Tag Archives: jazz

Anita sings the sky

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7-15-12     7:45ish pm

Jamie plays the circles that are purple.

At Dizzy’s.
Feeling fragile.
They don’t have my soda.
Flute lady is playing.
Candles are flashing.
                              Like LSD.

Got to sit with the Lizfest people. I like them. Hugged Chuck. I went on a boat today. Flute lady makes me crazy. Jumbles my brains. Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t mind being psychotic now and then. Candles are warm.

Chuck says I look worn. I am.

Mixing drugs – Lori’s flute, Jamie’s electric violin, Mikan’s keys. Bluegrass later. My mind spins.

The sound moves in a counterclockwise motion. I feel vibration. The light flickers. I glide back and forth. Springs dangle. Orange hovers in the night. Brown never touches the ground. 

If time was a feeling it would float. Like dust in the air. Time flurries. Body & soul. And bread…

Orange. Thick on the ground, fills my soul, envelopes my mind. Beat beat, flicker, stomp (yell!). I do despise the yelling. Slam! Pause  Too much mind…

My eyeballs. They float in it. Time.

(zap)

I feel sad that Allison be here. She no voice be drug. Fairytale not psychadelic. Hummmmmm.
          Too much dichotomy. Too low for her. Makes mind hurt.

Feel like I’m being attacked by a flute bird wielding a strobe light accompanied by an attack band. Quite the posse. –

:) Mikan’s trio

The pirates aren’t coming.  They’re always here. They live among us. I only can see them sometimes. I feel them in my cheeks.

Oh do play a ballad please.
The drums are killin’ me.

I prefer when Allison sings Allison in Allison keys. This night confuses me. Grandly.

I wanted to come tonight to see friends, be around people, have me time and experience music – a most powerful drug and often mood lifter. I forgot flute Lori would be here. I feel overwhelmed.

Mindfulness of Emotion (anxiety):
Face – teeth clenched, eyes squinty, cheeks tight
Body – barely breathing, legs crossed, dizzy, rocking, feel energy coursing through me, tight muscles, runny nose, light/noise intolerance.

Action urges – leave, scream, take a break, cry, do nothing

(rock to trio – thankful)

The best closing.

Mikan makes emotions.
Jamie makes the world unwind.
Lori twists it tighter clockwise & brings the pirates.
Allison sings the fairytale.
I don’t know what Duncan does.
He feels like middle school.
Haven’t met the other guy.

This night is confusing & uncohesive.
What’s the word for that? I do love music though. I miss these people.

(smile) the encore is a good ending.
_
I keep thinking “Anita sings the sky.”

7/15/12     10:35pm

I feel God.
          I feel warm.
                    I feel love.

My skin feels warm. My mind is calm. My lips are hot. Cry Holy.

Music + Hugs + Acceptance + Positive socialization = PEACE

                    God is in me.
                    And God IS me.

11:11pm

The energy of the universe wells up in me. I am warm. My body temperature is rising. My face feels tingly. I feel it in me. Head pain. I start to feel very hot. Need to sing. It must pour from me. Make beautiful music. Anita sings the sky.

I feel the God within me. (Hum…)
I feel the God within me.

                    Hear my heart beat.
                    I am alive. 

I have FAITH.
          I BELIEVE.
     I have OUR FATHER.

– is not my friend.
(statement crashed the energy)

(singing prayer)

I am so sleepy.
Thank God for music friends.
Need a hug.
(put on Jamie’s robe)
I’m renaming it The Hug Robe.
Thank you. <3

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012 

The Butterfly Flower

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(stream of consciousness during Electric Ladyland II at Anthology)
4/8/12     6:50pm

Dear Anthology,

I hate your guts and all the surroundings. It would have been EXTREMELY helpful if the girl on the phone had said I can buy some tickets at the door, but not the ones I want and they will be much more expensive. Oh, and a warning that your staff is rude would have been helpful too.

I don’t understand why every time I come here “upstairs is closed.” Last time they told me I had been “upgraded” to the bar lounge. It’s not an upgrade. I Hate the bar. I can’t see, there’s a flashing tv, and it’s freezing.

The music is wonderful but I’m having a really hard time sitting here.

—

I LOVE the music. It breaks free the broken pieces of me.

Your music is the sound of feelings, the color of magenta bold. It braids my brain.

