tag:arielzevon.com,2005:/blogs/blog?p=2Blog2020-02-04T09:15:00-12:00Ariel Zevonfalsetag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62133592020-02-12T09:07:35-12:002023-12-10T04:44:58-12:00A Road<p>Here on the road less traveled </p>
<p>Seeking refuge in the clouds </p>
<p>Here on the road less traveled </p>
<p>Far from voices of the crowd </p>
<p>Here on the road less traveled </p>
<p>Solace of trees do resound</p>
<p>Here on this road I landed</p>
<p>I found myself at peace</p>
<p>Here on this road I landed</p>
<p>Where beauty’s in every crease</p>
<p>Here on this road my travels</p>
<p>All brought me to this place.</p>
<p> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62120682020-02-11T07:38:01-12:002021-10-19T21:48:01-12:00Maybe<p>Maybe it's too broken<br>Been cracked too many times<br>Fallen and bruised too blue</p>
<p>Still trying to fill it up<br>But it all seeps out too quick<br>Nothing holds inside</p>
<p>No light, no air<br>No love, no hate<br>Everything just dissipates</p>
<p>It's just an empty vase<br>Shattered and tattered<br>Yet it stays put</p>
<p>Perhaps the right fix<br>A very special stitch<br>Or super strong glue</p>
<p>Maybe the answer is you</p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62100902020-02-10T02:58:41-12:002021-10-19T21:50:03-12:00Fear & Dread<p>Is it fear or is it dread,<br>That stirs up in my head,<br>That turns my gut into led,<br>That makes me want to run instead?</p>
<p>Is it free falling I fear?<br>Fallacious vows I hear?<br>Whispered wishes in my ear?<br>That love will suddenly appear?</p>
<p>Do I dread that it will end?<br>Or fear what I intend?<br>Will it be another trend?<br>Again a trap I did portend.</p>
<p>But as it churns within me,<br>Rogue waves in a black sea,<br>My lust for affinity<br>Proves my lack of divinity.</p>
<p>Fear and Dread begin to tease,<br>A familiar unease,<br>No promise can appease,<br>And yet, I lunge in my esprits...<br> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62096602020-02-09T12:03:54-12:002023-12-10T04:52:37-12:00Promises<p>I made a promise to myself...<br>and then I broke it.<br>A promise to someone else,<br>I make sure to keep it.</p>
<p>I will forgo my plans<br>To assuage others.<br>Bend over backwards<br>To satisfy their plans.</p>
<p>If I believe<br>”Do unto others...”<br>Yet I don’t do unto myself<br>As I would do...</p>
<p>It may be high time<br>To make myself<br>A better friend of mine.<br><br> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62056812020-02-06T03:23:44-12:002022-07-17T19:54:22-12:00A Day Like Any Day<p> Sun or shine<br> Nevermind<br>there's<br> Work at hand<br> They demand<br>you<br> Feed them hay<br> Slop some whey<br>just<br> Keep moving<br>for<br> It's in Doing<br>that<br> Life is found<br>then<br> Comes around.</p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62043662020-02-05T02:54:19-12:002021-03-28T08:40:06-12:00Not Much To Say<p>Somedays, there's not much to say.<br> Words have no meaning, <br> Fail to translate<br> the quagmire of ruminations<br> that slither themselves into knots<br> like contortionist Cnidaria.</p>
<p>Somedays, thoughts are too scattered.<br> Ideas have no weight,<br> Float in a pit<br> so infinitely void of substance<br> they dissipate in the vortex<br> of a star extinguished to black.</p>
<p>Somedays, it's too much to express.<br> Truth remains buried,<br> Trapped in a maze<br> of deaf and numb cacophony<br> in the echo of the silence<br> no one can hear in the absence.</p>
<p>Somedays the prophecy is mute...<br> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62029282020-02-04T02:14:11-12:002022-05-26T02:00:53-12:00Femida <p>Did Femida go missing<br>The day Bill killed the Buffalo?<br>Alas, it was long before then.</p>
<p>Femida had disappeared,<br> in 1842,<br>When Elphinstone's men<br> died at Gandamak.</p>
<p>Femida wasn't there,<br> in 1838,<br>To stop Colonel Snodgrass<br> at Waterloo Creek.</p>
<p>Femida was long gone,<br> in 1822,<br>When the Ottoman Malitia<br> slayed forty thousand Greeks.</p>
<p>Femida might have cried,<br> in 1812,<br>To see Wellington's men<br> turn from hell hounds to heaps<br> of blood soaked bodies after<br> raping and robbing to siege a town<br> that was neither their's nor their enemy's<br> in the battles of the Napoleonic Wars.</p>
<p>No, Femida had vanished<br> from the hearts of men,<br>Though they may have erected<br> great statues in her name.</p>
<p>Eras before that,<br> in Sweden, Cyprus and France,<br> in Germany and Jerusalem,<br> in Macedonia, Xu Province,<br> in Britannia and all the lands across the Earth,<br>Where men laid claim to power and greed,<br>Where men traded morals for a spear and a crown,<br>Femida was not heard, nor seen.</p>
<p>Who remembers Femida,<br> Lady Justice,<br> Goddess Maat,<br> Themis of good council?<br>Did the ancient Greeks<br> think of her while they fought their Persian Wars?<br>Does America betray her now<br> as they refuse refuge to those in need?</p>
<p>Is it an act of blasphemy<br> when men erect an idol<br> for Justice and Equality,<br> then give her a sword<br> and blindfold her eyes,<br>Then call themselves forgiven<br> when claiming that their treachery<br> was all in the name of God.</p>
