DONUT HOLES …i wrote a book!
...the cover of my book!
I did it! My book is published. Ok, ok — so I self published thru Amazon.com, but I did finally do it. And, as Sid once sang — or was it Frank? — I did it my way!
You can find it on Amazon.com — “Donut Holes” by Matty Stanfield!
No one will be reading it, but I did do it! Yay for me! It will also be in many of the indi-book stores throughout the Bay Area by mid June.
Between various personal issues, this is what I’ve been working on. Now, if I can just figure out how to format it into the Kindle mode! Damn technology!
...the back of my book!
…I’ve been listening to Juliette & The Licks as of late. …One hot kiss!
matty
WHAT I’M LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW…
Lacking a focus for a real post, I’d thought I would share the three recordings which I find myself listening to the most as of late.
Marianne Faithfull: Easy Come Easy Go
I don’t know, but this CD has really grab’d hold of me. In fact, I don’t think there is a single track that doesn’t touch me in one way or another. That weathered voice wrapping around all of these standards with guests such Keith Richards, Antony, Rufus Wainwright and Nick Cave — it is rather magical. I particularly love the title track — an old Bourbon Street blues song which works in opposition to itself: The producer has arranged it as a bit of old New Orleans street blues played as a dirge — with Ms. Faithfull performing it with more than a bit of cynicism and with little or no concern of hitting the correct notes. A simple song becomes a complex bit of art in the vein of something one might expect from Tom Waits. Magic.
Radiohead: The Bends
One of those classic rock recordings that I loved at the time it came out but had somehow forgotten in the shuffle of my iPod. I stumbled across “Fake Plastic Trees” and found myself all caught up in the rock-out of the time it was released. Rock and roll with a heart.
Bonnie Prince Billy: The Letting Go
One of my favorite LP’s. Ing turned me on to this record. Haunting, soft, poetic and stunningly beautiful. I can’t seem to listen to it enough. And, in the last couple of weeks I’ve been playing it quite a bit. I don’t think Billy ever really makes a musical mis-step, but I think this is his finest hour thus far.
If one has the ability, The Letting Go and Easy Come Easy Go sound best when played in their vinyl versions. …but, mp3’s also work quite well. Nothing can stop great art.
Never stop the music.
DONUTT’ING
my view as i sipped my coffee this morning...
So, as a part of therapy, I pulled a number of my fictionalized reality stories into a sort of book. …A manuscript, if you will. Not being one to follow rules I ignored all the statements of publishers stating that they would not accept unsolicited submissions. I just sent out a hard and electonic copy to about 12 publishers.
Interestingly enough, there was only one publisher who did not read (or review) my manuscript and it was a local Bay Area Indi-publisher.
I was thinking I could put together a rejection letter colage for the hell of it. I discovered that no one sends letters anymore. I received rejection emails. I could not find a way to pull those into a colage of any sort.
But, here was the interesting thing — three publishers (two of note) contacted me and informed me that my collection of stories was “of interest” and “of merit” and that they might be interested in considering publishing it. However, all three refused to take it any further until I had a literay agent. I had sent this manuscript to a couple of lit agents I found on the Internet. I never heard from them.
I poked about and asked a few writers I know about how one goes about getting a lit agent. My B even contacted a friend of a friend who is a senior editor at a large publishing house — but, I never could get a firm grip on how to secure one. I also did not relish the idea of having to actually speak to anyone.
A junior editor in the UK at a house of note first suggested that I consider self-publishing as a better route. B then suggested this. Then I noticed a couple of books I’ve read were self-published.
So, after a very rough therapy session on Saturday, I decided that DIY was the best route for me. To be totally honest, I do not think anyone would actually pay to read anything I might write. But, to be equally honest, as I move into my 42 year on the planet I’d like to be able to say that I saw at least one personal thing through to conclusion. I can list a number of professional objectives and tasks I’ve completed — but I don’t think I’ve succeeded in doing anything on a personal or artistic level.
So, DIY Amazon.com self Kindle and soft bound print publishing here I come.
A large part of me feels very much the loser for doing this –
but another aspect of me is saying, “NO! This is cutting edge 21st Century edge! Just fucking do it!”
