|[Sometimes It's A Bitch...Sometimes It's A Breeze]|

|[ Stevie]|

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Tuesday, June 8th, 2004 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 2:37 pm]
to mark a day when we are young we party with our friends and yet to mark that same day as we age, many of us hide
i don't believe i bothered to acknowledge my own birthday, but today i choose to acknowledge his.

Happy Birthday

grimaldi

current music: life in the fast lane - the eagles disclaimer

Comments: 1 taste| lips of molasses and tears.

[We're coming around again...]Monday, February 23rd, 2004 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 4:49 am]
May 8: Madison, WI
May 9: Champaign, IL
May 12: Green Bay, WI
May 14: Nashville, TN
May 15: Atlanta, GA
May 18: West Palm Beach, FL
May 20: Charlotte, NC
May 22: Raleigh, NC
May 23: Jacksonville, FL
May 26: Bristow, VA
May 28: Mansfield, MA
May 29: Holmdel, NJ
June 1: Scranton, PA
June 3: Camden, NJ
June 5: Hershey, PA
June 6: Wantagh, NY
June 8: Hartford, CT
June 10: Pittsburgh, PA
June 12: Tinley Park, IL
June 13: Cleveland, OH
June 16: Dallas, TX
June 17: Spring, TX
June 20: Irvine, CA
June 22: Chula Vista, CA

current mood: glad to still be working
current music: Carly Simon - Coming Around Again disclaimer

Comments: lips of molasses and tears.

[her mind is Tiffany twisted]Tuesday, October 14th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 1:43 pm]
( On a dark desert highway Cool wind in my hair Warm smell of colitas Rising up through the air Up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light My head grew heavy, and my sight grew dim I had to stop for the night.. )

We are still touring, gypsies wandering America, across and back, following the real route 66. Becoming a band again, instead of individual performers.
It feels like coming home.

current music: Hotel California - Eagles disclaimer

Comments: 4 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

Saturday, September 13th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 12:08 pm]
days go by
like a strand in the wind
in a way that is my own
I begin again disclaimer

Comments: lips of molasses and tears.

Sunday, August 10th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 10:04 pm]
We're in the south and on our way to Missouri as I type this. The cool canned air of the plane's interior is tempting me into a gentle sleep. Calling like a sweet siren from the ocean across the water and to me, telling me to close my eyes and rock on the waves to the rhythem of the night.

The shows are going well, I've never been onstage as Fleetwood Mac without Christine before and it felt as though I was naked at first. Not good enough to be there, a trembling novice first stepping into the spotlight. But now it is old hat again and I feel younger than I am but no longer a novice school girl just learning her way.
It's been quite a lovely ride thus far....The shows are packed, keeping coming, we've missed you.

current music: Refugee - Tom Petty disclaimer

Comments: 2 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[and the stars still laugh and cry and shine]Tuesday, July 1st, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 11:16 pm]
The Blue Lamp is one of my very favorite songs. Blue Lamp was written about a blue lamp that my mother gave me when I first joined Fleetwood Mac. It's a very heavy leaded glass lamp that I carried on an airplane home with a friend of mine, she carried the base and I carried the shade, home to L.A. And we were really afraid it was going to get broken because it was this, you know, leaded glass lamp. They didn't want us to take it on the plane cause it was too big. Well, we got it on the plane, by screaming and yelling and crying. So that is the lamp that I carried from my mother's home. has remained my favorite possesion. It is the one thing that never changes. It is without a doubt the only light that shines through the shining night much of the time, for me.
There is a woman, a model named Rande, who has one too. Tiffany and Co. used to make lamps as duets. Two that would go together, meant to stay together. My mother's lamp was once one part of the duet, but they were sold off, auctioned and she received one while this woman in Norway had the other. It was only by chance that Rande, a fan of the music I've made, heard about and saw a photo of The Blue Lamp. She recognized it as identical to one that had been handed down to her.
I always knew the lamp was magical, that it would find it's mate some how. But as with us, cruel fate had kept it from it's love for longer than necessary. The blue lamp was supposed to be on the cover of Bella Donna, the picture of the blue lamp. And I decided to change the cover so there are some very, very wonderful pictures of this group of women and this room and stuff around this blue lamp. So someday those pictures will come out and you'll get to really see the blue lamp. But if they would have come out at the time, Rande and I would have met sooner.
She has a beautiful daughter, who is my adopted daughter, I'm her god-mother in most ways. I don't see Rande much anymore but Kristanna and I talk most nights just to say hello. Her journal,

loken is almost as beautiful as she is. I try not to be her advisor as my words are not always those of a prophet but more of a poet, no one to influence or mother, but also I'm an old woman and I enjoy mothering someone sometimes...