<p>Femida was never missing.<br>Femida never cried for us.<br>Femida was never here at all.</p>
<p>They stood her on a pedestal,<br> then silenced her.</p>
<p>They gave her breasts,<br> then mauled and raped her.</p>
<p>They put a knife in her hand,<br> then murdered her.</p>
<p>Femida will never judge us.</p>
<p>We are Femida,<br> and Femida's soul is slain.</p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62017222020-02-03T05:15:22-12:002022-05-22T20:15:33-12:00American Man<p>"I'm not political,"<br> he says,<br>While stripes and stars<br>Adorn his back,<br>And war cries bark<br>Across his chest.</p>
<p>"I'm not a bigot,"<br> he swears.<br>"But don't jew me,"<br>He jokes and winks.<br>"Why should I care,<br>How others live."</p>
<p>"I don't support the wars,"<br> he balks.<br>"But I am free<br>Thanks to those men.<br>I honor them,<br>Now that they're dead."</p>
<p>"I'm part Indian," <br> he grins. <br>Support Our Troops! <br>His cap exclaims. <br>"Some had to die, <br>Just how it is."</p>
<p>"I'm proud of my country,"<br> he boasts.<br>Cheats on taxes,<br>To pay the bills.<br>Others need welfare?<br>Not on his dime!</p>
<p>But, he's not political,<br> you see.<br>So why should he <br> take responsibility?</p>
<p> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/62003812020-02-02T01:52:18-12:002020-02-09T12:20:47-12:00Illegitimate Man<p>Let me spare you from your demise,<br>Too short sighted to recognize.<br>It’s nothing to me, got nothing to lose;<br>But your pitfall will make us both fools.</p>
<p>Your tactics are less than unique.<br>Confiding your woes makes you look meek.<br>Telling me you want to make me your muse, <br>Did you expect that to make me swoon? </p>
<p>What is it with your kind of guy? <br>What is it with me that trips your eye? <br>Don’t tell me I’ve been trapped in your head, <br>That you’re getting out and want me instead. </p>
<p>Your offer is disappointing, <br>More than that it’s revolting. <br>I’ll bide my time, content and alone. <br>Don’t think I’m at all tempted by your bone. </p>
<p>So long and farewell, I'm doing fine.<br>Your problems with her are not mine. <br>In fact, I really do not give a shit. <br>Independent and free, I am legit.</p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/61999382020-02-01T09:54:07-12:002020-02-01T09:54:07-12:00The Things We Are Not<p>There's a lot of things<br>I never thought I'd do...</p>
<p>There's a hundred things<br>I never knew I'd be...</p>
<p>There's a thousand things<br>I never said to you...</p>
<p>There's a million things<br>I cast away into the sea...</p>
<p>But in the end,<br>Those things are just things.</p>
<p>I am this me,<br>right here and now.<br>And, I see you,<br>And, you see me.<br>And, that's enough,<br>So let it be.</p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/61981712020-01-31T01:43:07-12:002020-01-31T01:43:07-12:00Weekly Digest<p>Every morning, I get up,<br>Sip salvation from my cup.<br>Thanks, I'll skip the daily bread,<br>Fill my head with news instead.<br>Then it's tend to this and tend to that.<br>Breathe and act normal, feed the cat.<br>Then back to the newsreel,<br>Like a trapped rat in a wheel,<br>Of who's who and who's died?<br>A thousand times they say he lied.<br>Keep scrolling, keep swiping.<br>Will they ever cease their griping?<br>Sun has peaked, get back on task.<br>Whatever the neighbor's done, don't ask.<br>Back at it, work on that, work on this.<br>Relieve some pressure, take a piss.<br>Every night I sit and dine,<br>Tell myself it'll all be fine.<br>Scuffle off to end this day.<br>In sleep, the reality is cast away.</p>
<p>It's morning again, sun is up...<br>Will anyone cry "the jig is up"?<br>Or will we keep grinding that axe,<br>Til we whittle away, ignore the fact...<br>Repeating each day, again like the last<br>Will crush us to dust, and wicked fast.<br><br> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/61970512020-01-30T04:13:38-12:002020-01-30T04:13:38-12:00The Promised Land<p>Come one, come all,<br> Welcome to the Promised Land!</p>
<p>Nevermind the truth, it's only an illusion.<br>To reveal the hoax will only cause confusion.<br>Our denial is our national persuasion.<br>The wool on our eyes is too thick for revision.</p>
<p>Step right in to the Promised Land!</p>
<p>This is where<br> Freedom is a magic trick.<br> Cages look like pretty houses,<br> And, iron bars like picket fences.</p>
<p>Forget the life you left behind!</p>
<p> Over there,<br> You may have held the highest ranking;<br> Or, you may have been killed escaping.</p>
<p>Dream with us of wealth and beauty!</p>
<p> All but fair,<br> But you'll have to start from scratch,<br> And, we'll treat you like a dog: play catch!</p>
<p>Follow us to the Promised Land!</p>
<p>It's all an empty pyramid scheme,<br>Everything is nothing but what is seems.<br>Once you buy in, there's no way out.<br>We have plenty of pills to chill you out.</p>
