n i g h t i n g a l e s h i r a z / blog
in Malaga, somewhere near Picasso....

december 2017
november 2017
october 2017
september 2017
august 2017
july 2017
june 2017
march 2017
february 2017
january 2017
november 2016
october 2016
september 2016
august 2016
july 2016
june 2016
may 2016
april 2016
march 2016
february 2016
december 2015
november 2015
october 2015
september 2015
may 2015
march 2015
february 2015
january 2015
december 2014
november 2014
october 2014
september 2014
august 2014
may 2014
april 2014
march 2014
february 2014
*april 2013
*march 2013
*february 2013
*january 2013
*december 2012
*november 2012
*october 2012
*september 2012
*july 2012
*october 2011
*september 2011
*august 2011
*july 2011
*june 2011
*may 2011
april 2011
march 2011
april 2010
march 2010
february 2010
january 2010
december 2009
november 2009
september 2009
june 2009
may 2009
february 2009
january 2009
december 2008
october 2008
september 2008
august 2008
july 2008
june 2008
may 2008
april 2008
january 2008
december 2007
november 2007
october 2007
september 2007
august 2007
july 2007
june 2007
may 2007
april 2007
march 2007
february 2007
january 2007
december 2006
november 2006
october 2006
september 2006
august 2006
july 2006
june 2006
may 2006
april 2006
march 2006
february 2006
january 2006
december 2005
november 2005
october 2005
september 2005
august 2005
july 2005
june 2005
may 2005
april 2005
march 2005
february 2005
january 2005
december 2004
november 2004
october 2004
september 2004
august 2004
july 2004
june 2004
may 2004
april 2004
march 2004
february 2004
january 2004
december 2003
june 2003
april 2003
march 2003
 
raconteurs and roustabouts, and Ruby and her arms.

i walk into La Feltrinelli on Largo Argentina, on the hunt for scotch-tape and wrapping-paper.  this is what happens when you swear off presents that have to do with birthdays, Christmases and calendar dates of any form: you are constantly and consistently caught off-guard when it comes to the gifts you really do want to give.  but still.  i like this new philosophy.  and one can never have too much scotch tape.

anyway.  they are playing Tom Waits.  so i decide to "take it as a sign".  (meno male, they did not have 'Allegro Non Troppo,' and they did not have 'Baraka' -- i would probably have "taken those as signs" too...)

i walk out senza lo scotch.  but i have scored this wrapping paper that is a montage of old Italian movies (Sophia Loren is silk-stocking-ed up in 'Ieri, Oggi e Domani,' one hand running lusciously through the locks of hair that tumble three millimetres from Mastroianni; Burt Lancaster is all straightbacked and ice-eyed in 'Il Gattopardo,' "every inch the big cat of the title;" and 'I Soliti Ognoti' are, well, i soliti ignoti).  and i have scored a copy of The Asylum Years.  there were seven Tom Waits albums in all, and I could not choose based on price (because they were all nine-ninety).  so i settled on the one that has Looking for the Heart of Saturday Night, because at least i know her -- that barmaid who smiles from the corner of her eye.

(i know that hooker in Minneapolis too.  but the barmaid -- she mystifies me a little more.)

twelve-odd Tom-hours later, i am all slowed-up and looking everywhere but out.  this man is not about music to shower to, that is for sure.  this man is not about music to work out to, or even to walk to work to, really.  he is about music to breathe slowly to, and music to dally to.  he is about music to be late to.

he makes me think of Kerouac and Ginsberg and the blues-beat of a poet heart as it berates America, blames America and -- underneath and over and around it all -- beatifies America.  furious and in-love and always, always, ever-so-nonchalantly uninvested, all at once.

(and like so many of them, he tells his stories in a way that makes you wonder.  can anyone else sing this song?  can *he* sing this song, err, sober?)

and of course.  he flirts with Lady Metaphor in that way that only a poet can.  like he has made love to her so very many times: always under a gypsy moon, always to the sound of a street-urchin saxophone, and no stringy clichés attached.