( The Blue Lamp ) really is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, it looks like a huge blue mushroom. And it's a wonderful thing, because it's all so real, even though it sounds like sort of a gothic fairy tale song, you know, it's totally real, every line in it is real.

current mood:

nostalgic
current music: Bob Dylan - All Along the Watchtower disclaimer

Comments: 5 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[when all your lies become your truth]Thursday, June 19th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 9:31 am]
( just like a white winged dove )

We are still playing like a band gypsies moving across this beautiful country. Much has changed since we travelled these roads in the beginning. And the truest revelation has been that so very much is the same.
Thank you all for coming out to see us, we love to know you are there and still dancing.
We're currently on a small break, but will return August 10th in the home of the King of Rock n Roll, Mr. Elvis Presley.
As a General Hospital fan, I can't let this boy's arrival pass without a word.

jackson_j. We hope you stay this time, pretty.

And to the beautiful young lady who recently shared an In Style photo shoot and article with me,

michelle_b, I saw the video and heard the new song. You kicked butt, sweetheart.

current mood:

creative
current music: Are you happy now? - Michelle Branch disclaimer

Comments: 2 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[there's another chance and a someday soon shining like the Alabama moon]Thursday, June 5th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 2:03 am]
We are tonight, in Alabama, waiting to perform tomorrow evening for a crowd of loving and loyal fans in Birmingham. This place reminds me of a song by a wonderfully talented woman, that plays within my mind whenever I am near to this place. Just as I hear Elvis in Memphis, although I wonder if now I will also be unable to forget that there is a place left for Lisa Marie, there "in the damn back yard".
I do hope I hear both voices together when I go.
The tour is grueling for an old woman, such as myself and I must admit that although the reviewers speack kindly, saying we carry the show off without missind Christine at all, I miss Christine. Another female presence there to share energy, it is odd to have to flow alone. And for me, she is missed greatly, yet I am also enjoying myself. It's a rare thing to be able to go back and revisit a place you thought you had forgotten.
I am fortunate.

current music: Birmingham - Amanda Marshall disclaimer

Comments: 3 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[Poets,Priests of Nothing, Legends]Wednesday, May 7th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 2:38 pm]
On the eve of the first concert of the first brand new Fleetwood Mac tour in years, a tour without Christine and with new music, I am thinking of the past.
This was brought on by the arrival here of a man everyone should be blessed to know and love at least for a moment. The very talented, one and only

t_petty. If you don't know him, go meet him, please. Your life will be better for it.
I guess in a very few rare cases...some people find someone that they fall in love with the very first time they see them...from across a room, from a million miles away. Some people call it love at first sight, and of course, I never believed in that until...he gave me Stop Dragging My Heart Around. It was never, well not for more than a summer, a romance, but it was, is and always will be a friendship made of more than most can understand.
A hundred years ago the press almost destroyed our friendship, but we survived and I am honored to call him my friend.
Tonight we begin again...Opening in Florida. The very state Tom comes from.

And the circle turns and becomes itself once again, ever changing, yet always the same.

current mood: remembering
current music: Stop Dragging My Heart Around - Tom Petty disclaimer

Comments: 5 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[Illume]Sunday, May 4th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 3:34 pm]
Ah it's been so long, too long perhaps since sitting down here and writing. I give myself the excuse that I have been so very busy and I am an old woman afterall.
The latest album, a collective of years of writing, 18 songs that might not have seen the light were it not for this album. 9 are mine and 9 are his...the Buckingham one, you know who I mean.
The man who is my other half in so many ways. Both alone except for our music we write to live and live to write. Our paths chosen long ago. We could be no more a couple were we married with children of our own.
And now it is to begin again, in a scant 3 days. May 7th. The tour begins.
( Illume )

is the song closest to my heart. It's the first thing I wrote really after 9/11.

current mood:

tired disclaimer

Comments: 9 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[He was no more...than a baby then]Saturday, March 29th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 10:16 pm]
We measure our lives in moments, both precious and tragic. we hear songs and read poetry that reminds us of who we are and where we were when we first heard them.
As any friends of mine know I am a huge General Hospital fan. I haven't missed a moment of it in years and today, glancing over my friend page I was taken back by the appearance of the only boy who will ever be "Lucky Spencer" to me.
I was younger and strangely more tired when I first saw him, laughing, just a baby really, Luke and Laura's son...beautiful blue eyes, gentle smile...
His name is Jonathan.

jono_jackson. He is not only a beautiful and talented actor, but also a poet...musician...heartbreaker I am certain.
Welcome Jonathan...my Lucky.