<p>Come in, come in,<br> Enter the gates to the Promised Land!<br> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/61951942020-01-29T02:09:25-12:002023-10-26T05:31:25-12:00No Allegiance<p><strong>** ANOTHER WARNING: a DISCLAIMER<br>This is my own personal Statement of Independence,<br>In and of itself, it is Self Righteous and Entitled.<br>My truth is born out of an Ego, a Story of who I am,<br>Which is just that: a Story...</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I pledge no allegiance <br> to the rag,<br> to a carrot dangling<br> from the hands of Knaves.<br>Nor to a nation of Thieves<br> who perpetrate amnesia<br>With propaganda and coercion<br> to forget the pillaged,<br> to betray all codes of ethics,<br>All in the name of false Gods.<br>Gods created in the minds of men,<br> who stop at nothing to fill their cups;<br> who create division to excuse more wars,<br> and train the drones to be Indivisible;<br> who sacrifice the liberties of many<br> to secure their seat in the house<br> designed to keep the masses<br> Slaves to the Ballots they cast<br> and wave proudly to prove they are free.<br>This justice is a lie they market<br> and their soldiers enforce it.<br> Soldiers in rags,<br> Soldier in malitias,<br> Soldier in suits,<br> Soldiers in sheep's clothing<br> blind to their own demise.</p>
<p>No, I pledge no allegiance,<br> NOT because they give me the Freedom,<br> to SPEAK,<br> to BELIEVE,<br> nor to bear their arms.<br>Those are not rights granted,<br> because the few deem me worthy. <br>If I accept that doctrine,<br> I must serve;<br> I must obey;<br> I must submit to a master<br> and admit I am a slave.</p>
<p>I pledge no allegiance,<br> because the Sun will rise<br> by no power of any man.</p>
<p>I pledge no allegiance,<br> because the Wind will blow<br> and topple the thrones of men.</p>
<p>I pledge no allegiance,<br> because the Earth will turn<br> and mend all our wrongs.<br><br> <br> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/61897442020-01-28T03:04:49-12:002020-03-28T06:36:03-12:00Nihilistic Declaration<p><strong>** WARNING: <br>Here comes my very own<br>Nihilistic Declaration<br>Self Righteous Indignation<br>You're FREE to change the Station.</strong></p>
<p>Can you imagine a life<br>That gives you the option<br>To ride private jets to your child's games?<br>You can't be bothered by the masses<br>The workers below who sit<br>Each in their cars in traffic<br> to get to their jobs<br> to clean your house,<br> to trim your hedges,<br> to make your meals,<br> to deliver your pleasures...</p>
<p>Am I really going to cry<br>Over the loss of one more Elite<br>While the toilers suffer and die<br>To bring you your joys?</p>
<p>How proud do you feel while you dine<br>Sipping from your metal straw<br>That put out how many emissions<br>To fabricate so you can claim<br>You're not responsible<br>For that dead whale that choked<br>And bloodied your private beach?</p>
<p>Have you forgotten how to drink from a cup?<br>Has it not occurred to you<br>That the whiteness of your smile<br>Has less value to the planet<br>Than not using a straw at all?</p>
<p>But then, what would they sell you?<br>Who then would make a profit?</p>
<p>Please, excuse me for my nihilism;<br>For saying, we get what we deserve.</p>
<p>Let Los Angeles sink into the ocean.<br>Let the viruses cross our so-called borders.<br>Let the weapons we built be turned on us.</p>
<p>Our existence has proven fatalistic.<br>We've so much as begged our Mother<br> to render us extinct,<br> to extract us from her house.</p>
<p>Our lives are not worth saving.</p>
<p>We are the Omens of Destruction.</p>
<p>We are the Bearers of Bad News.</p>
<p>We are the Leaders of our own Procession,<br> and the angels will not call for us.<br><br> </p>Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/60936132019-08-15T12:00:00-12:002019-08-17T06:32:30-12:00Why the Stix
<p>With summertime buzzing by quick as ever, and new projects creeping into the forefront to take center stage in my obsessive mind, the blogging as a means to keep in touch with those who seek news from the Stix has slipped between the cracks... Apologies, my friends. Rest assured, you have not been forgotten and I so appreciate the messages you send and the direct communications do carry more meaning than simply scrolling by snapshots of our daily travails and triumphs. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/399557/7de1545fbbbb46af260da3e76e73245e62e6d764/original/img-4889.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NTI3eDM5NSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="395" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="527" /></p>
<p>This Blog is in response to Naomi who asked how I ended up choosing this lifestyle (#lifeinthestix as I have tagged it in the spirit of staying hip to the jargon of our bizarre cyber-nauseating times). For those who don't know, 8 or so years ago I bought a chunk of land on a hillside in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, and for 6 years or so, my boys and I have lived here. Off the grid. Off the land. As self-sufficiently as we can manage, and thank goodness for kind hearted neighbors and locals with know-how and good old fashioned Vermont ingenuity who have helped us get by on numerous tenuous occasions. The first summer I lived up here, alone for a few months with the boys away for the summer, I did start to journal the experience (my only prior attempt to "blog"); but, as the life became overwhelmingly full I didn't get much past the first two or three entries. If you are really intrigued by my story though, you can still find those early day entries here: <a href="https://azevon.wordpress.com/" data-imported="1">https://azevon.wordpress.com/</a></p>
