Yet Another Sountrack to the Mean Reds

Doesn't Remind Me Lyrics



I walk the streets of Japan till I get lost
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
With a graveyard tan n'carrying a cross
It doesn't remind me of anything
I like studying faces in a parking lot
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like travelin' backwards in the fog
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything

The things that I've loved, things that I've lost
Things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget

I like gypsy moths and radio talk
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like gospel music and canned applause
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like colorful clothing in the sun
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like hammering nails, and speaking in tongues
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything

The things that I've loved, things that I've lost
Things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need

Bend and shape me
I love the way you are
Slow and sweetly
Like never before
Calm and sleeping
We won't stir up the past
So discreetly
We won't look back

The things that I've loved, things that I've lost
Things I've held sacred that I've dropped
I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need

I like throwing my voice and breaking guitars
Cause it doesn't remind me of anything
I like playing in the sand what's mine is ours
If it doesn't remind me of anything

Epiphany in the Bathtub, 01-30-2006 at 08:19 AM

After another grueling night at the Transplant Unit, I longed to soak in my precious bathtub. Like any other, exhaustingly bad working day lately, I tended to wallow in self-pity and mull over the series of unsavory developments in my life the past year. How I long to exorcise these forces that dog me, to soak out all that anger, regret, all that wasted time and flush them and walk away leaving nothing but a lavender cloud. And after an hour or so, I DID with help from unlikely sources of wisdom: supermodels and the former lead singer of Wham!

As the hot water soothed my tired bones, a memory of George Michael's hit, Freedom '90 and its equally popular video came to mind. Having a penchance for always paralleling aspects of my everyday to pop culture, I found that both unsurprising and a bit unnerving.

Perhaps it was the lyrics that bespoke George Michael's frame of mind then when he wrote the song and the circumstances that led him into such that my head found that I emphatized with. Or was it the imagery of the video aided by supermodels, (the First Name Wonders: Linda, Naomi, Cindy, Christy), for which one of a half-covered Christy crouching in the shadows and (or was it Cindy?) writhing in a bath tub lipsynching to the lyrics that I Identified with?

Wether I just am too fixated on supermodel perfection and perpetually insecure or just plain deluded, it doesn't matter because a light bulb has been turned on inside my head. As Oprah would call it, I had an Aha! moment.

Amidst the thick steam, eureka! The title, the words, the video, the song speaks for itself. Thank you George Michael. Wish you could have a more positive experience in bathrooms as I have. Respect.

I AM FREE.


Freedom '90



I won't let you down
I will not give you up
Gotta have some faith in the sound
It's the one good thing that I've got
I won't let you down
So please don't give me up
Because I would really, really love to stick around

Heaven knows I was just a young boy
Didn't know what I wanted to be
I was every little hungry schoolgirl's pride and joy
And I guess it was enough for me
To win the race? A prettier face!
Brand new clothes and a big fat place
On your rock and roll TV
But today the way I play the game is not the same
No way
Think I'm gonna get me some happy

I think there's something you should know
I think it's time I told you so
There's something deep inside of me
There's someone else I've got to be
Take back your picture in a frame
Take back your singing in the rain
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man

All we have to do now
Is take these lies and make them true somehow
All we have to see
Is that I don't belong to you
And you don't belong to me
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take

Heaven knows we sure had some fun boy
What a kick just a buddy and me
We had every big shot good-time band on the run boy
We were living in a fantasy
We won the race
Got out of the place
I went back home got a brand new face
For the boys on MTV
But today the way I play the game has got to change
Oh yeah
Now I'm gonna get myself happy

I think there's something you should know
I think it's time I stopped the show
There's something deep inside of me
There's someone I forgot to be
Take back your picture in a frame
Don't think that I'll be back again
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man

All we have to do now
Is take these lies and make them true somehow
All we have to see
Is that I don't belong to you
And you don't belong to me
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take
Freedom
You've gotta give for what you take

Well it looks like the road to heaven
But it feels like the road to hell
When I knew which side my bread was buttered
I took the knife as well
Posing for another picture
Everybody's got to sell
But when you shake your ass
They notice fast
And some mistakes were built to last

That's what you get

I say that's what you get

That's what you get for changing your mind

And after all this time
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes
Do not make the man

I'll hold on to my freedom
May not be what you want from me
Just the way it's got to be
Lose the face now
I've got to live



Freedom '90 by George Michael, Listen Without Prejudice

The Return of the Club Kid, Transmogrified, 01-27-2006 at 01:41 AM

After being rendered inutile by the rough and tumble of the last few months, with its cosmic and physical shifts, plus the toils of  the everyday, for which I considered myself blessed to have survived through with most of my dignity and my ideals still intact, I was  percolating to  give my karma a major revamp. Or perhaps on some plain my  karma didn't  need the makeover. I just needed to rev it up by taking back something I've never really taken full possession of for a hefty while-- ME.