With the words from a poet...
and the voice from a choir
And a melody...nothing else mattered

current mood:

pleased
current music: Come Undone disclaimer

Comments: 2 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[in history most great tragedy has been followed by great gifts]Saturday, March 22nd, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 3:06 pm]
Love is a gift
Music is a gift
Life is a gift
Freedom ~ is a gift…

And the days go by
Like a strand in the wind~
In the web that is our own
we begin again… disclaimer

Comments: 8 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[Peacekeeper]Friday, March 21st, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 12:50 pm]

( OOC )

current mood:

hopeful disclaimer

Comments: lips of molasses and tears.

[Everything that changes somehow stays the same]Monday, March 3rd, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 1:04 pm]
You know, I remember sitting in some house in Colorado in like 1973, with a beautiful view in someone's big beautiful home where I had gone to dinner or something. I took my guitar and I went into this beautiful room and I sat and I wrote Landslide. I can remember it and seeing it through my eyes when I was, oh so very young, in my early 20s I suppose and then through my eyes all the way up until now ~ and now through the eyes of others. It's really quite an amazing metamorphosis for this song from generation to generation to generation and I'm so proud to be a part of it.
And I am so very proud of the three beautiful women who took it and made it their own. This is far overdue, but felt deep within my heart.

emily_robison,

nataliemaines, and

martie_maguire you're the coolest chicks around, congratulations on the Grammy wins.
Also to the beautiful rock and roll girl,

sheryl_crow, it was good to see you win, you deserve it.
And of course, the lady of the evening, the lovely gypsy of the piano,

norah_j, you were radient.
Much love to all the winners, those I know and those I do not. And a late birthday wish to a boy who wrote with me and helped me to express that sometimes it really is a bitch...

j_bon_jovi.

May there be peace in your lives and in the world

current music: Landslide - The Dixie Chicks disclaimer

Comments: 15 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[In the mist]Monday, January 20th, 2003 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 12:00 am]
You know what's good about witnessing the sun rise in the middle of a broken down place; in the middle of war and famine, of indifference and rage; that the sun still rises over the gray mist, that another day still unfolds for things to settle, to resolve, to make better.

How I ultimately decided between getting wine glasses or coffee / tea cups;
Wine glass. To remind you that there will always be a reason to celebrate.. And that you can only get better with time.
I'll get both then. The coffee cups also, so that no matter how far I get better with time, I will never forget where I started and came from.

current mood: slight
current music: the waves disclaimer

Comments: lips of molasses and tears.

[just like a white winged dove]Saturday, December 7th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 2:32 pm]
Christmas always reminds me of my best friend. Her name was Robin. She was beautiful, inside and out, a gentle spirit stronger than most of us will ever be.
This will be my 20th Christmas without her laughter, yet I still hear it.
It's the only friendship that I've ever had or... well, I'm not going to say ever will have. We just started out together at 15 years old. She kind of walked me through life. And, as I questioned would there be life after Fleetwood Mac, I certainly questioned would there be life after Robin. Then I found that there is life after Robin, except that it's not the same, not near as special. There's a spirit gone, and that's why I'm really dedicated to this The Robin Anderson Memorial Fund
That's why I will do anything I have to do to make as much money to get rid of this disease as I can because I would really never want anyone to experience losing someone as beautiful as her in this horrible way.
She [Robin] taught me how to sing. She taught me how to use my voice. She made very sure before she left this planet that I was all right, that my voice was all right. I don't have problems with my voice now, but I did and it took us years to fix it. Robin was one of those people [who] when she walked in the room everybody looked. She was breathtaking, and that's why it's so wild that she could possibly have died. It just doesn't make any sense at all.
I was so devastated that I thought I was gonna die with her. I really did. It was hard for me to come back from the fact that I knew I wouldn't see Matthew, her son, again for many years.
And so I moved to the beach. I moved to the beach for spiritual solace, for sanctuary. And it helped. For me to go out and just sit on a blanket and take my tape recorder and a pad of paper and a pencil and just look at the ocean and write. And give her up, you know? And, you know, if anything like that ever happens to me again, I'll probably move right back to the beach. Either that, or I'll go home to the desert. Because those two places are my strongholds.
Those are the two places I have my homes now too.
A desert in Arizona and a beach in California.
Right now I'm in a room that has french doors and looks out over the ocean. Kind of close to Sunset and Pacific Coast Highway which is on the way to Malibu.
The ocean is dramatic – when you live on a mountain by the sea, the ocean is so loud that it seems like it’s own person – like a spirit.
Robin's spirit, for she is forever the gypsy that remains.

