Tuesday, August 18, 2009


Here I am with this hot water bottle, this hot water bottle over my heart I like it there best, down lower it still hurts until it doesn’t hurt anymore, and then I can go back to sleep. I will call this yesterday, because I actually wake up feeling like something is new, maybe today will be okay I’m in the mood for the new therapist until the therapist cancels because she’s sick and then I’m in the mood not to go to the therapist. I’m getting to the point in editing The End of San Francisco where I find these incredible parts, this one is about Chris again, about this quest to regain a sense of hope in my own sexuality and his understanding and our history together and I can tell that The End of San Francisco will involve a lot of crying, I’m crying at this point where I’m sensing Chris’s understanding and support while also wondering about fractures between us and so I can sense this narrative where the fractures develop. In my head it happened all of a sudden, here on paper it’s something else.

Lately I’ve been mining my CD collection for music to suit my moods sometimes I can’t find it so I go back, today it’s Moby’s Play, the CD that catapulted him to mass corporate advertising appeal, so derivative of gospel and blues and spirituals of course that’s an old story and the complicated part is that the album is gorgeous, gorgeous and emotive and I was a fan of Moby’s dance floor build-to-the-sky glory tracks way beforehand but this is something entirely different, or not entirely different just more overtly personal.

I’m thinking about the way that every electronic musician likes to thank God, thank God for the music and I can’t think of any book I’ve ever opened that thanks God, I mean I’m sure it’s happened but with music it’s almost everywhere, maybe God is in the beats but not the words and I’m not sure when Moby became a Christian but he’s definitely a Christian on this album, the album when I stopped listening to him because it’s the one where suddenly he was on billboards for Apple, maybe music doesn’t threaten culture like books, the ideas more covert or interior unless the musician is also expressing the ideas outside of the music but then music is such an industry it can swallow that too. Of course we’re living in backlash time, backlash means backwards and every time I hear about another right-wing frenzy around this health care reform charade that only means more money for the insurance companies but even a hint of a supposed public option means it’s too much sometimes it just shocks me that this is the country where I’m living.

When does backlash time end, and when does it begin? This is what I’m listening to while I’m thinking about Chris, and it’s funny because tonight I’m meeting Zee, my boyfriend when we were 19, for the first time in maybe years I mean we’ve seen each other but we haven’t made plans. He’s coming over, and I remember when Moby’s Play came out and I was visiting San Francisco from New York, staying at Zee and Magdalena’s place in Berkeley and it really was a different world, softer and closer to interior-meets-exterior except it was hard to get anywhere, I remember walking forever to get groceries and then walking forever back.

And we listened to Moby’s Play in that house painted dark colors under and over old wood paneling where spirituality was something to explore and consume and people would stop by and we would all dance.


rocko bulldagger said...

I remember listening to Play right after one of my moves within NYC, there was so much painting, and wonderful yet troubled relationships... this album means a lot to me too.

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

So much painting, indeed!

Love --