So, that is decided. I’m just going to fucking do it. I might have to give up a meal (or two) per day to pursue this but at the end of it I can say, “I wrote this and I put it out there.”
I finished my coffee, chatted with a surfer dude about the lack of true wave available this morning and headed home to start the wheels on getting it going. I saw this log as the surfer lit a funny cig and complained that he just didn’t have the time or gas to get to LA this weekend.
isn't it pretty?
…I text’d my baby brother in NYC and asked him to take a snapshot of something for me that I will use as the cover. He’s a professional artiste so it should look cool. He told me it might take him a while. I told him to please just take the shot and email the jpeg to me by tomorrow. He agreed.
Me and B are getting a Kindle2 and on I roll.
Damn the torpedos!
SONGWRITERS AT THE BEACH…
This afternoon I decided to treat myself to a sandwich created at one of those chain faux fast food faux healthy food places. I don’t eat much these days to keep my weight down. My coordination is horrible and I find it often difficult to walk much less even think of ‘working out’ — so, I avoid full-on meals during the day and sort of nibble on stuff until dinner time. But, every week I try to get a normal size sandwich and actually eat the whole thing. Portions in our culture are so out of wack that one must order a “small” size sandwhich for it to be a close to “normal” one person portion.
Anyway, I got my treat of lunch and took it to the beach to enjoy. And, enjoy it I did. Not too much and not too little — just right. I was full without feeling miserable.
I had parked at Ocean Beach and was listening to Led Zep as I ate, but I noticed two guys near the car — one of whom seemed to be ‘jammin’ on his guitar. In a sort of passionate rapture with his guitar he didn’t seem to notice anything around him. And his friend was studying a binder of papers. Then, I noticed, his friend close the book and open his mouth as if singing.
I turned off my iPod and the car and listened.
These were two artists collaborating on a song. The man appeared to be holding a binder of his own poems and he was attempting to fit his words into the music which his friend had created. Just as they would crasp on to a concept and sound that was mutually satisfying for them they would turn a phrase or an idea that didn’t seem to match.
They would stop. They would laugh a bit and talk quietly — but only for a few minutes, then the man with the guitar would kick back into it and the poet would go back to massaging his words into the music. …Trying to fit his beauty into the form of the other.
They were on to something, but struggling in the ocean wind to find it. They were lost in these moments. I could not resist pulling out my camera and capturing their creative jam session. Part of me felt I should ask if it was alright for me to steal into their creation, but I felt that would only add to the intrusion I was already making.
I snapped about 8 pictures as I was unsure the shots were taking due to the sun. They never noticed me. I sat down and listened. And watched them work. The wind began to pick up sending the sheets in the binder into a frenzy.
The laughed, the guy returned his guitar back to its case and they began the walk away from the beach.
It was exciting to watch these two artists fuse ideas of music and word into a a song. …And, at the same time, in the spirit of their friendship to allow for the unavoidable awkwardness of the task.
I don’t think it was so much about the end result — in this case, a song. …But, more about the process of two fellow artists creating together. It was inspiring. And, quietly beautiful.
…a very nice lunch break.
A BEAUTIFUL DAY ON THE CLIFFS
b feeling the wind off the pacific...
it was a perfect day.
we got into b’s car and drove toward half moon bay and ended up stopping at the cliffs over looking the ocean.
the wind was strong and cold.
the sky was clear and the sound of water crashing into ancient rocks filled my ears.
and, the scent of the ocean filled me with comfort.
matty stanfield about to strike a pose on a cliff bench
snapping pictures of each other and of the magic of the day.
we hid together in the car from the cold.
…and watched the ocean wave as the time swept by us both.
THE BEAUTY OF ARTHUR RUSSELL
I can remember being in some gay dance club in Boston back in about 1993. The DJ stop’d the steady flow of thump and announced that he was about to play, in tribute, a “kick ass” track by yet another fallen sister, Arthur Russell. There were several older men there that night and nearly all of them seemed to become energized when this odd disco song came blasting through the sound system.