Open my mouth to breathe.
Juicy Fruit gum.

Bandaid for a Brain Bleed. There should be a song called that.

If I were defusing a bomb, I’d like to be listening to this. It snakes though my brain grabbing wisdom.

“Braised bacon” does NOT taste like bacon.

Is there such a thing as an electric banjo?

When the channel is open the feelings are mobile. They dance in the air.
Oh, such color.

When you play, the dots float in the air. You make the dots and they float and dance. And everyone’s dots are a different color, like neurons and atoms. Yours are purple. Mikan’s are yellow. They float upward and build on each other. Voices are twisting bending lines. Everything up in the air. It is an electric ballet.

When the green man sings I hear you play JP’s love. I don’t know why. It is a loving pain that spins to become free.
Brings a warm smile to me.
Shut up, people. Love is made here. The dots disappear.

Pink!

What is that sound? Like a thought bent by riding the train…
Fluid thoughts are much prettier than crooked ones. As actual bacon is better than braised. And jalapenos shouldn’t taste like pickles. Pickled or not.

It is the red dots that get in the way.

Like cat food for the soul.

The music of brown carpet & hugs.

Must dance.

(big smile) I want to be in the dots as they turn orange.
Breathe it in.

Shut up you pre-clappers…
Let the dots fall slowly.

New dots caused raindrops, clear the truth.

I hear the sound of a heartbeat when it cries. Alone.
The texture of the taste of dark red.
Memory full.

Sometimes it is beautiful. And it is nothing else.

(goosebumps)

Michael Londra. That’s what it is.
Too many dots. TOO MANY DOTS!
(whooooo…)

Hummingbird-like dragon makes magic cat food dots for dancer’s soul.
Yes, I like it.
I rock and hum so they don’t explode in me.

(hug from -. “Glad to see you out, smiling.” me too)

Hard to hear Jamie’s awesome solo. When the wall turned blue, the music got softer.

Drum solos always get me.

The dots are like bubbles but don’t fall and take longer to pop.

My cells jump inside me! Aaaaahhhh!
Space Mountain jumping music. :)

(my candle went out – smoke)

The pink is over my soul and the train sounds outside. I love trains.
Smile in the night.

The sound is shiny.

Thank you, God.

Need to bounce! Happy comes when the candle is out.

The music is in my face.
The music IS my face.
She begs to make the orange. (big smile)

Hey, now. Don’t drop the orange ball.

Thank you, Electric Ladyland. Thank you, Jamie.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Mainlining Jazz

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12/30/11     9:45pm

Some people do drugs. I don’t do drugs. I do music. And not just any music. Jaazzz music.

Funky shit tonight. I feel dizzy & confused. I shouldn’t listen to the flute. Between my eyes hurts. The dose of poison lies in their minds.

Tonight I am waiting on the dawn of a pirate ship. I’m sitting on the floor behind Chuck’s podium. The fog is thick and everything is lit up. The night is quiet and a cool breeze jostles just the leaves. Something is coming. The ship is coming.

I sit here inside Dizzy’s and watch it happen, all without sound – just jazz – through the windows. The energy is here and the ship is coming. I feel paranoid. Oh the energy. Breathe. Invading my mind.

It may be possible the alien ships use the fog to pass in the night undetected by the human eye. No one really knows what lies beyond. I feel dizzy. I think I’m overdosing. Too much jazz. TOO MUCH JAZZ.

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I feel frantic. Breathe…

The world is turning now. There is no one here.
They’re coming. The ships are coming.

I need to call Dr. N.

(trumpet stops, bass starts)

My face is hot, whole body tingles. Feel euphoric. Try to breathe.
The sound bends time. Keep light in mind. And I’m the sober one.

Mainlining jazz. I feel dizzy. —

More often than not this happens when Gilbert plays. Spirit energy.

___

Cold. Now it’s cold. Why is it cold?! More flute. GO AWAY FLUTE!

Hard to breathe. In… Out…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

Killing Demons

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12-26-11     9:42pm

I told Mikan I’d been transported to ‘Ice Castles’ tonight. He said, “That’s the point.” “To transport me to ‘Ice Castles?'” “No, to another place.” But you do that every day.

And it got me thinking a) that I really shouldn’t eat the shrimp and b) what is another place? And what is here? Reality is subjective but my own reality is subjective to itself. How can I be transported to another place if I don’t know where I am to start with? I don’t know where I am, much less WHO I am. How can I be moved? (easily) And how do I know that I’m moving?