<p>The short answer to "why" I choose this lifestyle is another question "how could I not?" However, I am aware that for many that would seem a confusing retort. It is not for everyone. In fact, it is not the life most people seek out for themselves, though there is a breed of people who yearn for it. We folks who pine for a deep-seeded rapport with the soil we tend and that gives us nourishment. We people who cannot stand the feeling of dependency on a system that seems out to trick us, poison us and betray us out of the simplest of universal needs. But, perhaps I am getting ahead of myself...</p>
<p>It is hard to explain, and becomes harder with each day that passes as I become more accustomed to living this way and take the riches of living on a sustainable homestead for granted. Life before the Stix, back in the urban days (and I did grow up in cities, BIG ones), I took for granted that apartments and houses would come fully equipped with running water and electricity. I never had to figure out how to fix the sources for these, just had to pay a bill. I took for granted that the shops would be stocked with foods and all I had to do was buy them, ready to fill my fridge. But, I also had to earn dollars to keep those amenities within reach, had to balance on that tight rope to pay the rent, pay the bills, buy the goods...and underneath the facade of "normal", of living a "civilized" life, I was skeptical. Skeptical that the stress of having to always make ends meet was a worthy trade for resources I knew I couldn't trust. Who was selling the electricity and at what detrimental cost to the environment? How was the water being treated before it was being pumped through miles of pipelines to come out of my faucet? What conditions did the farmhands who harvested those picture perfect veggies have to endure? These kind of questions plagued my consciousness. I had a hunch that I wouldn't care for the answers to these questions and that there was a way I could relieve my guilty conscience by opting to quit participating in the system of the grid, as it were...</p>
<p>For me, it did not take long to adapt to the switch and rejoice at the incredible riches I have come to know from digging up my own fresh spring water, planting my own crops, harvesting my own power from the sun. Yes, this life is incredibly hard too. It is rugged and brutal. Death and life come and go swiftly. Nature is a cruel mistress. But the more I can learn to bend my needs to fit Nature's perfectly symbiotic ways, the less I will have to struggle, the healthier I will become, the more balance I recognize. I am not nearly there yet. There are many days spent screaming, crying, throwing tantrums, cursing at the wind... but, my determination to see the problems through because the rewards are well worth it have so far kept me from giving up. Well, ok. Maybe I am just that stubborn, yes. In any case, it has kept me on this hillside now for nearly 6 years so far. And, truly, the rewards are many...</p>
<p>Fresh spring water from the tap: REVITALIZING</p>
<p>Home grown meats, dairy, eggs, vegetables and fruits: NOTHING COMES CLOSE TO COMPARISON in flavor or quality</p>
<p>Endless entertainment of nature, animals wild and domestic, dramatic skies day or night: DRAMA & BEAUTY & ART</p>
<p>Self reliance = Empowerment</p>
<p>Increase in skill sets, like: plowing, tractoring, wood splitting, running a chainsaw, fence building, butchering, processing whole foods, foraging wild foods and medicines, and on and on and on and on.... There's just no trading the knowledge that I can find the source of my waterline, control the feed that my animals consume, save the seeds of my favorite heirloom vegetables. There's nothing more rewarding than keeping warm by a stove stoked with wood we blocked, split and stacked ourselves.</p>
<p>Knowing the land you live and rely on is an intimate relationship. You will fight sometimes. Celebrate sometimes. And it requires commitment and respect. I have yet to secure that kind of relationship in a human partner, but this 40.5 acre plot of land has been good to me. I aim to be good to it in return.</p>
Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/60936122019-07-13T12:00:00-12:002022-04-11T19:42:27-12:00About the Songs
<p>This one is for Nikki, my oldest friend here on the Blog Block, dating back to middle school, late '80s in Ashland, OR (if you read prior post you might recall that Oregon was my mother's last ditch attempt to settle us down to a "normal" Americana lifestyle)... so, Nikki asked about the songwriting process...</p>
