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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
todays bird
Monterey Bay Aquarium
trying on a metaphor
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Cosmic Funnies
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ellievsbear
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
ojovivo
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shark vs the universe
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I'd rather be in outer space πΈ
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@monalisaphoenixmoon
β¨ HAPPY HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY, RIVER JUDE PHOENIX | August 23, 1970-October 31, 1993 β¨
If I have some celebrity, I hope I can use it to make a difference. The true social reward is that I can speak my mind and share my thoughts about the environment and civilization itself. There's so much shit happening with people who are exploiting their positions and creating a lot of negativity.
river phoenix / sharon tate
two forces of nature, two gifts from the angels. taken too soon, but their legacies live on π€
βShe was this smart, very, very streetwise New York girl. River was like this uh, I donβt know, whoβs like Peter Pan?β
βΒ Naomi Foner on River and Martha
The purity in these is overwhelming...π₯°π
3501 W. Commonwealth, Fullerton, CA
As a child I would always love to have lots of candy. Sometimes we needed it so bad that we stole it from liquor stores. We were little blond boys. Seven, eight years old (before I met that man of mine. The year I met my father). Me and my step step brother, Kieth, would walk to the liquor stores just off Prichard Street. We'd go in to try to steal candy and "werewolf-by-night" comic books, "Master of Kung-fu" comics. Maybe I succeeded once or twice with both. I was caught by his wife (my stepfather's wife) one day...stealing my favorite wintergreen Life Savers. They were so ****ing good.-undated journal entry
Jeff Buckley, In Memory
By Sheila O'Malley, May 29, 2007 via sheilaomalley.com
On a rainy night in Chicago many years ago, my friend Ted (now theΒ BLOGGER Ted! ha!!) and I went to go see some singer I had never heard of atΒ The Green Mill. His name was Jeff Buckley. He had a couple of tiny albums outβrecordings of live shows he had done at Cafe Sin-e in New Yorkβbut he was about to have a large album releasedβthe album that would be calledΒ Graceβ¦and so he was on the cusp of stardom. Ted had heard something about Buckley on NPR, I thinkβso we got tickets and met up to go see him.
It is, to date, the most amazing live show I have ever seen.
Jeff Buckleyβs voice is rightly famousβit has a kind of eerieΒ Brideshead revisitedΒ choirboy-with-an-evil-streak soundβhis βCorpus Christi Carolβ onΒ GraceΒ has to be heard to be believed. What? Thatβs a grown man?
But what I want to talk about is the VIBE of the show Ted and I saw. We still talk about it today. We still reference it.
A lot of people were pissed off at Jeff Buckley that night. But Ted and I were enraptured. Buckley was there, at the bar, mingling, hanging out. In looking back on itβI think he knew that stardom was about to hit. The tourbus parked outside was indicative of what was about to happen. But he seemed soβ¦small, almostβdwarfed by the bus, by the circumstances appraoching. He was freaked out. Freaked OUT. He had just given an interview toΒ Rolling StoneΒ and had apparently said wildly inappropriate things to the reporter. Success was coming, manβ¦and donβt we all want success? Well, sureβ¦but what success actuallyΒ means, in the reality of the day to day life, is not always welcome...itβs intimidating, itβs scary, and artists oftentimes are people who have trouble with reality. Thatβs why theyβre artists. Stardom comes with responsiblity, with lots of have-tos, with obligations, with loss of anonymity (Goldie Hawn talks about how she used to go to a little grubby bar in Malibuβbefore she was famousβhave a glass of wine by herself, sit staring out at the waves, and write in her journal, working out any problems she might have at that momentβ¦it was one of her meditative healing things to do. To her, stardom was always a great great blessingβ¦but that doesnβt mean she doesnβt mourn that anonymous self...the person who could go have a glass of wine alone, write in her diary, and not have someone take a picture of it, sell it to a tabloid and have it appear on the newsstand the next day: GOLDIE HAWN DRINKS ALONEβor whatever. Hawn is not an ungrateful personβbut she does grieve that loss of solitude.)βHarrison Ford talks about this quite eloquently, and with no self-pity. βIt took meΒ yearsΒ to be able to cope with the loss of privacy.β Itβs a sacrifice. Not for someβsome glory in the reality-TV aspect of stardomβ¦but for others it is a soul-crushing experience that separates them from their fellow man. Jeff Buckley was in that latter category.
So there he was, doing shots at the barβtalking with people, butβ¦you could sense things shifting. He wasnβt βnormalβ anymoreβ¦he couldnβt blend inβ¦he was not anonymous. He had been playing shows at Cafe Sin-eβ¦a teeny joint in New Yorkβ¦where the musicians who are gonna play sit out in the audience, guitars propped up against the wallβ¦and just walk up to the βstageβ when itβs their turnβ¦The blending of audience and performer is complete.