At the time, I didn’t really care too much for the song. I remember it sounded like disco, but the beat was somehow “off” and the powerhouse vocal of the track seemed to be somehow removed from the melody — like the beat. I remember the song would fall into a sort of chant of “Go Bang” or something. I could not figure out how to dance to it. I mean, this was not Lords of Acid! They guy I was near explained to me that this was the work of Arthur Russell. He went on to discuss the underground NYC music art scene and I think I rolled my eyes at another friend who was attempting to funk-down to the song.
Last year a documentary was released called WILD COMBINATION which was about Arthur Russell. I think it screened at The Roxie. But, I wasn’t feeling well at all and could not dredge up the energy to deal with the uncomfortable seating of the cool little cinema.
It came out on DVD a couple of months ago and I put it on our NetFlix list. It arrived a few weeks ago and I finally had the chance to watch it.
It is an amazing film filled with archival clips of Russell and the likes of Philip Glass, Allan Ginsberg and The Talking Heads. Matt Wolf’s film provides a glimpse into the life of an artist who never quite made it or fit into ‘the scene’ — but who never slid away from his ambitions and vision of what music could be.
Anyone interested in the NYC art scene of the 70’s – 80’s or music should most definitely check it out.
I rather fell into love with Arthur Russell’s music as I watched Wolf’s film. And, I was filled with a great deal of sadness as it came to a close. I didn’t want it to end. And, Russell’s artistic process captured my imagination — and frustration. It was as if his mind/soul was filled with so many far-reaching musical ideas and ideals that he could never quite fully complete a musical thought. Oddly, this seems to add to the beauty of his work.
He did jump into the disco sound for a brief while — tho, he seemed to be more interested in the idea of creating music of value that would inspire kids to dance as well as drift in thought. Arthur Russell seemed to be forever drifting into musical thought and whimsy.
An accomplished celloist — the cello was a means to an end for him. As was the use of beats, synths and playing with his voice. Constantly experimenting with these things he created an incredible body of diverse work that went largely unnoticed. After his death due to complications of AIDS, his work was “re-discovered” and has been slipping out ever since.
Although he seemed to have a full and warm voice, he liked to play with it. Utilizing special mics to create echos and approaching his lyrics as almost lazy musings caught from a string of humming. If you ask me, it is next to impossible to categorize his work.
It is “disco”? Is it “folk”? Is it “country-inspired-folk”? Is it “electronica”? …Or is it simply “alternative”?
I think it is safe to say that bits of his music fall into a wide range of categories/genres.
I prefer to think of his work as alternative electronica.
If interested, rent the documentary and I’d suggest the track “That’s Us/Wild Combination” and the entire LP/CD called “World of Echo” — this is fantastic headphone music.
Just put it on, get comfortable and allow his voice and music to let you float into his sweet and lazy world.
…It is magic. …and a wild combination.
WE’RE TRYING TO GET BACK TO HAPPENINGS…
I don’t know. I often feel that my mere being acts as some sort of magnet for the ‘different’ — sometimes this is entertaining, interesting and provides a sense of adventure. Other times it leaves me feeling that my personal space has been invaded and uncomfortable. And, if you know me or have been reading my whine-o-thon of a blog over the last year you know that I am not in a particularly good ’space’ right now.
Today, I just wanted to enjoy the beach. It is a cool, but beautiful day and the idea of writing in my journal and walking the beach just seemed to perfect to resist. Plus, if I were to fall down, I’d only be pounding sand with my person. No biggie. I also thought I might be able to find a sand dollar for my pal, Bethie.
But, it is just too windy today and the city is plowing the sand at both Ocean and Sutro Beach — creating a most unpleasant blasting of sand to the face. I sat on the beach for a short while with my journal but grew tired of the sand flying into my eyes and mouth. As I gathered my stuff and started to go for a short walk along the shore, an unusual couple approached me. They were about 40-ish. The woman was quite attractive with long thin red hair which was almost seemed to reach her hips. The man sported a mow-hawk with a tinge of green at the tips of the points.
The conversation went something like this (and if they are reading this, I hope they are not offended. It just all struck me as interesting and just a bit annoying at the same time. A curious exchange on the beach.)
“Wow. You were really writing intently. Are you an artist?”