<p>It's a funny thing coming into this lime light so far into my life, in my ripe middle age, I feel like an amateur and an old hand (or hag) all at once. My journey through music has been a windy, bumpy, curvaceous and hazardous road. I spent much of my life choosing to bare right and skip along the alternate route, shying away from music to play in the theatre, training my voice for acting, tuning my body for stage movement. i did play classical flute all throughout my childhood (as Nikki recalls from our days in the middle school marching band where we concocted a fantastical horror script about a possessed flute that became a gruesome instrument of torture and death). The classical training was wonderful for learning how to read music, gaining a deep appreciation for classical composers which my father and I spent many a time discussing and comparing notes about. The flip side to studying music in that way for 13 years was that I became constricted and came to fear the music that exists between the lines, or off the page and unwritten. I lost any ability to improvise through music, in prisoned by technicality. I already suffered some massive hang ups around music given the perceived pressure of my genetic predisposition to live and breathe great music, so the technical training in classical playing became a kind of cage. I lost my sense of play. As a kid, my best friend Nabou and I would write pop songs with choreographed dance routines. I dreamed that when I was old enough (like 16), I would take my boom box out on the metros and sing for coins (yes, this was like a high reaching goal for me, I thought it would be the coolest thing ever)... but, by the time I reached my teens, I was petrified to express myself in that way. Instead, I embraced the comfort of diving into a character in a play where Ariel could completely disappear and become anyone else.</p>
<p>Fast forward, will get to the question at hand here, I promise... After a decade and then some of marriage, becoming "adult", home ownership, birthing the twins, running businesses, divorce, love and losses... in other words: LIFE... suddenly, SONGS began to emerge. It was a bit like there had been a slow burning pressure cooker running in the background for 30 something years of my life, and the little pressure valve that lets the steam out was finally whistling dixie. I kind of didn't chose it, it was just time for it to happen. And, I stopped fighting it or running away from it. Mind you, it was and still is a terrifying part of me to expose publicly. The writing comes easy, for the most part, but sharing it or playing the songs for other live human beings is daunting. Still.</p>
<p>So... songwriting. Since that was the question. How do I come up with songs... it depends, of course. I would say that most often it is a word or a phrase that flicks and sticks in my brain. That word or phrase emerges out of whatever is going on in my inner world, my heart, mind and soul wrestling to sort out whatever life has served up at that time. I know it when it happen, like a dart hitting the bull's eye. Zing! Then the mad dash to make sure to hold onto the word, or the phrase before it evaporates and I lose it (as Nikki mentioned in her comment, yes this happens, and it sucks!). It very frequently happens when I am driving, probably because that is when I am sitting still and my mind is free to ruminate. So then I scramble at the wheel to find a scrap of paper and jot it down somewhere. There are many little scraps of papers, receipts, napkins, whatever floating around like this and they don't always make it into the house where I then merge them into my various notebooks filled with chicken scratch lyrics and chord progressions. When I eventually find the time, and sometimes it's months from the initial lightning strike, if I have managed to save that scrappy seed of a song, I will sit down to write the rest. Sometimes I just write the lyrics out all at once, then pick up a guitar and see if I can get it to fit to some progression of chords. If guitar doesn't work, I take it to the piano and try that. I do not consider myself to be a musician, a guitarist or a pianist, still. I know music inherently, but my skill to play piano or guitar is akin to the basic knowledge that you must hit the nail on the head with the hammer. Rudimentary. But...it works!</p>
<p>Once in a while, the idea, or word, or phrase strikes me like a tidal wave and I cannot concentrate on anything else until I find the time to swim my way back to shore by writing it out as quickly as possible before it drowns me. Then it's a mad frenzy to make space and time for myself, because I cannot do this process when I am with other humans, especially my kids, so I can purge the damn thing from my guts and get it on paper. Like birthing an alien, that then is a cute gremlin that you want to love and care for... weird analogy, but that's just what came out right here and now and I am just going to let it be.</p>
<p>There are some times when I come up with a lick on the guitar or the piano that I like, and the words then follow suit. Sometimes. Less frequently. I imagine if I was more fluent in my ability to play the instruments that would happen more. Truth be told, I have no intention of ever becoming a great guitarist or pianist, I have accepted that will never be "my thing". I do not want to spend 10 hours a day practicing scales until I have the muscle memory to channel the gods through my playing. I absolutely love and admire those who have that ability and will seek them out to put the magic to my songs. Good to discover where our talents lay and accept where they do not, one of the sweet grains of wisdom that comes with getting older.</p>
<p>So.... that's about the gist of it? Interesting process to write out how you write... thanks for asking, Nikki :)</p>