   So with a chunk of a year's worth of my life still in boxes- feng shui crammed into my hapless new closet, I set to make a vortex of nothing but good vibrations. The warzone that is called Transplant as always, has been my biggest, most unexpected solace from the chaos outside the ultramodern atriums of UMMC. Making like a character of Gray's Anatomy or ER is not difficult for the ample supply of young georgous specimens in scrubs. And the affection of friends, friends, friends coming out of the woodwork of the unit who call me their girl, their crazy girl but nevertheless their girl- their comrade-in-arms. In relation to that, but more importantly, to finally start feeling that I have gradually earned the respect of my colleagues and the doctors; to be made to feel that my opinion matters; to take part in some difficult yet important undertaking and actually contribute; to take pride out of one's work; AND for the longest time in this friggin' awful year, to finally start believing in myself. What a motherfuckin' year it has been!

You know what they say about all work no play. Determined not to crash and burn, my dear friend ZR, along with her son, and husband make our way to Towson. It wasn't exactly a beeline 'cause I went into the wrong exit at first but with brand spanking new bumpers for the new year, me and my car Ashe (my pet name for my Civic, as in Corbin of The Crow II and most times as in Kutcher 'cause who wouldn't want to ride him? Anyway,) managed to find our way after 14mile or so. ZR and I head straight to the salon and call for what is to me a leap of faith.

 
 

A dear friend once implored to me not to transmogrify my trademark long locks into J.Lo lightness fearing perhaps that the chemicals would affect my gray matter as bouncy hair is directly related to brain damage (borrowing from Daria). Long story short, I lopped it off and YES my dearest Shivaun, dyed it blonde. HAH!


 

Psyche. Nah, it's not that short but it's a long way from the small of my back. I just got sick of the length, the combing, the detangling, the me-love-you-long-time vibe long asian hair inadvertently puts across. It's back to some Angela Chase-like lenghts but retained some hippie-ish layers and rock n' roll shag. It's just highlights but it's the color of my gypsy tendencies and the call of the surfs of Bali and the all of the world's white sand beaches. It's just hair and it'll grow back but for now, shit! I FEEL DAMN GOOD!

So with my new locks, I marched off with my friend ZZ into the the chill Baltimore night to Ram's Head Live at the Powerplant in Market Street, to watch Have a Nice Gig, a battle of top local bands to be Bon Jovi's front act for their D.C. concert. THIS was upon invite of one by one of the bands, Fools and Horses. YES BITCHES, an invite. Dressed like a bar room wench/ dominatrix/Nebucchadnezar spy/supernerd in my black corset top and long black trench coat, ZZ and I weave our way past the college kids, the bands' moms (and some grandfathers) and their bourgoening hardcore fans dressed in allegiance to their camps, to the bar. Like a good designated chick driver I ordered non-alcoholic beers (bummer). We just people watched from our seats from the bar. ZZ points out that we just might be the only ones who do not have the words, school night and curfew floating over our heads.

I ponder for a moment, wether I am getting old for this, but then I have partied with models, superstars, celebs, MTV VJ's and drag queens in clubs, ballrooms, a chinese junk and the ubiquitous pinoy birthday parties, raved in the floors that have vibrated to the Chemical Brothers and Moby while UK undergrounders The Dub Pistols played. I have been a band's muse for the night at the Hard Rock Cafe as the whole establishment sang to me, Happy Birthday on my 24th. I have been to my first big rock concert, a girl alone armed only with her Pentax, sang Happy Birthday en masse to the lead guitars and waited at the backdoor as the band toasted us from the windows, only to find out a few month later Richard, the lead guitarist/prodigy had a nervous breakdown after we helped usher him into being 21 (not our fault, of course). All that, with the pictures to prove it, and I still excell in holding my liquor with minimum hangovers and nil morning-after nor nine-months-after regrets.

Feeling so wussified from all that non-alcohol, I managed to swindle from ZZ some of his real booze, then coolly shrugged off the early stages of a come-on from a jock in the intermediate stages of being shit-faced drunk. I was starting to be in my element.

