s i l v e r

your anxiety
my keepsake

I'll inhale some for you
sip it out of your shaking hands

when I return it
you'll taste adrenaline
a savory buzz

swallowing stars

We laid on the grass and
spoke about stars
Musing, wondering, hypothesizing

And then we ate them
Because stars are too difficult to dissect

We act like we don't care
but later we'll taste the vomit
as it burns back up our throats
and laughs at us for not understanding
but still caring

Jane and Husband

(Something I wrote a year or two ago that I dug up recently. It's non-fiction, with names changed. No, it's not one of those things where you discover it was all about me in the end; it was someone I knew)

It is Wednesday evening. Jane hums a tune as she prepares a family-sized dinner in her college apartment. Carbohydrates, vegetables and protein. The tune she hums is upbeat and cheery; however, it is no tune in particular. It simply consists of some happy and meaningless stretches of the vocal cords. Jane seems to love life, but has she sat down and thought about which specific and unique things she loves about it? Doubtful. Jane sees the glass half-full; she always has. Sure, she may love flowers and smiles and butterflies, but has she come to realize the triumph in refining her individuality, the adrenaline rush of tip-toeing on the edge, the joy in overcoming true sin?

Jane smiles and hums some more. Matthew walks in the door of her apartment. She smiles absent-mindedly as she stirs the vegetables in their pan. Her failure to greet Matthew is not rude. They are comfortable in silence for a few moments while she finishes portioning out the hearty yet healthy meal onto two plates. This occurs daily. It is as if he is Husband coming home from work, and she is fulfilling her wifely duties. They sit down, pray, and begin eating. Husband strokes her back, and Jane asks how his day went. He replies with a less than amusing and less than dinnertime-appropriate anecdote referencing a liver he dissected in a class of his today.

Jane nods and says something generic about her day. They continue eating. They continue talking. Topics with no meaning; subjects with no substance. When Jane has something to say, she says it with the voice of an eager mother bird explaining the complexities of life in the simplest of terms to her nesting baby birds. But when someone converses with Jane, they do not get the sense that she is condescending. It is clear that Jane is speaking to the psychological child inside herself. Growing up is her greatest fear, yet she craves motherhood and the lifestyle that accompanies it.

When anyone asks, Jane insists Matthew is only her "best friend." However, Matthew is Husband. They play "house." Husband walks into her apartment unannounced, takes out her trash, eats her food, makes meaningless conversation with her, cuddles with her on the couch, and looks at her, eyes dripping with devotion. Matthew is Husband.

After dinner, they find their way to the living room and take turns reading verses of scripture. They make commentary as they go, often mentioning the common minor downfalls of "less faithful" members of their church. They speak of sin with disdain, as they should, but it is a foreign concept to them. They speak of sin and Satan the way a child might speak of a politician that their parents dislike. The child knows nothing at all about the politician. The child simply knows that the politician is to be loathed, and the child follows the rules. The child always follows the rules.

Once Husband has left, Jane starts settling down to go to bed. It is 8:30 p.m. She showers and braids her hair, then slips under her covers and dreams of the day when all her fears and ambitions will come true; the day she will become a mother. This is the day when she will stop torturing Husband. This is the day she will stop playing "house." This is the day she will have a real husband. This is the day that the psychological child inside of her will die, and a living, breathing, crying, human child will emerge. This is the day Jane will mature.

Haddy Birdy, Tiny Kitten.

Today is the birthday of one of my best friends. Her name is Taj, Tiny Kitten, Kitten, etc.
She currently resides in NY and I miss her terribly. Here's a handful (maybe 2 handfuls) of my favorite memories of ours, in honor of her birthday. Happy Birthday, Kitten! I luh you.

I reserve the right to add to this list as I deem necessary.