<p>The Detangler was the first song that I wrote intentionally, like "ok, I am writing a song now, cuz this is something I do" kind of intention... here is the produced version from Pepperbox Studios, and I will also include my original home recorded experimental version below.</p>
<p></p>
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<p><a href="https://soundcloud.com/ariel-zevon/the-detangler-experimental" data-imported="1">https://soundcloud.com/ariel-zevon/the-detangler-experimental</a></p>
Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/60936112019-07-03T12:00:00-12:002021-04-21T13:59:20-12:00Knaves & Dupes
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<p dir="ltr">Since it is that day of the year when many, nay most, Americans are waving flags and eating hot dogs, standing in the sweltering heat to watch the parades go by on Main Street, drinking beers by the pool or on the beach, feeling proud to be "free"... since it is that day in July when the country boasts about how great it is to be independent and free in the land of the brave. Since it is the 4th of July, Independence Day, I will do as my mother suggested and write about my childhood which was decidedly unconventional and UN-american, and which explains how I came to be the nay-sayer party pooper of Flag and Country hoopla that I am today. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am American. Born in Los Angeles, California to American parents. American english was my first language. At the age of 4, however, my thrill seeking, romantic writer of a mother decided to move us to Paris, France. What was intended to be a summer house exchange turned into the first 3 years of my quick transformation from an American white girl into a francophile mutt. Furthermore, the bulk of those first 3 years in Paris were spent living in a predominantly Chinese/Vietnamese/Cambodian neighborhood. My best friend in 1st grade was Chinese. So, there I was, a minority iby virtue of being from the United States, and also not Chinese. I remember dinners at Ho Yans house with her parents who only spoke Chinese, eating their traditional meals, fascinated by the way they slurped their noodles into their mouths using the chopsticks like pointy shovels. Ho Yan and I gave each other lessons in each others languages... can't say that it stuck, but it was a valiant effort. </p>
<p dir="ltr">My mother recalls dropping me off for my first day in a public french school, 1st grade. I didn't speak French yet, but off I went. Full immersion. I vaguely remember sitting in that classroom, a bit nervous... but, very vaguely. Again, my mother recalls that by the end of that week, I was speaking French fluently. Studies show the benefits of knowing multiple languages, to which I can attest. There are some funny idiosyncrasies, though, that developed in me as a result of having spoken English first, but schooled in French for the first 8 years of my education. It made for some blurring of linguistic lines in my head. I will sometimes speak a French word with an American accent in an English conversation, for example. Or, I will use a colloquial expression in the wrong language that doesn't exist except in the other language. If that makes any sense at all…</p>
<p dir="ltr">What this had already done to me culturally by the age of 8 is release me from the bondage of clinging to a nationality. I was a floater, a migrant in both of my homes, whether in the US or in France. In France, I didn't look like a French kid. I was larger, big boned some might say, and though I was white, I just stood out. I didn't have that French je-ne-sais-quoi about me. In the States, I was a kid who could write in French better than I could in English. We did move back to the US when my mother ran out of the means to keep paying Parisian rents without a work visa. From then on, we were back and forth. In the US for a year until my mother saved up funds, or until she couldn't stand to be here anymore and longed for her adored Paree... In both places, we would land in various culturally diverse neighborhoods. Probably the most memorable was our time living in "La Goutte D'Or" near the Chateau Rouge Metro station. Almost entirely African and Arab immigrants. The French police would raid and harass and arrest people on the streets regularly. Line them up against a wall, search them... this I witnessed as I would be walking our dog around the block or walking home from school. I definitely stood out there, blond and blue-eyed, prepubescent girl with too much spunk for her own good. Many French Parisians wouldn't feel comfortable in that neighborhood at that time (I understand it has since been gentrified and become the hip place to live), but it was a community. I lived in that community and it took care of me. There was a nice Arab grocer who ran the corner store who kept a watchful eye. The culture there was so rich and vibrant, African markets with exotic fruits and vegetables, spices, grains, fabric stores filled with the colorful patterned fabrics that the Afircan women turned into elaborate dresses and head garments... on Farmer's Market days the street would be jam packed, the most impressive to me were always the women who would carry cases of open egg cartons on their heads, or huge baskets full of produce, usually with an infant swaddled to the chest.