PVZM Art @pvzm-blog - Tumblr Blog

Youtube, Bandcamp, Spotify, etc?

So, what is you favorite way to find and listen to music online? I really like youtube, in many ways because it is so easy to use and you can find so many things on there from Mantovani to Pete Seeger to good new stuff. But, it is a little hit and miss with some things because a lot of what is on there is not being put up by anyone who actually has the rights to it, so things can vanish and the quality is often times not great. Also, certain corporations are ridiculously stingy about allowing clips to exist on youtube, so finding a Homer Simpson quote or some SNL sketch that you remember is close to impossible. In fact finding the Simpsons at all online is close to impossible, except on hulu, but all they have are the new seasons and the show pretty much sucks now.

But i digress from the topic of music. Spotify is ok I guess except the fact that it has a web page and it makes you download the player is weird and cumbersome and the interface is ugly and hard to use and i hate anything that makes me sign in and have an account just to view it. Plus the player won’t save the password on my computer for easy log in. Actually Itunes has that problem also. I sign in like once a year, never remember the dumb password. Which is also my problem with bandcamp. I clicked on someone’s bandcamp link, and instead of being taken to the song I was taken to a create an account page. Well, f that. Too bad great new band/ Bandcamp sucks, plus, the audio only set up it has, which somehow I have viewed in the past, is weird looking. It’s all to gray, and the controls are confusing.

I tried that other streaming thing once. What was that called? Where you make a station based on things you like and it throws new stuff to you. I didn’t like that at all. Way to many songs I didn’t like and I didn’t want to sit there and review them all. Is that even still in business?

#music #streaming music #music online

Donovan - There Is An Ocean (Film) - (1970). 01-Sailing Homeward. 02-Two Types Of People. 03-Sailing Homeward (Reprise). 04-The Pee Song (With Donovan Leitch...

This is so awesome.

#donovan

Why are there not very many films or tv series based on mythology?

I was doing some googling to see if there were any great films or any films based on Irish mythology and what I found is that there really are not that many things based on mythology at all. Why is this? The myths seem like they would be great fodder for film and tv series. Okay, there are a few exception to this/ King Arthur for one. There are a lot based on those stories, but almost none of them all that good. Most of them rewrite the stories. I don’t think you can count Hercules and Xena because A. They sucked. and there is no need for B. Because they sucked. Marvel’s Thor does not count, because though the comic book character is loosely based on the mythical character, it is very loosely indeed. Am I missing something? Are there any great tv series or movies based on mythological stories that are not cheesy and poorly done, that do not drastically rewrite the myths?

#myth #greek mythology #norse mythology #irish mythology #movies #TV show

What is something to watch?

I am completely out of anything good to watch. I have already seen all the MCU there is to see. Orphan Black. Fringe. Doctor Who. Dark Matter. Mr. Robot. x files. damages. ray donovan. once upon a time. Grimm. BSG. Don’t care for horror. Would prefer something fantasy or sci fi buy all my internet searches come up with nothing that is streaming that I haven't already seen or that I care to see. Anyone? Please. Suggestions.

#what should I watch

Alarm Clock Radio.

an old familiar song comes on a life preserver thrown to me in sleep's vast, dark and churning sea and draws me forth from waves of dreams back unto awakened things.

My life's long history with the song makes me think of all that's gone and draws a thread from then till now as I lay there in my bed still half in dream and half awake the strangeness of being weighs itself against the strangeness of my dreams. Those vast and unfamiliar scenes as though I was dreaming not my own dreams.

As I write this now, I am awake, and the image is less clear the feeling less acute but for a moment I hovered between the real and the unreal and right there in that balanced place I had the jarring and magical sensation that becomes aware of its own eventual and certain death.

Every concrete thing of certain realness is no less phantom than a dream and will slip away to be nothing forever almost as forgotten as those dreams of mine which upon waking fade and become sublime.

#poem #poetry

a poem

night closes in again around me like a blanket. and speaking again, the mysterious pattern that is embroidered into the stitches, a patchwork of meanings. the vast empty nothing in which everything floats, like fleeting moments of golden motes. the stars - so far so far so far - and dreams crash against the gates of reality like some demon hoard looking for an opening.

I dream't the other night of the apocalypse of everything and yet it was gentle. the multitudes of bygone souls were all returning with smiles and good will. this one woman came in close to me as I leaned out of a window and so many others pressed behind her. she offered me some small candy wrapped in fancy gold foil. she and another bantered about how they had never tried quinoa and I said that it was overrated. she had dark hair and dark eyes and skin so white and perfect. she wore a scarf around her head and she leaned in and we kissed. she was so perfect and delicious.

mortality makes every familiar thing become strange and it makes time tick louder my biological clock is counting down like some top forty station.

we slip into sleep like some weird rehearsal. for death.

the only thing that makes the world seem less strange is the sweet heady aroma of sex.

at least in dreams.

i see all these limbs and faces and everything is governed by energies and shapes.

I am floating into forever on a life raft of hopes. up and over each wave of the day. land locked in the Midwest and beaches call to me. that strange place where two vast and distinct things meet and interact along an edge like life and death awake and sleep love and loneliness you and I.

here are only rivers slowly eroding everything into deeper channels making the day as humid as misery that's how time passes muddy and big. like the night.

#poem #poetry

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

No seriously. F him. I wonder if I am the only one who ever thinks that.

I don’t really mean it of course.

Am I?

#funny jokes #joke #f scott fitzgerald

micdotcom

“No ID, no water” for some Flint residents?

With unsafe tap water continuing to flow out of the faucets in Flint, Michigan, reports on the internet say undocumented immigrants and those without ID are being turned away from getting bottled water. But some on social media are fighting back to help get water to those who need it.

butch-femmeily

HEY GUESS WHAT?