-The first night we truly bonded: deliriously throwing M&Ms at sleeping Sunnie.
-SUMMER.
-The Beatles.
-Floor-dancing.
-Moulin Rouge.
-Sharing music.
-Taj= Pokemon.
-Painting our faces.
-Our ghetto voices.
-Our phonetic texts.
-Dat haunted house.
-Weekly Battle Plans.
-"Domestic daydream."
-Stealing each other's clothes.
-Using tiny dishes and cutlery.
-Grilled cheeses at the hospital.
-Her glorious eyebrow expressions.
-Bandanas. ALL THE BANDANAS.
-When we'd write each other stories.
-When we played pretend all the time.
-Gifting each other with tiny presents.
-Scouring D.I. and Savers for good books.
-Dressing up as the band Kiss for Halloween.
-Our ambition to be back-up singers for Elvis.
-How freaking adorable Taj looks in an apron.
-Reading peoples' FB comments with varying voices.
-When I made Taj's FB status "I PEE EVERYWHERE."
-Elvis in the car. And all the time and everywhere.
^^ "Just a hunka hunka burnin' love-- WAaaaAAAaahhHH!!"
-Adding money to our "Adventure Fund" (have yet to use it)
-Telling each other fantastical stories before we went to bed.
-"LAMBORGHINI MERCY, YO CHICK SHE SO THIRSTY."
-When she put fake rose petals on my bed on Valentine's Day.
-THAT TIME SHE GAVE ME THE KURT COBAIN POSTER.
-Sitting in the middle of the street in the wee hours of the night.
-When Taj posed as a model for my six-photo series "Death suits you well, darling."
-Meeting Nico Vega, eating the yummiest of sandwiches, and receiving free cookies because the waiter had the hots for Taj.
-When Taj painted beautiful masterpieces as I happily finger-painted like a small child.
-Being there for each other through the crappiest of timez.
-That time when we spent an hour pretending she was dead, and developed our story line accordingly.
-Going on the wrong night to the Area 51 club. And telling ponytail dude we were UVU students with diff names.
-When we would lay in our beds and sing random songs at the top our lungs.
-Sharing a passion for White Oleander, Down With Love, and Moulin Rouge.
-That weird crouching thing she did because she knew it made me feel weird.
-Our Pinterest summer board. Infinitely more awesome than our actual summer. Although summer was great. But nothing comes close to that dang Pinterest board, man.
-That time we wanted to buy kittens, and saw the flier up at Macey's for free kittens, and I saved the phone number in my phone as "cat lady."
-Calling her whenever I was cold and bored, walking home from school, and in need of a story.
-Getting grossed out by overly-affectionate roommates and their respective bfs.
-Discussing our relationship issues and discovering that we are both robots.
-How we always dreamt of having a "gang" like the kids in That 70's Show or Scooby Doo.
-Saying "Yeah, guys. Yeah." as if we had a huge group of friends around us, when it was just us.
-When we created our own new $$ terms: $1= a scoop. $5= a chunk. $10= a wad. $20= a carton.
-That day we went to Salt Lake and visited Matt, who is the best host of them all. We walked away with meaningful gifts and inspiration to fulfill ALL THE LIFE DREAMS.
-The music our white Zimbabwean friends showed us, &the killer dance moves that accompany it.
-Abstaining from desserts//receiving cupcakes//smearing them on our faces since we couldn't eat them.
-When we'd google creative date ideas, but just do the activities together, rather than with dudes.
-When I'd sing "Kitten, I lo-ove you. That's all I have to offer" in the style of that one Saturday's Warrior song.
-Sitting on the floor of the game room with Mike, turning the lights off and letting the mystical color ball entrance us.
-When we were delirious and I'd do that thing where I pushed up her bangs all suddenly and dramatically. And busted up laughing every time.
-The fact that our skull decorations, Henry and Henrietta are in a relationship. (They miss each other right now, and should be reunited soon)


-Getting off the phone with her the other day and fully realizing that she is one of my favorite people on this earth.

The musician who sold himself

He knew exactly what he was doing when he chose to wear that slim-fit suit with the bronze jacket, his hair perfectly faded and coiffed.

He knew exactly what he was doing as he upturned one corner of his smile, giving us eyes that said he knew us.

He knew exactly what he was doing as he exploded onstage, with his theatricality and his intimacy and his smirks and his swagger.

Oh, how the lights and sounds electrified us. Their pulse directed our hearts.

The magnet in his voice, drawing us closer.

He knew exactly what he was doing as he gave us no other choice but to fall in love.

Music snobs condemn musicians who choose the "sell-out" path. They criticize the musician's choice with a funereal disapproval. These musicians become dead to the snobs.

Screw the snobs.

I think the sell-out path suits Brendon Urie, frontman of Panic! at the Disco. 

It fits him almost as well as that slim, shimmering suit.

Brendon walks down the sell-out path with style.

He chooses to sell himself. And he's so incredibly talented at it; it's the center of his artistry.

It reminds me of Andy Warhol. Art critics would be crazy for calling Andy Warhol a sell-out, because that was the point. His art was about selling out. He made art that seemed to warn against the harm that fame, money, ubiquity and objectification could bring. 

Some might say he warned against selling out. But there he was, making art that objectified; and selling pieces for as much as 105 million dollars. His own actions added to his commentary on our culture. Andy Warhol's life was a performance piece.

Brendon is no Warhol, but he's a master of his own craft. And, like Warhol, his life is a performance piece.

He sings about Vegas. He sings about selling oneself, figuratively and literally. He smirks at fake displays of intimacy in one song, and praises the thrill of night life in the next. Through his artistry, he examines a culture. He takes his audience on a tour. But he's not one-step removed; he has lived in the thick of it. He knows how it works.