current mood:

melancholy
current music: the ocean disclaimer

Comments: 6 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[the door was open and the wind appeared]Wednesday, October 30th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 11:18 pm]
The candles blew then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared… saying don't be afraid
Come on baby… and she had no fear
And she ran to him… then they started to fly
They looked backward and said good bye..
I believe totally in magic. Because my life, I think, has been very magic, and magical things have come true for me time after time after time.
There is always magic to be summoned at any point. I love to live in a world of magic, but not a fake world of magic. We all really basically have a lot of magic....it's only those of us that choose to accept it, that really understand it. It's there for everyone. I try to give that to people, I always have...Wanted to give them a little glimpse of their own magic, not mine, but theirs.
A long, long time ago I decided I was going to have a kind of mystical presence, so I made my clothes, my boots, my hair, and my whole being go with that. But it wasn't something I just made up at that point. It's the way I've always been. I've always believed in good witches-not bad witches-and fairies and angels.
I love Halloween ...and I love haunting, haunted melodies. I've never been a down-home rock 'n' roll songwriter. I try to add that extra, spooky dimension to whatever I do. I want my songs to sort of step a little bit into the bizarre. It's as though there are good spirits everywhere when I am writing my songs, helping me. I just feel them and feel good. And it's not stupid or mystical or weird. I just get good feelings from ~ I don't know ~ the air.
I believe in past lives too, but I don't speak about that as often. I think that side of your consciousness is sort of its own thing, and I don't want to bring that too much into this life. It's like a quiet inspiration. I do think I spent a lot of time in old churches, like a monk. I'm very comfortable around that kind of music, with that kind of creeping around, with being very quiet. My ballet teacher believes that my head was cut off in another life, too. I totally give with my body except for my neck. Even if I go to the beauty salon, I can't put my head back. They have to hold it or it will drop. The same thing happens when I dance or get a massage. It's very weird. I'm almost too afraid of what I may find if I search too deeply into who I was so I do not. I simply smile and try not to concentrate on those past lives for fear I will be pulled back into them and lost.
Although I'm not afraid of death. I'm not afraid of it at all. But I try to get as much done as I can, because you don't know how long you're going to be here. That's why it's important that I type a page or two every night-even if that's at 11 p.m.
I believe we all live on earth a certain number of times until we finish what it is that we were each meant to do here. And then, when you have...you go on.
I don't think I'll be back. I think I'm done.

current mood: Happy Halloween
current music: Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult disclaimer

Comments: 3 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[somebody was moving the chess players, she was the white queen, who went where she was moved..]Tuesday, September 24th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 1:14 pm]
If you believe in destiny ~ which I do ~ it seems like my life was pretty mapped out.
I'm often asked whether I ever could have, as a young girl, imagined what my life was going to be like. And yeah, I think I had a definite glimpse 'cause I loved my writing, I thought I was very good. Nobody else really did ~ but I did, and Robin did, she was my friend and listened to me and she said, 'Hey, that's not bad, keep writing maybe you'll be rich someday,' Cause I knew I was never going to be a good person to get up at 8 and be at an office at 9 [a.m.] and drive in traffic at 5:30. I knew instinctively, as a pretty little girl that I wasn't gonna be happening for the office scene. As soon as I wrote my first song I've Loved and I've Lost and that cinched it. As far as knowing what I was going to try to do.
Then there's the side of the mirror where we wonder if we could have foretold our own futures, would we believe and try to change it or would we just never know.
I think about it seriously and I think about the song I wrote when I was seventeen and its called I never promised you a Rose Garden, and it really goes into this whole thing about now I have a big house with pillars standing all around, and a garden with roses men to love me, and acres of land.
I was seventeen years old, how could I have had any idea, you know how could I have really known, but I think there's a little bit of me that did know, I just really do.

( Rose Garden )
Those are the lyrics I wrote when I was 17. Do you think I knew?

current mood: Destiny
current music: the echoes of the past calling to me disclaimer

Comments: 1 taste| lips of molasses and tears.