My band played last. By that time, we were already perched on top of what I surmised as the VIP ledge. YES BITCHES, the VIP ledge. And by then I was already banging my head. Fools and Horses sounded like pros- surprising for a band so young and SOO easy to look at. There is already a certain intelligence to their catchy lyrics, a wink-wink humor to their act, and a polish and for every hook, riff, Converse stomp, and primal falsetto, an ease to their sound and its layers as they tip their tousled hair to every great rock 'n roll tradition that sublimely formed them . And did I mention they're all HOT? Plus,their bassist Kent has the most perfect blond bob I had ever seen on both man and woman.

Of course, they won hands down. I know my bands. And a good one if I hear them, BITCHES.

I came into Ram's Head, as the band had put it, their "newly befriended friend" and came out a fan. For fuck's sake you are never to old to rock 'n roll!!

Breathing in the 20-degree F air, we both realized we were hungry. We ducked into McDonald's like any self respecting club denizen. As I and ZZ, wolf our Spicy Chicken Sandwiches, we lay witness to the sight of underaged girls in flimsy embellished cotton-polyyester halters and gauchos risking frostbite and pneumonia to impress boys who don't know any better.

One blond girl puked her liquor and what-not through chattering teeth as her equally blond friends held her hair back. They ducked into McDo as well, but earned the ire of the eagle-eyed security guard when they put the vomiting blonde's high heels (her Mom's) on the table.

The cold wind whiffed into McDo as the disparaged blondes went out again to brave the elements. My mind drifted back to the girl who haunted the clubs of Singapore on her first taste of real independence, the same girl who had been sent into hibernation by life's little realities, mundanities, inanities and insanities. "Novices!" I mocked the blondes as ZZ and I laughed quitely . I smiled into my Diet Coke as I heard the voice of my club kid past, whisper "I'm back."

dearest joy, 10-30-2005, letters to a writer

i could see realities of partnerships getting tangled with insecurities and selfishness. you're not there yet and that is something to be grateful for. others are in a hurry, trekking yahoo and msn messengers, and delving deeper into the high school yearbook to find the handsome lad of youth who is ever so uncommitted but who is willing to give up freedom for a life in the first world. that is so pathetic. your john frusciante is just around the corner. he might be lurking within the walls of your ward, or not. jerks are also aplenty so you need to be careful. some crossed paths with their blokes through watering holes and clubs. others settle for porters. others meet through a book club, or wonder of wonders, pinoy parties. i know we would not be happy with blokes who cannot spell led zeppelin but would you rather settle and forever be heartbroken or wait for mr. right?

always, shiv

Dear Shivaun, 10-14-2005 letters to a writer

I should be asleep but I drank the rest of the coffee that I made earlier to keep me warm instead. I'm always illogical when I'm alone. It could be the screwed body clock from the nights I'm a slave to the dollar. Coldplay's Shiver is emanating (again) from my i-tunes courtesy of free Limewire, for which I have Melissa to be thankful for. I am just filled with thoughts right now.Caffeine and reverie.

Is it bad to aspire for the Matt Damons and John Frusciantes? or is it just plain inconcievable for the likes of me? The days are getting shorter and the cold is in my bones. Soon the dead trees and the muddy slush against cruel cold white shall come and I shall literally be living the metaphor.

A kind soul has asked what I want for my birthday, and I told him it's to forget about it. Pummeling myself with work would be good but I'm afraid people would care enough to remember. I'm weird. That has become a universal truth. I could not help it. That is how I AM.

Funny how I thrive in angst and misery. Wish people wouldn't push my face into that pavement and sprinkle my wounds with salt on top of it. I'm the tall girl people like to whittle down to size, I once punched into my textmail. Sigh. There are days that those words seem all too awfully, blatantly true.

I'm fantasizing about going to New York on my birthday like I did last year but this time alone, not letting a single soul know where I am. I'll just kill time getting lost in the Guggenheim, go to Central Park, bring flowers for John and George and spend the rest of the day in Strawberry Fields just reading Jane Austen, Salinger or maybe Sylvia Plath.

I'm also mulling over getting the Nirvana boxed set that I have been wishing and longing for in my angst-filled heart-shaped box. But I'm torn between that and that little black number from Victoria's Secret. And that is just about how my life is in a nutshell on this part of the Atlantic. Go figure.


Joy.

....me timber? or me, timber? 10-06-2005

Lord help me why this song has been playing inside my sleep-deprived head over and over again.

I am in waking delirium.

My official favorite Coldplay song.

My official favorite Coldplay video.

