-gloved hands around my throat topped with a Cheshire cat smile. “You were my agent before you turning into his whore.” He sounds almost as if he were about to cry. His grip tightens and I can’t breathe. I’ve got to make it back to the church. He lifts me off of my feet, I can only see his teeth, glass-like shining through the weather. My vision is blurring and my eyes are darting in a slowed fashion, but to and fro nonetheless. It from this reaction that I noticed the shine of a small firearm, a Browning, I believe and newly polished. It fired a single shot, it rang through my ears, the bullet burned inside me, and I was on the ground just as suddenly as I was airborne. “Give this to him”, Alistair said as he dropped an envelope on me. My vision fades.

St. Augustine

Alistair was gone.

Blood came and stained the perfect white of my shirt. I got myself to my feet and stumbled to my car. I tell the driver to get me back to the church as fast as he can. The green streetlights are flickering with my vision. I can’t speak any more; I’ve got to make it back to the church, got to give him the orders.

“We’re here sir”, the driver announces. I wake up startled and in pain. I wipe the blood from my mouth and try to walk to the red doors again. I fall to my knees immediately and crawl to the doors. I bang three times on the bottom of the door. He’ll find me here and he will take this letter.

I need a nap.