This world was already receding for Jeff Buckley on the rainy night at the Green Mill.
And like I saidβsuccess of course is desirable. Exciting. But itβs more complex than that (for some).
Iβm talking about this like I sat down and had a conversation with Jeff Buckley about his thoguhts and feelings. I did not. This is what I gleaned from his behavior that nightβhis brilliance of performingβhis obviously self-destructive tendencies-but also his beautiful human need to connect. It was all going on at the same time. And ALL of it went into his performance. ALL of it. I have never seen anything like it. NOTHING was excluded. He didnβt judge any of his own emotionsβfear, anger, sadness, excitementβas inappropriate for his show. It was like watching a master-diva at workβa Judy Garland or someone like that. No matter what came up in Judy Garlandβshe used it. EVERYTHING was to be used. Other, more careful, artistsβ¦craft performances in a more intellectual way. And many of these artists are brilliant, too, in their own way. But to see a raw nerveβat workβand to see him struggleβOPENLYβwith all of thisβ¦in front of usβ¦
Like I said, a lot of people ended up being pissed off at him because they wanted a conventional show. They didnβt want him to talk in between sets about how freaked out he was, they didnβt want him to suddenly stop a song he was singing, announce, βGod, that sucksβletβs start it over againβ¦β and thenΒ start the song over againβ¦They wanted a straight show. But Jeff Buckley couldnβt have given a straight show if you paid him a million dollars. He was honest. He was true.
There were a couple of moments where I got goosebumpsβbecause I was watching a man trulyΒ grapplingΒ with himself. In front of us.
AndβI must mention this: he sang the HELL out of all of his songs. That voice.
As an actorβ watching him up thereβand watching howΒ privateΒ he was, even in public (thatβs the definition of good performance art as far as Iβm concernedβthe ability to beΒ privateΒ while people are watching youβ¦) was something I have never encountered before or since. He had no polish. NONE. The record company who had obviously funded this tourβand funded the tour busβwas probably trying to iron Jeff Buckley into some kind of appropriate behaviorβBuckley seemed to feel the enormousΒ institutionΒ behind himβ¦and there were obligations there, and responsiblitiesβhe was no longer a free insane agentβ¦He had to show up, he had to get back on his mega-bus, he had to do the songs the record company wanted him to doβ¦
The show was chaotic. He got heckled at times. βSHUT UPβJUST SING THE SONG!β shouted from the back. Buckley didnβt fight backβhe didnβt engage the hecklerβnot in a βhey, fuck you, man, Iβm up here doing my thingβ wayβ¦ He apologizedβprofuselyβkept saying things like, βI suckβ¦Im so sorryβ¦I just suckβ¦β
But thenβheβd sing βLilac Wineβ and youβd find yourself standing there, stunned at what you were witnessing and hearing.
Buckley was grappling with some demons there. He was drunk. He announced to us, at one point:
βYou guys, Iβm so sorry, but I am drunk. DβUβRβN-K. DRUNK!β
He started to sing Leonard Cohenβs βHalleluiaβ. Butβ¦butβ¦he just wasnβt beingΒ trueβ¦it didnβt feelΒ trueΒ to himβ¦or somethingβ¦so he stopped the song. βStop stop stop stopβ¦β It was like he was almost inΒ painβso far away was he from his own ideals. I am thinking of Odets in Hollywood, writing trash. Spiritual death. So what Ted and I saw (and we went out and talked about it all night afterwards, in a diner down the streetβas the rain splashed against the windows)βwas a man trying to imagine himself, work himself, closer to his own ideal in his head. And if that meant starting a song overβeven though there was a whole crowd thereβso be it. What we were seeing was not a finished product. He would not BE a βproductβ. He wasΒ in process.
Buckley said at one point, βI want to give everybody their money backβ¦i am so sorry about the show tonightβ¦I suck so badβ¦β
This could not have been farther from the truth. It was self-indulgent, yesβbut any artists process MUST be self-indulgent. How else will you know what works, what failure feels like? You have to GO there. It was unconventionalβthat he would GO there during a show, and not during a rehearsal or whateverβ¦but to expect Jeff Buckley to be conventional in any way, shape, or form, is ludicrous. I watched him up there, alone by the mikeβwith that stunning James Dean-esque faceβthe innocence of it, but also the wildnessβand how he would throw himself up towards those high notes, launching his voice up fearlessly into the octaves aboveβeyes closed, body slack and openβletting it happen, letting it comeβ¦and I remember wondering: God, what is going to happen to this boy. This special wild boy. This is not just retrospect talking. The whole night was like that. Buckley told us about the interview with Rolling Stone, he seemed to be having a nervous breakdown almostβabout the impending fameβ¦It was like we were getting to see him in a small club for the last time. He was going. He was going somewhere else now. Buckley felt the loss of that.