If you want to make sure undocumented people in Flint get clean water, you can donate here!

St Mary’s Church, where we plan to take the water, is specifically distributing it to undocumented people. @radically-disabled, @somepplcallmejoce, @pragula and I hope to bring water up to Flint every couple of weeks, as long as we have the funds to do so. It is so so important that everyone has clean and safe drinking water, regardless of whether or not they have papers.

saved-from-the-lions-den-deacti

Reblog if you are pro-life

I want to see how many there are of us.

Writing problem

In the eye of my imagination I often conceive of characters, situations, places, actions, events, twists, and I see a story, and then I get the impulse to write a novel or short story or whatever. BUT, then I am hampered by this one fact. I don’t know the names of anything. Often writers have this wonderful capacity to set scene and settings by describing the places and objects, like the year, make and model of a particular kind of car, what makes it different from other cars, what that kind of car says about the person driving it, etc,. or, architecture, or landscape or the cultures and styles and tendencies of people in a particular place, like say Boston, or a small midwest town, or Samoa, or whatever, or the types of clouds, or names of plants, or types of trees, oh and clothes, writers can always describe a person by describing their clothes, cut, year, style, designer, etc and the thing is. I don’t know any of that stuff. I never cared about cars or clothes, or all kinds of things. Essentially I never felt the need to remember the names of anything that seemed fixed and certain out there in the world, because it will remain so whether I know its name or not.

And it’s not like I have a bad memory. But my memory just looked at a lot of information that came its way through the years and decided it didn’t care about a bunch of it.

Eventually, it’s like this. You know that thing where when you say a word a bunch of times, the word can begin to feel strange in your mouth and to your ear? Like the familiarity of the word suddenly flees and instead you have this strange abstract sound that feels almost meaningless. Sometime this can start to happen to the whole of life. Do you remember when you were a teenager and you stood up to fast and got very dizzy? This happened to me a bunch of times, even blacking out and falling over. That feeling, when you began to pass out and when you come to, of consciousness and awareness but in that moment only of the self, as if floating in total nothingness, and all sense of the world, of meaning, of facts of time and space all slips away or edges into the side of thought and perception but only as a strange and unrecognizable entity as if awakening was actually slipping into dream, as if perception and awareness and the world itself was but some dream that we fell into like sinking beneath the sea.

Outer space may go on forever. but nothing beyond the confines of this one small planet is hospitable to life. And here alone life thrives, in its way, and yet all of the world, can be seen, in a sense, like the a roiling cesspit of bacteria and microorganisms. Existence being filled with all these strange things. Silly Putty, sharks, naked mole rats, daytime tv, ....

From within life seems logical, but looked at from above and outside, how strange it all really is.

But for God, what true hope is there? This temporary insanity of existence. How many infinities came before we were born? How many will come after we die?

#life #death #writing #god #meaning

A third party may have a chance this year.

Seems to me, this may be the year when a third party or write in candidate actually has a chance. May in fact be the only real and responsible choice in fact. Both Trump and Hilary seem to exude a certain kind of evil. Different from each other, yes, but also different from any reasonable impression of character, morality, and anything resembling a sound and hopeful vision for the future of America and the world. Hilary may beat Trump, here and there, on lofty rhetoric but when she delivers a speech or makes any kind of statement, she, at least to my ear, seems completely disingenuous and also disconnected from reality. It is as if she has contempt for the fact that she needs to say anything, and will say anything, to get elected. She exudes a sense of cold and calculated machiavellian scheming thinly veiled by a fake and uneasy smile. She reminds me of Senator Palpatine.

Trump on the other hand is more like Darth Vader. The fact that he is evil and somewhat insane is not disguised at all. He is like a combination of Hitler and a Jerry Springer guest.

If this is the best e can do we have real problems. Now Bernie seems to be a truly earnest person. I do believe that he effectively articulates a lot of real problems that we face, though I am far less certain of his proposed solutions.

We say God bless America. This is a wish and a hope, and in many many ways America has been blessed for a long time. This is the greatest country in the history of the world, but one could easily make the argument that Americans are not the greatest people in the world. This is the land of opportunity and many people have come here from abroad and really taken advantage of that, yet, look at the calibre of popular entertainment and one clearly gets the picture that America is a cultural wasteland. But, America does have a genius for incorporating great cultural realities from other parts of the world, albeit sometimes grudgingly at first.

I think what America needs in its leaders across all aspects of society is not people who blame others for problems, nor people who affirm for their constituents that they are alright and it is others who are not. We need someone who demands and encourages all people to do more and to do better. To advance responsibility and personal character. To affirm virtues and to articulate those virtues.

I don’t know who that candidate is, but it isn’t either of those two.

what do you think?

#hilary clinton #donald trump #third party #star wars

a poem from nov 2 2015

The night turns wet and foggy just as the sun sets and the clear bright day is swallowed by a strange haze into this autumn gloam like the shifting fates of drizzling rain tapping gently gently gently.

the weather always playing the drum head of human emotions and making the rhythm and the song of time like notes upon the xylophone bones.

a ghostly presence whispering into our inner ear and a cold clear night will come as winter's lessons come again and in that cool, crisp and clear air the cold night connects to the endless cold of space and touches every star. no longer separated by the cocoon of warmth.

The voice of the heart touches infinity like the wolf's cry to echo in the twinkling night.

The human heart beats a rhythm out of time with time and memories’ score gashes into the present almost as clearly as our ability to imagine the future.

The theme music of the present moment always just out of earshot or screaming under the silence such that we can never know what the meaning of the present moment is, viewed through time in the quiet, in the night, with only the sound of the outside world and our own breathing like time, expanding and contracting, troubled or singing or blowing like the fall wind through the wet and sleeping streets of autumn night.

#poem #poetry