“Um, no. I was just writing in my journal.”
“So, you’re not published?”
“Nope. Not published. I just keep a blog.”
(They were both quite interested in my blog. I gave a vague direction as to how it could be found using google, but warned them that it was not much.)
“Look, dude, we are having a gathering at our place in The Haight (they gave me the address) and you really need to come.”
The woman stepped in and added, “Well, it is not so much a ‘gathering’ as something very different in concept.”
“Yes. We are trying to get back to ‘happenings’ — This will be a happening and you must join us!”
“Oh, thanks. But, you know, I’m not really much into parties — or, happenings these days. I’ve been working through some medical conditions…”
(and, then I internally asked myself: Why am I talking to these people?)
They then went into a lengthy explanation of the fact that they are collaborative artists. All the while I walk as quickly as my bare feet can plow thru the loose sand back to the boardwalk leading to my car. Apparently they lay out loads of paint on large canvas and roll about on the canvas and in the paint — while nude. …An idea I remember Farah Fawcett exploring in an odd Playboy video back in the late 80’s.
You can see a sample of Farah’s nude smear painting by googling “Free Pollack” for an image. I would upload it here for you, but I’ve run out of image space and am far too lazy to pull out a credit card to secure more. Not half bad work, really. Tho, I do remember being more amused by her Playboy-ish process than the result.
Anyway, the conversation continued as I attempted to get back to the shelter of my car.
“Now, do you know any artists in the Bay Area who you could bring with you to our happening?”
Turns out I sort of know an artist whom they both admire. Yes, I was still talking with them. What else was one to do. They were so nice.
“What is your exact birthdate and time of birth?”
“I’ve no idea of the exact time. I would have to look it up. I really don’t take stock in horoscopes.”
“Oh, baby. It is all in the stars!”
“Well, a scorpio (with something rising or falling he said) would be quite a potent human ingredient to our happening.”
“Wait. Are you two doing some sort of ritual orgy thing?”
“Oh, no! This is an artistic gathering and you must come!”
They literally followed me to the door of my car. As I climbed in, the woman noted my ipod. She wanted to know what song I was listening to right at that very moment.
“Well, it is just on shuffle for my whole music library.”
I started the car and the stereo boomed out — Blondie’s Walk Like Me.
“Oh my God! Blondie!”
Putting her tattoo’d hands together as if about to slip into prayer, “I adore Blondie! It is a sign! You must come!”
“Ok, gotta go! Nice talkin’ with you! Enjoy the rest of the day!”
…they were trying to get back to happenings.
I MAY HAVE GONE TOO FAR…
…if only it were so easy to get a Little Miss No Name Doll.
The smallest things I attempt to do seem to take me so much energy anymore. But, I push forward.
I needed a haircut. So, I summoned all of my energy to fight the anxiety I seem to feel all the time these days.
Once in the chair, I decided to have the cut I’ve been wanting for sometime. Yes, the cut that friends have warned me I should not attempt. Essentially, I just wanted about half an inch above my ears shaved with a number one razor all the way around my head. Then just a bit trimmed off the top —- and I wanted no blending of my hair to the shaved section.
The stylist did exactly as I asked. And, I really liked it. After she shampoo’d it again and messed it about while looking at my reflection in the mirror she said, “You know, this cut actually works well on you. I was worried, but it looks good.”
I left the hair-cutting-place feeling a bit of confidence.
However, as I did a few errands and walked about I noticed I am getting looks. Looks of the worrying type.
Oh well, I like it. And, if it prooves too upsetting for others — it will grow back. (I think)
WORDS
After listening to a discussion with Colin McGinn, my mind drifted to a rather unoriginal train — but I jotted down what I was thinking.
Words are risky and worrying things.
Sharper than a knife and more blunt than action.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, “
…but words might possibly kill me quicker.
And, yet, we must fight against any sort of word control.
Even to the death if must be.
TALKIN’ ABOUT MY GENERATION
I do believe it was Douglas Coupland who coined the term that has come to represent folks of my generation.
