Monthly Archives: August 2013

Brigitte Bardot On Death

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eyelash_bardot_2Brigitte Bardot had this to say when discussing fear of being dead and forgotten:

“Being forgotten I don’t worry about, everybody is forgotten eventually, the grandest moments are dust in the end. But dying is horrible. There should be another way to end something as beautiful as life. I don’t know what is going to happen to me next week, tomorrow, not even tonight. But I do know for certain that I must die some day and the future is death. That frightens me a lot.”

It was a comfort to read of Bardot’s very real and very honest fear of death, as I too, for a long time now, have had an unnatural, consuming, and haunting fear of death. Though it seems to have lessened for me now as I am finally living.

The Demon “I Want”

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I’m not so good at meditating, and not so sure I’m all that great as a Western version of a Hindu. See, I have no desire to renounce. No, this is, quite annoyingly, the first time I have ever been comfortable in the Material World, sensually content. I am not ready to let go of my ego.

See, this is why I don’t meditate much and why I wonder about my so-called Hinduism. But tonight I decided to meditate and not try and be good at it. Meditation is not as quiet as it should be for me, my ego chatters away, endlessly wanting things or being frustrated by things I wanted before but didn’t get… which makes me bitter. Want. Want. Want.

As I meditated, with no expectation that I be good at it, I realized that if I could stop wanting things I could be at peace. Now, of course, this concept is no revelation, and is in fact quite tired, right? Sure is, at least as words, but it’s not so tired when the light fills you and you actually get it, when you actually suddenly know and feel what it means. What is trite then become profound in a moment of clarity.

Clarity is divine, I always say. See, that’s what I get out of meditation. I don’t get silence, I get a single truth ringing clear, uncluttered by the noise of my ego, my wants, my Western thinking. Yes, clarity is divine, and THAT seems to be the gift I get from meditation, not silence, but silence around a single truth, as for me, truths are usually lost in a jumble of conflicting thoughts and feelings. Not so when the truth is shown through divine clarity.

I began to think about all the things I want, wanted, and will yet want, and I started to let them go, Poof… piff… like that they evaporated in my consciousness and I was free.

That was when I saw Shiva’s smile.

How I wish I could carry this clarity on to tomorrow…

To Whom I Turn

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To Whom I Turn

99l/11/huty/13289/38To barefoot Brigitte Bardot I turn for slinky sensuality, eccentricity, and all things feminine,

To Serge Gainsbourg I turn for romance and filth in equal measures,

To Mother Maybelle Carter I turn for music and technique of such deceptive simplicity,

To Alphonse Mucha I turn for grace and elegance, inspiration and humility,

To Jack Benny I turn for timing and loving laughter,

To Wally Wood I turn for paternity, lineage and erotic whimsy,

??????????????????To Paul McCartney I turn for pure creative spirit, craft, and more hope and optimism than I have within, and to Wings I turn for Prog Rock power Pop and joy,

To Joey Molland, Pete Ham and Badfinger I turn for more of the same,

To George Harrison I turn for spirit and finesse,

To Ravi Shankar I turn for mastery,

To Joseph Blue Sky I turn for comfort and equality,

To Lake Newnan I turn for peace and sky,

To the wise I turn for leadership, towards leaders I never turn,

arthur-rackham-cinderellaTo Arthur Rackham I turn for lines and awe,

To Townes van Zandt I turn for vulnerability and pain,

To Andy Griffith I turn for morality,

To Tom Hart I turn for forgiveness and openness,

To Hans Christian Andersen I turn for flights of fancy,

To Joe Courter I turn for family in my Gainesville home,

To my grandfather I turn for fatherhood and an easy going nature I envy still, and to grandma for love,

To Universal I turn for horror,

hoo-hist18cutTo Hoolihan and Big Chuck I turn for my youth and innocence,

To the Marquis de Sade I turn for madness, my own dark heart, wicked eroticism, and far more cynicism than I care to bear,

To dark chocolate I turn for bliss,

To Jess Franco I turn for groovy sleaze,

To Chuck Jones I turn for insightful laughter,

To the Beatles I turn for perfection,

To Kahlil Gibran I turn for truth,

1338389798-lord-shiva-wallpaper4To Lord Shiva I turn for spiritual power,

To Lord Ganesha I turn for success,

To dear Goddess Durga I turn for a woman’s strength,

To myself I turn for questions,

To the past I turn for hope, peace, and the future,

From the present, I turn.

Justine’s Unpopular Opinion #995

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Oh God! Dear God! I try, I try so hard to NOT be a loner, to try and “get” this culture, this time, to get along, to find a place to fit in. In that spirit I decided to forgo my contempt for tattoos and join the SAW gang in getting a little discreet SAW tattoo. I just wanted to be “in” for a change. For once I did not want to be on the outside of an activity because of my standards, standards that keep me home alone most of the time. I just wanted to be “in”

No.

No.