I close my eyes and rock. I feel dizzy, but alive. Which is a much different feeling than dizzy and dead. But I still don’t know where I am. What is am? Can I be am and was at the same time? What about will be and used to be? Does be require motion?

GPS. GPS my ass. Where am I in the great scheme of things? Seriously? If I knew where I was on the great unknown I might just freak. WHERE AM I? (music land)

I don’t know why I think of this just now. I wonder who I am at length often, which I guess is less freaky but equally as disturbing. I don’t even know who is writing this. But I like her and she likes music.

I feel dizzy, high. I smile drunkly, yet sober. I feel planted in my seat yet my body floats. It is foggy and my thoughts are pink. The music moves through my body, eating me, refining me like worms. Need dance me. Need dance me.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011, drawing by Jamie Shadowlight

A Good Night – Croce’s & N-

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5-24-10                 3:12am

I had an awesome night tonight. For those of you who are always hassling me about not eating healthy, I did. Certainly tastier than a burrito but much more expensive.

I went to Croce’s downtown, had to get out of my house. I got off at the 12th & Imperial trolley stop and asked valets and hostess people along 5th Ave where I could find food and jazz that wouldn’t break the bank. They pointed me there. I’m glad they did.

It was such a great experience. I had a table in the corner right by the piano. The waitress was attentive and helpful. The food was amazing. I couldn’t figure out just what to order since I don’t eat most of what was on the menu. Not because it’s weird food. I just don’t eat much. So I settled on the goat cheese salad. New things are scary to me but I tried and loved it. And, save for leaving off the onions, I tried every part of it. Even the beets and cucumber.

Note to self: I LOVE fried balls of goat cheese!

I overheard the person next to me order potato soup, which I didn’t see on the menu, and I love potatoes so I ordered that too. It was more like puree than soup but it was good. And she didn’t look at me like I was crazy when I asked if I was supposed to eat the leeks in the middle or if they were just for decoration.

Much more soup than it looks like here. Warm & filling.

I also got a piece of cheesecake. I got strawberries on the top instead of their fruit topping that had orange liquor in it. I don’t do alcohol. It was so divine. Tiny bites of delicious cheesecake and strawberries with my eyes closed to good jazz music. Amazing.

Mmmmm... Heaven on a plate

Even the silverware intrigued me. The forks are anorexic but the spoons make up for it.


And as I sat there I watched the staff. They interacted and joked with each other and with the musicians. They smiled and laughed. Most of them didn’t seem to hate being there. The manager was welcoming guests and the musician introduced him as a fellow musician. The musician gave props to the bartenders. It was a cool environment. The team worked.

It was very different than my experience at Bing Crosby’s where nobody talks, the wait staff is invisible and there is a general attitude that they’re better than the customer. At Croce’s it wasn’t like that. It was warm. I felt at home. And when I left I felt full of something other than French fries and regret. I missed Sacha though. The music tonight was good. It was fun and upbeat, but she’s powerful. The two together might make me melt. ;)

I wrote in my journal, “For $32 and a tip tonight I got a goat cheese salad, potato soup, cheesecake with strawberries, a Sprite, the perfect corner table, great service & some awesome jazz music. (big sigh) The happiness is worth it.”

When I left Croce’s, I took the trolley back to East County and met N-. We went to Fridays. I had a strawberry lemonade and some mashed potatoes. I love potatoes. He talked about cars and airplanes and school and family. Mostly I just listened. And I wondered what he thought of the listening.

As I listened to his thoughts about school and the future and his schedule I thought about how different we are. I didn’t really have anything to say. At least nothing that was relevant. And I had taken some meds on the trolley so I wouldn’t throw up that were making me tired. I literally said almost nothing, except for something about the origin of blue raspberry and asking a few questions. (AT – I have nothing to offer.) I was witnessing his stream of consciousness. He seems so happy. And determined. And figured out. I felt like an observer.

I like N-. He’s like the perfect guy. Family-oriented, studying to be a doctor, loves music, goes to church, doesn’t drink, sings. I don’t know if he dances. He even lives in east county. Go figure. I don’t want to feel so separate. I don’t want to feel so empty.

Tonight was a good night.

©Michelle Routhieaux 2010