So he does what he knows best, and he sells himself.

And it makes for an astonishing performance.

Please enjoy these tiny videos I took at their recent Salt Lake concert.

A resolution

I usually avoid writing posts which are primarily about me, but I'm going to right now. I need to express this before I lose my momentum, optimism and selfishness.

Fifteen minutes ago, I was walking to the bookstore, listening to "Do It For Me Now" by Angels and Airwaves.

Some songs grant you power. This one, for example, spouts fiercely vulnerable lyrics. However, I have never associated this song with weakness. It's so empowering because it's so honest. And it moves forward with such an unyielding cadence. Here, the artist admits his weakness and vulnerability, but expressly refuses to remain a victim of his circumstances. This song empowers me, and makes me feel selfish, for better or for worse.

But I digress.

As I walked, I reflected. This semester will likely be my busiest ever.

This is the point where I should probably resolve to give up something big. Like good grades, sleep, or spending time with friends.

However, I refuse.

I resolve to have it all this semester: academic success, delicious deep sleep, and an active social life. No boyfriend though. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Why I love Beck and you will too

BECK.

A few minutes ago I began writing a blog post about 5 songs I love right now. I struggled to choose. There are SO MANY artists and songs I want to gush about.

Whilst trying to pick 5 killer songs, I of course considered Beck's "Debra." I revisited an incredible live performance of this song on Youtube, and it all became clear. I am not going to write about just any 5 songs today.

It is my sacred duty to make you, yes you, just an avid Beck fan as I.

Swagger, grit, falsetto, funk. Beck owns it all. And I don't mean "owns" as in he simply possesses them. He OWNS them.

SWAGGER. Beck transcends all bounds of swagger. Yeah, I didn't know swagger had bounds either. It does. Beck's swagger is on a unique plane from all other swagger. You'll see what I mean.

GRIT. He infuses his funk with grit. The result? An edgy, whimsical masterpiece that will blow your mind.

As demonstrated with his gritty funk, Beck's style incorporates a wide range of musical influences (folk, electronic, hip hop, funk, rock, blues-- to name a few). And as Gestalt's theory goes-- the whole is much, much greater than the sum of the parts.

FALSETTO. Oh my goodness his falsetto. It speaks for itself. I have no words to describe.

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HERE ARE SOME OF MY FAVORITE SONGS:



1.LOSER (1994)

You've surely heard this one. But here are a few things you might not know about it:
-Beck has always created experimental music, but before this track, folk was his home base.
-Beck worked with a hip-hop record producer to create this.
-This song was simply an experiment; Beck considered it mediocre and did not wish to release it.
-A friend insisted Beck release it, so he did. "Loser" hit the radio and became his instant breakthrough single.
-Major music labels fought like wolves for him.




2.WHERE IT'S AT (1997)

I'll show you another of Beck's milder pieces. I believe Beck can appeal to a wide audience, depending on which song you're listening to. I'd wager that this song has wide appeal.

This song introduces you to some key elements of Beck's style: simple melodies, large variety of instruments, repetition, gritty texture, both spoken word and singing, and retro vibes beautifully blended with electronic influence. All hail Beck, king of sampling.

3.GET REAL PAID (1999)

Most of the time when I show this song to friends, they question my sanity. I'm OK with that.

"Get Real Paid" appeals to more of a niche audience. An audience which I am certainly included in. I freakin' love this musical style. Beck's album Midnite Vultures (which this song is on) did not gather a large following.

It's not a bad thing to have a niche audience as an artist. It's actually imperative. You're doing something wrong if EVERYBODY likes what you're creating.

I respect an artist who does what they want, without feeling compelled to defend or reshape it at the first, second or third voice of disapproval. Beck knows what he's doing!





4.E-PRO (2005)

E-Pro is found on Beck's album "Guero." Ironically enough, Beck and his producers went to great measures to give this album a laid-back lo-fi sound and feel.

Another song I love from this album is "Go It Alone." Both E-Pro and Go It Alone move forward with mysterious momentum. They feel like water boiling, heating, swelling, but never quite spilling over.

5.DEBRA (1999)

In my opinion, this song is Beck's ultimate masterpiece.

LYRICS. Beck recites his hilarious tongue-in-cheek lyrics with the utmost seriousness and quirky romantic swagger.
STYLE. Here, psychedelic funk, big band sound, R&B and soul combine to create something truly unique.
FALSETTO. Can we just talk about that for a minute. He's incredible. No matter how strange you find Beck, there is no denying that his talent is endless as you hear his falsetto soar.

The album version of this song has about 2% more polished vocals, but this live performance has so much character. You must watch it.

Death suits you well, darling.

A 6-photo story starring Taj Sivertsen, Jordan Geyerman and Henry the skull.