No, I went to the tattoo “parlor” and sat in the the waiting room, mired in ugly death metal, ugly people, ugly badass testosterone bullshit, ugly skulls with ugly flames and ugly daggers on hairy ugly legs. Sleazy, the whole place was sleazy, and NOT in a fun Jess Franco sorta way, but in a way that is reductive. The whole place was wallowing in darkness, aggression, hostility, and the loss of hope that these times have instilled in people. I felt miserably uncomfortable, in fact, sick to my stomach. In fact, as I sat in that tattoo “parlor” I realized that every single thing I hated was in evidence in that room. Every single thing. It was as if I was being shown a sneak preview of a hell that has been designed especially for me if I’m a bad girl.

I got the hell out of that dreadful negative environment and got home as quickly as I could and am now baptizing my ears in “Hope Of Deliverance,” and still feeling (45 minutes later) my lip curled in disgust, my stomach still knotted… STILL!

So, I guess as it turns out, I hate tattoos, and I HATED that place, that horrid horrid place so full of ugliness.

No more, Justine, no more. Be true to yourself, your standards, and let them have it. And if that means spending your life alone… so be it.

Such Magic

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How do you define magic?

I don’t even try.

Magic is too large by far to be defined, but I know it when I see it, know it when I feel it, and know enough to let it be. Most importantly, I know enough not to question it, second-guess it, or let my mind convince me that magic is anything but magic.

Some artists are magical, not many, and by that I mean precious few, perhaps a handful of artists are magical each generation. I do know one kind of magic by definition and description, and that is when an artist (or artists) transcend their genres. They do this by revealing their Godhead to us through being deeply in touch with their muses and creative spirits–combined, of course with the hard work and discipline it takes to truly work magic for real magic doesn’t waste itself on idiots, it is far too important for that. Now, how many artists work such transcendent magic? precious few indeed.

A couple nights ago at the CMC I ran our Beatle program, frankly expecting little, in fact, expecting less than little, I was expecting a disastrous lack of interest and enthusiasm. That was not what I got at all. of course, I loaded the deck, I put together a show that I would have dreamed of were I not the hostess, the insider, the obsessive collector with the connections and gumption to track down rarities and obscurities. I put on a great show. These are the bits of film I shared with Gainesvile:

CMCBeatlePosterbarefootjustineXPwebSet 1:
Braverman’s Condensed Cream Of Beatles,
George Harrison’s “Crackerbox Palace” video,
and his “Cloud Nine” live in Japan with Eric Clapton,
John Lennon’s Cold Turkey,
Paul McCartney and the Fireman’s “Appletree Cinnabar Amber,”
Two Ringo videos, “It Don’t Come Easy,” and “Back Off Boogaloo,”
Beatles promo films: Strawberry Fields Forever, Penny Lane, A Day In the Life, All You Need Is Love, and a Hey Jude Rehearsal film.

Intermission,

Set 2:
Paul McCartney’s Secret Web-site concert,
and lastly, the Beatles Live in Paris in 1965, (never seen in America).

Of course a great program does not stir up magic in every room, not when there is the possibility of indifference and cynicism. Nothing dulls magic like indifference and cynicism. One thing I have learned about Beatle people, they are NOT indifferent and rarely cynical. We had a great crowd too, a good turn-out, but even that does not guarantee magic. Miriam came out and set up her lovely display of Beatles collectibles, which really added a festive atmosphere to the event, but none of that, still, guarantees a magical result.

So, perhaps you are thinking that I am about to talk about mundane magic, a use of the word that has cheapened its meaning, but I am not. The mundane element may simply be that the show went great, we had a great crowd, and I had the best night I’ve had since moving to Gainesville. THAT is the mundane magic.

The real magic was in the Beatles, and in how their music, love, spirituality and creative spirits still captivate people. We had an audience of mixed ages, but many of the audience were older, contemporary to when the Beatles happened. What I did not see coming (but had secretly hoped for in my sub-conscious) was that the entire audience would be wholly engaged in experiencing the Beatles, in knowing that what they were seeing was special, rare, and worthy of their full attention. As I looked out into the audience what I saw were a room full of captivated 14 year-olds, people feeling things they may not have felt since the Christmases of their childhoods. They had traveled through time with the Beatles, and found themselves sitting in a room stripped of their cynicism. There was THAT kind of joy in the room. I could see in their faces that they had returned to a state of wonder that adults rarely experience (unless they have learned to cultivate it). All of them. They were slack-jawed, eyes wide, wholly in LOVE with the Beatles, the moment, and each other. They were in the moment, mindful, and wholly and vibrantly alive!

Not once did anyone fuck with their god-damned phones! And you don’t think THAT is magical?

That, my friends is the kind of magic the Beatles (together or apart, it makes no difference) possess. They can transport full grown world-weary adults into immersed and captivated joyous children, and that is no small spell to cast.

John, Paul, George and Ringo… we love you, still.