Undulating. Unassuming. As it breathes onto your skin, walks its fingers down your spine and sink into your consciousness slowly, surely, irrevocably like a bloke. Just the right kind of bloke. A Chris Martin bloke. A Jon. A Will. A Guy. The music, like the video stark and bare-bones ( for Coldplay). Just well worn speakers and and one busy dolly ( I think, I'm no director but my sister is ). Just the inexplicable irresistable lure of young men in jeans, shirts, vintage sneakers, guitars, drums and five o'clock shadows (hopefully some timely showers somewhere in the mix too) jamming consumingly under the behest of an invisible muse. Intellect. Youth. Passion. Rock 'n Roll. Caffeine. Good intentions. One perfect muggy afternoon. Indoors.

A great song to get knocked up to.

Sleep.

Lord knows why this song keeps playing over and over in my head and in my i-tunes.

"Shiver"
by Coldplay from Parachutes

So I look in your direction,
But you pay me no attention, do you?
I know you don't listen to me.
'cause you say you see straight through me, don't you.

On and on from the moment I wake,
To the moment I sleep,
I'll be there by your side,
Just you try and stop me,
I'll be waiting in line,
Just to see if you care.

Did she want me to change?
But I change for good.
And I want you to know.
But you always get your way,
I wanted to say,
Don't you Shiver? Shiver, Shiver

I'll always be waiting for you,
So you know how much I need ya,
But you never even see me, do you?
And is this my final chance of getting you?

Sing it loud and clear.
I'll always be waiting for you.
I'll always be waiting for you.
I'll always be waiting for you.
Yeah I'll always be waiting

And it's you I see, but you don't see me.
And it's you I hear, so loud and clear.
I sing it loud and clear.
And I'll always be waiting for you,.

So I look in your direction,
But you pay me no attention,
And you know how much I need you,
But you never even seen me.

quiz result 9-14-2005

Morpheus


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

You are Athena, goddess of wisdom. You know how to
react appropriatly and have a mind of your own.
Just dont let your self become a know it all or
too uptight.


Which greek goddess are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

another soundtrack to the mean reds or why i want to bear sting's children 8-24-2005

Disclaimer: With all due respect to Mrs. Trudie Styler-Sumner, this is all wishful- thinking cause you've got to love a man who could rhyme apprentice with Scylla and Caribdes ( sigh. swoon!) BUT if yours is an open marraige and for the sake of spreading Mr. Sumner's exemplary genes (or as we call it in our language "palahian")....

King of Pain
by the Police

There’s a little black spot on the sun today
It’s the same old thing as yesterday
There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top
There’s a flag pole rag and the wind won’t stop

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a little black spot on the sun today
That’s my soul up there
It’s the same old thing as yesterday
That’s my soul up there
There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top
That’s my soul up there
There’s a flag pole rag and the wind won’t stop
That’s my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a fossil that’s trapped in a high cliff wall
That’s my soul up there
There’s a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
That’s my soul up there
There’s a blue whale beached by a springtide’s ebb
That’s my soul up there
There’s a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web
That’s my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

There’s a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There’s a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
Ther’s a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There’s a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

King of pain

There’s a red fox thorn by a huntsman’s pack
That’s my soul up there
There’s a black winged gull with a broken back
That’s my soul up there
There’s a little black spot on the sun today
It’s the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running ’round my brain
I guess I’m always hoping that you’ll end this reign
But it’s my destiny to be the king of pain

King of pain
King of pain
King of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain
I’ll always be king of pain.

London Calling... 8-20-2005

Roused by a madly vibrating mobile from my head's burial ground of pillows, fighting through a stuporous haze from two nights of hard work, battle scars and more varicose veins, I pick up to hear the voice of a dear, dear, dear friend, Jeandel. Mrs. A_____ to be exact-- true blue super nurse, capital human being and most important of all, fellow rock 'n roll fan. And now, soon-to-be MOM!

She is based in the UK, like so many of my friends whom I love like blood, so painfully far from me, our friendship literally hanging by a Web and thin alloy wires. Guys, if you're reading this I miss you all so much. It just sucks to think we were like family one moment and to be suddenly just mere memories of each other the next, albeit happy ones.

We talked for a great hour of battery depletion for my my cell. CC got married to a former highschool heartthrob, had a honeymoon in Boracay, a double one at that with our other friend Pup the One & Only (she's no diva she's Puppy)... and how touched to tears I was to see an angel like CC looking so happy as she deserves to be, that it seared through the email she sent me... She tells me that Tin, our quirky waif friend and fellow E-head fan, is also married... Marvi-lous, Puppy's equally talented sister is also hitched... Jeandel is expecting January next year.... Everybody's getting laid except me!!!