He handled the heckling with graceβbut he also didnβt change his approach. He didnβt βget it togetherβ. One song he started to singβand for whatever reasonβhe felt like he needed to sit downβso he crossed his legs, and sat downβwith his back to the audience, and sang the whole song in that position.Β Beautifully, by the way.
It was his way, it seemed, of getting back into his private world.
His band was amazing. They just went wherever he went. If he stopped a songβthey stopped, started over, whatever.
The best thing of it was this: They started to play one of his songsβI think it was βSo Realβ. Like I said, I didnβt know Buckleyβs music at that point. But I loved the song immediatelyβand his voice just pierced right through me. That voice. Holy God. Ted and I stood there, lost in it (many of us were lost in itβthe hecklers in the crowd were few and far between, although they were loud)βand maybe after a verse and a chorus, Buckley said, in a βoh, fuckitalltohellβ tone, βGod, stop stop stopβ¦β He wasnβt an indignant arrogant maestro. He seemed like a little boy, hurt, because his mom interrupted his make-believe game of knights and dragons with the prosaic request that he set the table. He was BUMMED thatβ¦he wasnβt being transported. He had a requirement of his own art. So anywayβhe stopped the song. Which had sounded FINE to me. He was in pain. βGod, that suckedβ¦we SUCKβ¦β (heckling) βI know, I know, you guysβ¦Iβm so sorryβ¦Letβs start it againβ¦β
They started the song again. And the hairs on the back of my neck rose up. It was as though Jeff Buckley had realized that going into the song he was a bit cloudy, in terms of motivation, orβ¦soundβ¦and he needed to clear the deck. He needed to FOCUSβ¦so that he could βgo thereβ in the song. And thatβs what happened after the interruption. The band almost blew the roof of that tiny club. Jeff Buckley stood up thereβa shaman, a madman, a choirboy with a direct line to heaven and hellβwailing to the skies, catapulting his voice up, downβhis gestures free, fearless, uninhibitedβand yetΒ totally specificΒ andΒ germaneΒ to the song. When he βgot it togetherββby taking that pauseβwhen he cleared the deck of everything extraneous and unnecessary to his performanceβthe genius that came, the power of that voice, gives me goosebumps to this day.
I was so sad when he died. So so sad. I imagined himβ¦swimming in the current, drunk, stars wheeling by overheadβ¦I canβt say I was surprisedβbecause there had been a wildness in him, and a potential for unhinged griefβyou could sense it.
But I miss him. I miss the albums heΒ didnβtΒ make.
To me, Jeff Buckley was always that wild pale-faced boy, doing shots at the bar, on a rainy night in Chicago, many years ago. A tour bus looming outside. Change coming, change coming so fastβ¦and yetβ¦in the moment, there was just himβ¦on stageβ¦trying to transport himself into the world that he imagined.
π· Paul Natkin
Jeff Buckley from the newly unearthed video for his cover of the Edith Piaf song "Je n'en connais pas le fin"
Bend me overβ¦
happy birthday to the only man to ever exist ππππππππππππππππ
ββWhere do you come from, Elly?β βChicago.β I had never been to Chicago, but I knew one or two boys who went to the University of Chicago, and it seemed the sort of place where unconventional, mixed-up people would come from.
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath (via autumninalbany)
He's an angel that will hang in the sky
I just find it extremely pathetic that people will use the #justiceforRiverPhoenix tag and than try to blame Johnny Depp for his death he didn't have ANYTHING to do with him
River died of a DRUG OVERDOSE, I even saw someone lying that hey his pictures, when in reality the entire event happened before paparazzi.
No one in River's family blames Johnny, because JOHNNY WAS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR IT
Rain phoenix, sister of River, who was there at the time of his death, follows Johnny on insta and even wished him a happy birthday.
If you really wanna do something, raise awareness about drug awareness, and PLEASE STOP disrespecting a dead person
jsjxjfja sorry
My Own Private Idaho the movie that made me gay
"River and I would talk about being old, being in our 50s together [...] there was something gorgeous about us being old together. River will be missed - period. I mean now, more than ever, I wish I could talk to him." - Joaquin π₯Ί. Happy belated 47th birthday Joaquin, hope you have the greatest day with your family, friends and baby River β‘!