***

And with her knees upon the glove compartment
She took out her barrettes and her hair spilled out like root beer
And she popped her gum and arched her back


***

And you ask for Captain Charon with the mud on his kicks
He's the skipper of the deadline steamer
And she sails from the Bronx across the river Styx
And a riddle is just a ticket for a dreamer


***

...he dreams of a waitress with Maxwell House eyes
And marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair.
Her rhinestone-studded moniker says, "Irene"
As she wipes the wisps of dishwater blonde from her eyes


***

that Lady Metaphor.  she always was a sucker for a fella in a cowboy hat.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[lunedì 23 novembre 2009 ore 23:59:24] []

serving suggestions...

...a work in progress (unfortunately).

- i'm willing to be interested in what you have to say if you're willing to be interested in what i have to say.

- it is difficult for me to like people who do not love food.  i will always try, but be warned.

- if you spend more than half of our conversation complaining, i will start planning ways to ensure that the half does not become a whole.

- try not to interrupt, muthaf@cka.

to be continued (unfortunately).


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[mercoledì 04 novembre 2009 ore 13:35:04] []

nightlife.

So a boy told me about fireflies, and of his "wonderful memory of walking back from someplace, up on a hill at night, and seeing fireflies for the first time in the field below us."

And I got to thinking.

[...]

Which means eventually that I got to Googling.  (This instant information thing can really kill the romance sometimes...)

***

From Wikipedia (with my err, "contributions" -- in più):

The term glowworm is also used for both adults and larvae of species such as Lampyris noctiluca, the common European glowworm, in which only the non-flying adult females glow brightly and the flying males glow only very weakly and intermittently.
--- "...weakly and intermittently."  Of course.  Now THAT sounds familiar.

Some species, especially lightning bugs of the genera Photinus, Photuris and Pyractomena, are distinguished by the unique courtship flash patterns emitted by flying males in search of females.  Females of the Photinus genus generally do not fly, but do give a flash response to males of their own species.
-- Why hello there, stranger.  Got a light?

Female Photuris fireflies are known for mimicking the mating flashes of other "lightning bugs" for the sole purpose of predation.  Target males are attracted to what appears to be a suitable mate, and are then eaten.  For this reason the Photuris species are sometimes referred to as "femme fatale fireflies."
--- "Target males are attracted to what appears to be a suitable mate, and are then eaten."  And we think OUR men are stupid...

Tropical fireflies, particularly in Southeast Asia, routinely synchronise their flashes among large groups, an example of biological synchronicity.  In some fields, this phenomenon is explained as phase synchronization[2] and spontaneous order.  At night along river banks in the Malaysian jungles (most notably found near Kuala Selangor), fireflies ("kelip-kelip" in the Malay language or Bahasa Malaysia) synchronise their light emissions precisely.  Current hypotheses about the causes of this behavior involve diet, social interaction, and altitude.  In the United States, one of the most famous sightings of fireflies blinking in unison occurs annually near Elkmont, Tennessee in the Great Smoky Mountains during the first weeks of June.[3]  Congaree National Park in South Carolina is another host to this phenomenon.[4]
--- In another species, and also in the United States (and most other places), instances of biological synchronicity are more easily studied: On Fridays and Saturdays, usually well after sunset / happy-hour, one can find comparable phenomena at the skeezy nightclub down the street.  While the females in these cases do glow brightly and in unison like their Photuris cousins, evolutionary changes (also known as fashion), have affected the ways in which they do so.  Exoskeletal features such as sparkly earrings and really short skirts are common, and the group instinct towards spontaneous (dis)order is often fulfilled via synchronized giggling, often as a direct reaction to signals from the males in the species (or from far too many Long Island Iced Teas).  As with the fireflies, current theories on the causes of this behavior involve diet, social interaction, and altitude attitude.

praying mantis, anyone?


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[domenica 01 novembre 2009 ore 20:04:11] []