We laugh. Loudly. Play catch up. Gossip a bit (no, a lot!!). They had a reunion in Sunderland where the then engaged Pupster got bit by the claws of a crab fighting from being dinner and the first thing that came to her head were the words, "With this ring, I thee.. whatthe@#$%^&!!"

I tell Jeandel I went through very rough times and lots of growing up the past few months since we last talked. And that she doesn't know how much the mere sound of her voice bearing news of people that I love safe and happy means so much to me at that moment. So MUCH.

Looking back through the years at the parade of caring faces and endeared names, I realize that I have been awfully endowed with lots of friends. GREAT ONES. I don't know what I did to deserve them. Not bad for a girl with black hole sun periods (love you Cris Cornell) and loner/antisocial tendencies, who at age eleven somehow foresaw that Suzanne Vega's Left of Center would be a recurring theme song. With all the chips and cracks they have somehow seen worth in this weird little curiosity. With all the grains of salt to desalinate the Dead Sea, they have considered me their friend. So much love... so much love...

Everyone around me seems to be hooking up, settling down and having babies, while I.... still remain their kooky friend. And I feel fine (love you Michael Stipes). These are really really good people. They've humbled me (I would have been a jerk if it wasn't for them). If ever bliss was handed out in gift baskets, they should be first to have them. Me? I shall always remain blessed just to have them in my life and be the world's coolest aunt.

P.S. Jean, hope you're still up to that ChiliPeppers concert we promised each other eventhough you have the baby. I'll make you usherette and your baby ringbearer or flower girl in my wedding to John Frusciante. Hahaha.








FRIENDS... Until Michael Jordan drops his gum...

a soundtrack to the mean reds 7-30-2005

Disclaimer: My apologies to the late great Audrey Hepburn, my idol and role model. Hell shall freeze over if I shall ever attain a smidgen of your innate ethereal grace and beauty. Ditto for the artists, The Posies and Holly Golightly and to Truman Capote. I truly, truly apologize for sucking your art into my minuscule little world and parlay myself as an original. They just happen to reflect my general wretchedness at the moment. Thank you.

Going Going Gone
Released on Dream All Day: The Best of the Posies, 2000
Also released on the 'Reality Bites' soundtrack
Written by Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow


When the words that you call your own
Have a very very foreign tone
And you feel like you're alone
And the message that you didn't mean
Stops a dirty mouth from coming clean
And the right to be obscene

Well I don't think I'm getting nowhere
Someone somewhere undestands
Nearly missing all my marbles
This is not a perfect plan

And it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
And is there really something wrong with me?

And if you hide in the meadow maze
You'll look back on apathetic days
And you'll feel like mayonaise
Amd the faces that you call your friends
Are expecting you to make amends
Well I guess it all depends

And it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
Yeah it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
And is there really something wrong with me now?

Where is all the healthful breathing
I'm not leaving until I know
Waiting for the resolution
I can't seem to let it go
And it won't be very long
She is ? on dry September
Mr. Member crying ?
I don't meant to change the subject
I just want to shut it out, shut it out, shut it out

And it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
Yeah it won't be very long
Til I'm going going gone
And is there really something wrong with me now?

from angelasworld from johnflove@mysmart.com oldsecretinfatuationangst 06-12-2005

These little green monsters come out often, taunting me in their rough unformed state.

Sometimes they can be delightful with their googly eyes & indelicate table manners around cookies.

Then,

they can also be as ugly
as the rantings of a tortured madman

-conjuring images of barbed wire,

straight jackets,

or maybe,

the blood spattered floor

of a Seattle green house.



Monday, November 17, 2003 0115 night shift at sndh with zolita fighting off the sandman with 500ml of Barako caffeine...

one day, alone in the caverns of an eggshell...06-05-2005

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road



Music by Elton John
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin
From the album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road



When are you gonna come down
When are you going to land
I should have stayed on the farm
I should have listened to my old man

You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up with you
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This girl's too young to be singing the blues

So goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can't plant me in your penthouse
I'm going back to my plough

Back to the howling old owl in the woods
Hunting the horny back toad
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road

What do you think you'll do then
I bet that'll shoot down your plane
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again

Maybe you'll get a replacement
There's plenty like me to be found
Mongrels who ain't got a penny
Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground




© 1973 Dick James Music Limited


Note to Sir Elton: My apologies. Your art my convenience. Thank you for the words. From a girl who's lost for them at the moment...