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In that era, my best friend was Senegalese. Nabou and I became sisters, soul sisters. Though we have been on different continents now for our whole adult lives, we are still sisters and connect as best as we can being busy mothers with careers and passions pulling us in a million directions. Nabou's apartment was one of the warmest and most joyous homes I had ever known, and that despite their incredible struggles. Nabou's parents migrated to France from Senegal leaving their first 2 children with grandparents in their village. They couldn't afford to bring them. They would send money back to Senegal, and save as much as they could. They had more children born in Paris, Nabou included. Sometime, not too long after I became friends with Nabou, her parents had finally saved enough to bring their oldest son and daughter to France. So, at the age of 9 (I could be fuzzy on the details here), Nabou met her siblings for the first time. Then, there were 7 of them living in a very small two room apartment. Yet, their place was far from bleak. I only ever remember showing up there to laughter and smiles, Nabou's beautiful mother always making huge amounts of incredible dishes with lots of spice, fish you'd never heard of steamed in banana leaves... and you had to partake, she wouldn't have it any other way. I adored their home and all of them. Still do.</p>
<p dir="ltr"> It wasn't until High School that I switched from the French school system to American...and, it definitely was a pivotal gear shift. It was 7-8th grade...who's to say whether it was the puberty wreaking havoc or the schooling style that kind of caused me to derail, but something did. It was also the one period of my life where my mother had decided it was time to "settle down". Built a house with a literal white picket fence in Ashland, OR. The "All American Dream". It didn't last. There were many extenuating circumstances that are tales better left for another time or untold altogether, suffice it to say, the dream house in the suburbs of a quaint American town did not make all our difficulties disappear and render us happy go lucky. Wasn't for lack of trying though, gotta give my mother that…...</p>
<p dir="ltr"> The trajectories continued, never settling in any one place for too too long... by the time I was 16, I had pulled myself out of school (the French schools wouldn't have me back after my American schooling, by the way) and finished high school by correspondance through the University of Nebraska while living in Paris. I wanted it over and done with, I wanted to get to college and pursue my passion for theatre and performance. Which is where my story first lands us in Vermont, the Green Mountain State. I fell in love with this rural landscape and knew it was where I would one day finally settle and take root.</p>
<p dir="ltr"> So what is the point of all that? Not sure how I got into such a chronological retelling of the geographic sweeps of my early years, but the point was to show how it all evolved into shaping my ideology around the concept of "country". To me there is no "country", there are no borders except the ones drawn on maps defined at some point in history by some group of governing people/men based on their egotistical belief that because they have arrived there, and probably massacred people they felt were in the way, that gives them reason to claim that chunk of earth as theirs. Stab the soil with a pole and raise a flag to show everyone how important you are for having claimed ownership over this particular place on the globe. It's nonsense. To me, it is shear and total murderous nonsense. The earth belongs to no one or everyone, equally. The flag to me represents all the lives lost so that a group of people can feel justified stuffing their faces and getting a buzz on in the name of God. Country and God have nothing to do with one another and yet man has intertwined them inexplicably. I refuse to participate. I may seem like a real Debbie Downer (poor Debbie, where does that expression come from??), but I simply cannot pretend that the whole notion of celebrating ownership over stolen blood soaked land just makes me sick. Maybe I seem self righteous? That's funny, isn't it, when it's pretty self righteous to claim you have more of a right to exist in a specific place than any other person. I know, animals are territorial. Dogs piss to mark "their" territory. Lions, chimpanzees, whales... I have seen my roosters and male rabbits fight sometimes to draw blood... and, humans are animals... but, aren't we supposed to have the higher conscience that guides us to know right from wrong? Morals? Ethics? What is righteous about hoarding geographic regions and denying others access? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Nothing. It's nonsense. </p>
<p dir="ltr">(as the fireworks go off in the distance...) </p>
<p dir="ltr">*thanks mom for correcting all my grammatical glitches ;)</p>
Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/60936102019-06-30T12:00:00-12:002022-05-18T19:43:10-12:00Blog #2: We are here and growing!
