This is another one that’s been in the spin for days. It was only just posted on the 12th and that’s when it showed up on my radar. The window/tab hasn’t been closed since then. It’s not just that it’s the most accessible. It’s that it’s the most compelling. It’s that good! There’s no point of comparison for me. Saying Siouxsie doesn’t really cut it because the only similarity really is a female vocalist. I don’t know. It’s probably explained best by the one entry in the comments section.

“WOW,” someone said.

Yah, WOW!

I had been surprised a few times over the last couple years at finding fantastic post-punk bands from Italy. It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise but most of what makes it to these shores from anywhere in Europe, with the exception of England and sometimes Germany, is pretty tame. There is often a real Eurovision vibe to the pop music. Perhaps as the world has grown smaller that’s all changed. The exchange of ideas and sounds becomes more free. Yet still, this is 1988 with FRU AUT, so it’s been happening a while.

Well, what began last night as a proper winter storm with snow morphed overnight into a late winter style cold rain and The Weather Channel predicts a see-saw pattern of arctic and balmy for the rest of the month. The cold would be fine for me. The warmer days don’t bring a lot of value to New York City. They’re not warm enough to be comfortable so they’re just a reminder that shit is off. My children’s children are going to be sitting in Brooklyn taking malaria medicine at this rate. We’re going tropical. And we all know what that means for Florida, but well, that’s Florida and unless you live there it doesn’t seem like anything more than a relief. Except that they have to go somewhere with their weirdness and shitty ideas.

Is that mean? It’s just that we have enough people with shitty ideas right here. We don’t need to import them from drowning landscapes.

Just kidding. Sort of…

The wedding yesterday was nice. Just a handful of people and a really good energy. That’s how happy events like weddings should be. No big, chaotic affairs. Just sharing. Humble celebrations and deep love. A little gaggle of cats and a giant, goofy pitbull hopping about. It’s the most normal thing I’ve done during the whole pandemic and the most positive, or at least second to surrendering to love myself.

Why use the word surrender? That’s an easy answer. It’s because I’ve come to realize how much I’ve held the possibility of such things at arms length. I’ve hidden it behind echoes of the past, not trusting my own instincts after so many missteps that were really driven more by past damage than I care to get into in this space. So, surrender? Yah, I exhaled and let it in. She asked me if I had any fear at all because sometimes she gets scared. How does one answer that? It’s too late for fear once you’ve stepped out of the plane at 10,000 feet isn’t it? Your parachute will open it or it won’t, at that point. You will have a good landing, or not, but it’s too late to seize up or shit your pants. Give it to The Universe. So it’s not that there’s no fear but I know it will be okay either way. I’ve survived heartache, mostly self-inflicted, that most people can’t imagine. I’m still here. I can afford to be vulnerable.

I’m more afraid to never take chances. I’ll be okay.