Skip to main content

77 style street punks

The plot of our first adventure featured people cheating on each other, or trying to.  Some young teenaged boy reading a letter of his rude feelings to a grown-ass woman. The woman disrobes him, dresses him in drag, disrobes him again. Her husband knocks, so the teenager jumps out a window.
Here is the link of the teenager singing about his gross teenage feelings https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfxiEhFust4
The role of the teenaged boy is traditionally played by a woman, for the higher voice and smaller size. But at first I thought Mozart was very progressive and that it was a woman that kept sneaking in to women's rooms and professing her feelings.
I accept that Mozart is a genius after seeing "The Marriage of Figaro"

On Sunday, Grace, her mom, a friend and I saw Patti Smith talk about her new book.


Patti Smith is such a fan of all these other musicians and poets that it was weird to hear her talk of her fandom of Bob Dylan and Rimbaud to a room full people who styled their lives in part due to her. She also talked of her love and life with late husband "Fred Sonic Smith". I guess she calls him that because that is his name. But I thought she would just call him Fred eventually.  The average audience members were older women who looked like they were ready to rumble, in edgy t-shirts. Of the few males, half were actually women, upon closer inspection. Not that there is anything wrong with that, it was more the style back then, for the women to look masculine and the men to look feminine and I'm ready for that style to come back.  She indulged us with a few songs. Her son playing guitar (well).
There was bad breath coming from somewhere and when she sang her hit. "Because the night" I found out it was from the super fan behind me. He sang along with gusto.
https://youtu.be/WDQeyDE3dcI
During the question and answer session,  a young woman told Patti Smith she inspired her to leave everything and go into art, yet the art world is eating her alive.
Patti responded incredulously, "I inspired you to leave everything?" Then she said "If you want to make money, go into commercial art. If you need to do art to say something, you Will suffer for your art."
When she said, "one last question", some lady yelled that she has a present for her and ran up with a plastic bag. Patti opened the bag and announced that it was her things which were stolen from her at her rock show in Chicago in 1978. She went through the contents and said it was a t-shirt she wore for the cover of Rolling Stone  http://www.cdandlp.com/en/patti-smith/magazine-usa-.-rolling-stone-.-n-270-..-patti-smith-cover-.-olivia-newton-john-../magazine/r114105045/ and in which she met Bob Dylan. And a headband that her late brother gave her after wearing it to see Hendrix. Then, she cried. I shed a tear to my own embarrassment. The audience was up and arms and yelling "How did she get this stuff?" They were ready to avenge Patti.  Patti said she didn't care. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

CranioSacral therapy 1

I just took a 4 day intensive class on CranioSacral therapy.  A Doctor of Osteopathy, Upledger, discovered that there is a rhythmic flow of cerebro-spinal fluid between the cranium and sacrum.  The flow can be felt and even manipulated to relieve pain. This has been something I've wanted to learn for a long time. Some of my teachers at both acupuncture and massage school loved this type of therapy and gave dramatic demo's often leading to a crying student. Crying but feeling better. The therapy is very very light so the crying was a mystery to me. The class was taught by a man that, to my great surprise, I had worked with at a clinic in Chicago ten years ago. He used to eat my snacks while I was in a room with a client. I'd come out of the room and find an empty bag.  He lives in Iowa on a transcendental meditation commune where the residents meditate for world peace. They must share snacks. There were several volunteer teaching assistants. They all introduced themse...

Irony "the song of the bird that loves its cage"

Michel has gone back to work teaching High school this week. For his last weekend of freedom I left him to do what he most wanted to do. So he went in the the basement to sculpt. He is in terrible need of a head to sculpt and no heads have volunteered so I reluctantly offered my own. As a woman who is a victim of our media and culture's war on women's self esteems, this is not my idea of a fun thing.   I tried to read "Infinite Jest" by David Foster Wallace. In other words we hid from the world as usual. He, or DFW,  was raved about in a recent class I took.  I'm arriving late to the hip party of his fandom, but I want to see what all the hubbub is about. I'm hooked. The book is as thick as a brick. But reading him or listening to him is like weight lifting for the brain.  It is hard work, but it feels like the brain is better for it. As though I feel an afterglow similar to after a run. From what I can understand The protagonist is not being u...

Traveling Molly's

I went to a poetry reading last night http://myemail.constantcontact.com/May-9-at-The-Buzz-Cafe--Molly-s-features-Timothy-Yu-and-Donna-Vorreyer.html?soid=1103180195612&aid=QRNC3gtxue4 I went with Jean, one of my nine or so muses. She is a poet and has had several poems published. Jean in the foreground and Donna Vorreyer reading in the background And I read a poem I wrote about my boyfriend Michel Ode to Michel (my bell) Michel was a black and white picture. Even taken with color film. Achromatic and anachronistic it turned out he spent most of his life looking into old books and reading older texts. So many that he too was black and white. His hair made up of black or white letters, a language lost today. His eyes periods.. His smile in quotes. His front teeth old tablets. Perhaps of Moses. His skin Papyrus, only sees the sun when running from one book to another He told me he was reading The Aeneid by Publius Virgilius Maro, in Latin. He told me that ...