<p>As I stated in the first blog, I have no planned intention with this business of blogging except to keep a means for free communication with friends old and new, known in person or on line, far and wide OPEN and available. Thus you can imagine my absolute delight with each and every one of you that has tuned in and taken a moment to read and write a comment! Truly fantastic!! Just what I needed to give me the momentum to keep writing. Seems a much better use of time than the mindless thumb scrolling I regretfully find myself doing several times a day. I peruse the feeds when I have a lull, a moment of down time. I can recall a time not so long ago when we didn't have news feeds to scroll (and calling them "news feeds" seems a grave misrepresentation of what they really are), which meant that in our free time we might talk to the person we were with, or read a chapter in a printed book, or listen to music, or just observe our surroundings, observe the REAL world around us happening in REAL time. What does it mean that we are losing the genuine experience of existing in the spontaneity of whatever IS? What will my sons grow up to be like, I often wonder. They spend so much of their days and nights interacting with their screens and literally missing life's drama which is unfolding all around them. Clueless. Or careless. Or both. It can give me nightmares if I let it.</p>
<p>But I digress...</p>
<p>So, here we are! Hello! Thank you for joining me here! What should we discuss? The one thing about "blogging" is it feels so one sided. I feel like the spotlight is on me to keep things interesting enough to be worth all of our time. Additionally feels presumptuous to assume anyone needs or wants to read my thoughts spewed out publicly... but then again, y'all are here and have said some encouraging and supportive things. Therefore, I am compelled to do my very best!</p>
<p>What should we discuss? Comment below with topics, questions, your own perspectives. Maybe it will inspire some brilliant writings out of me... or lead to good discussions in the thread. Only one rule, let us SPEAK OUR MINDS FREELY. After all, that's what got us here.</p>
<p>Doesn't feel complete without a picture, so here is one from my childhood...way back in the days when cell phones didn't exist, no one had computers at home, and when you left your house with it's land line telephone and TV with an antennae, you interacted with the people you crossed paths with... (that's me on the far right)</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/399557/a3672d30265e153423479b846c7e6156ec464214/original/35175-1490723595535-6662519-n.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDg1eDMyOSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="329" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="485" /></p>
Ariel Zevontag:arielzevon.com,2005:Post/60936092019-06-29T12:00:00-12:002022-05-30T23:10:04-12:00Freedom to Blog
<p>Hello to whomever has landed here... How did you land here? I imagine that I am typing into a vast void of receptive readers, but perhaps you will prove me mistaken! How jolly fun that would be to see that someone minds my activities on-line enough to have made their way onto this very first blog page on my very own (well, under the managerial custody of HostBaby) website...</p>
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<p>This is a test.</p>
<p>(in case that wasn't already obvious)</p>
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<p>I have not planned what I will blog about. The impetus to create a blog space of my very own has been triggered by my recently being silenced on the FaceBook platform. FB has not yet banned me permanently, but if the battle continues on as it has now for several weeks, then I suspect FB and I will sever ties soon enough. What a freedom! Look here, it is already motivating me to write out this blog! Which meant I first had to take the time to research how to even blog, which for this luddite took a fair amount of time (thankfully, it is a rainy day, good reason to take time in computer land). The reason FB has deemed my input worthy enough to BLOCK/CENSOR/SILENCE is scandalous, or ought to be in my book. I re-posted a beautiful pictorial article on a tribe of people living in the Sudan. The photographs illustrate moments in time of these people living off their piece of the earth, in symbiotic harmony. The photographers Carol Beckwith and Angela Fisher spent over 30 years taking photos of ceremonies, rituals and the daily life of African tribal peoples. I strongly suggest anyone who is not familiar to check it out, beauty to behold https://www.boredpanda.com/extraordinary-photos-the-essence-of-the-tribe-in-sudan/ . I cannot conceive a legitimate reason why these photos would be banned except for the blind-sighted power grab of a neo-conservative type of bigoted censorship system. FaceBook claims the images go against their "Community Standards of nudity and sexual content" which in my view makes them the perverts and sheltered idiots...</p>
<p>In any case...that battle has led me to here. Where I hope I and anyone out there who lands here and wants to join in the conversation can discuss such ideas, lifestyles, customs and cultures FREELY. So, this blog is a form of resistance. I am not yet sure it will work or pan out or create anything meaningful...but here's to trying!</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/399557/1cadee0d5afa0f0e5caf6c0d12bd67b54adb2d8a/original/extraordinary-photos-the-essence-of-the-tribe-in-sudan12-605.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NjA1eDgzMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="830" width="605" /></p>
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Ariel Zevon