Generation X is made up of individuals born between 1965-1976. I was born in November of 1966. I’m always a bit worried when people are stereo-typed into groups with shared characteristics. Not to sound too much the hippie, I do think each of us is unique. While there are certain truths to be found in stereotypes — I think it best to avoid thinking that way.
Never the less, I was thinking about movies that really grab me at some level beyond just the personal — but the shared experience as well. Of course, THE BREAKFAST CLUB comes to mind, but that film has the silly pot scene and a sugar-coated-feel-good-ending that I do not believe ever exists in high school life.
So, my thoughts drifted to REALITY BITES.
This is an intelligent movie for the mainstream that did touch me and others with whom I was friends at the time of the release. The problem with this one was that I could never buy the idea that Ms. Ryder’s character would really walk away from Mr. Stiller’s character and jump for the slacker dude from high school. It didn’t seem in her make-up as presented to me as a viewer. It almost ruins the movie for me — this somehow forced happy ending.
But, then I thought of two film and recently re-watched both of them. When both of these movies came out they blew my mind. I can remember watching each of them with friends and thinking, “Yeah! This is so close to what it all feels like sometimes.” …Tho, both border on the surreal edge of humor and honesty — there is so much truth, confusion, apathy and anger to be found that the unreal aspects of the low budgets makes them seem almost as real as my reality. …At the time they came out, anyway.
The first film I’m thinking of is SLACKER.
There is a great deal of brilliance in the idea of following some 20-somethings in a college town walk from one idea and situation to another. I watched this movie when it came to Boston in 1991 with a pal and we were both awestruck at the time. It was as if we knew or had seen each character in the movie. And, at the time, even related to some of them. Pop culturally, the film touches on almost all the topics that “my generation” seemed (at the time) to have an almost shared obsession. From anarchy to lack of purpose to the chance to see a Madonna papsmear — the movie seemed to touch it all.
Upon watching it almost 17 years later, I still found the movie incredibly entertaining and innovation-on-a-shoe-string-budget endearing. And, I had to laugh at the absurdity that I ever “related” to these characters. However, I did. And, on some level I still remember those angst feelings I had as I left college and entered The Real World. …lost, pissed-off, bored but far too lazy to do anything beyond think and discuss those feelings.
The other film is one that I think might have been a shared or collective feeling among my fellow Gay Gen X’ers of the early 90’s.
I actually saw this movie in between memorial services for friends I had lost to complications due to AIDS. I am sure any member of the gay community at the time it came out found themselves in a similar situation. This was really the only time in my life that I found the need to protest and push for change. I was a member of ACT-UP and QUEER NATION for a while. Tho, in the end, I found that the focus of QUEER NATION was too “in-your-face” for me. I remember drawing a line at a Gay Pride Parade when one of the leaders of our team wanted me to carry a giant poster of two male porn stars engaging in oral sex. I walked away. For me, that was too much to put on public display at a parade where several friends would be bringing their children.
But, this film really grab’d me hard.
A very low-fi comedy on one level and a very angry sort of gay manifesto of the time. I can remember that we all applauded when the characters discussed the idea of slipping in The White House and injecting The President and Vice President with the HIV virus — and that we would have a cure in a matter of weeks.
Watching this film now, I was surprised to discover how death obesessed and hopeless the movie drives. Of course, thinking back to that era I was listening to a lot of Dead Can Dance, NIN, Smiths and Bauhaus. My memory is of an exciting time filled with sexual adventures and new found freedom. …But, when I really stand back and think of it — so much of my mid 20’s were filled with fear and sadness. AIDS was all around. I can remember having long discussions with friends, would-be-tricks, couselors and strangers about “safer” sex and negotiating between what that meant. And, I remember having to force myself to go to funeral/memorial after another. Important to go, but I remember watching as other friends just stopped going to them at all.
And, I remember finding the ending of Araki’s irresponsible movie so very touching. Now, as I watch that ending I find it so very sad — and powerful.
Sort of like John Waters drinks a bit of Jim Jones Kool Aid.
…maybe there is a bit of that idealogy floating about the heads of my generation. Soured on history and econonmics — but optimistic in an almost Brady Bunch-cartoon way. There is hope, but a considerable amount of burnt-out sarcasm pushing against it all the while.
…Generation X.