[I see through me into you]Tuesday, September 10th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 1:13 am]
Beyond a hundred steps of wisdom,
I will be free from good and bad.
Behind the veils I will find
such Splendor, such Beauty
that I will fall in love
with Myself.

-Rumi

There are times when I am touched by someone who feels as though they may have once been a part of my spirit, in some other life in some other way. And I shove aside the veils to look at them more closely.

ehrinn is such a spirit.
Her words are gentle and beautiful and lull one into a beautiful dream.
Goodnight

current music: Dreams disclaimer

Comments: 1 taste| lips of molasses and tears.

[You ask what it is like to be me, to live my life...It is unique and beautiful and terrifying......]Monday, September 9th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 12:27 am]
She would rock on the open porches and look at the sea, marveling over its changefulness. There were sunsets when the water resembled hammered gold under the golden light, or it would be running brass or whitely flowering beneath a white sky. Even the storms entranced her. She wanted to cry in ecstasy. She would sing and her marvelous voice would echo in the wild and tranquil evening silence. Dear God -if there is a God in the world- don't Let her know. Never let her know what the world really is.
- TAYLOR CALDWELL,
Ceremony of the Innocent,
My Favorite Novel.
-
It is said that the door to the other side of this existence, to the Spirit Corridor and the Plain of Souls, has no knob on it and can only be opened from the outside. You, on this side of the door, must answer the spectral knock with a beckoning, for the Darkness cannot cross your threshold unless it is invited in. And so, on a cool night not long ago in an ancient chateau outside of Paris, there was no rest for a believer. No rest for me.
Le Chateau, the legendary studio-retreat where Elton John recorded Honky Château and where Fleetwood Mac laid down many tracks for a few LPs and where I recorded a songs for both Bella Donna and my most recent.
I was retiring for the night, turned off the light in my huge shadowy bedroom. Suddenly, I was startled by the sound of rapidly flapping wings in the blackness. The noise abruptly ceased. Then came a queer whir, and something brushed against my cheek. I froze. The light I had just extinguished sprang on and I was so petrified I could not scream, could not even speak.
Ten minutes passed as I cowered in mute terror; then stumbled down the damp hallway to the room of my friend and long time assistant, Debbie, who calmed and reassured me as she has always been able to do. I eventually made my way back to my bed and fell into a troubled sleep.

In the morning I was still a bit frightened, and as I tried to orient myself, the arched French doors across from my bed swung wide with such force that they toppled the desk standing in front of them, sending my computer, a pair of pink vases and a delicate statuette-like candle sailing through the air.
I just sat there and watched as these paned doors, two stories high, flew open. My glass doors opened on a wrought-iron balcony overlooking a wishing well. It was quite dramatic, and the desk went over like whamp! I went into the kitchen, and the people who worked there said it was the ghost of the chateau. 'He is a good ghost, he will not hurt you, he just wants to make himself known,' they said. 'Nothing was broken, was it?'"
It was then that I realized nothing had been damaged, not even my slender jade-colored candle, which would have snapped if it had been dropped even at arm's length.

current music: Ghosts - it is just the ghost of the past that you live in disclaimer

Comments: 8 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[Bombay Sapphires]Saturday, August 24th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 2:14 pm]
If you take yourself to a great environment, you can just about get over anything.
In Hawaii two years ago everything was green. A beautiful wild jade green, the color of passionate eyes and jealous rages, the gentle green of peace and forests in bloom..The water, the world was very green..very Zen.
And I wrote this simple little song that became more important to me than I ever imagined.

"..It is green
It is aquamarine
It is colors I have never seen
I can see past you
To the white sand…"

I was looking outside one day and it was like I was almost seeing my past as a little bit of something that I really wanted to leave behind for a while. I was looking past the past, out to the ocean and how beautiful it was and how white and inviting the sand was. I thought, I can see past you to the white sand and a message back to me that you are moving on now, you really are moving on. You are letting go of all that stuff that bothered you and you are moving forward.
When it says, 'I can see past you to the white sand,' that sentence right there is the whole reason for Bombay Sapphires. It means that I'm really trying to get over something, and I'm looking to the green ocean and can see past all of these problems to the incredibly beautiful white sand and the ocean beyond it. I'm gonna be OK because I am movin' past you.
So, for me, it became important that that song be on my most recent record. I recorded that song two other times, and I didn't like it either time. I went back in for a third time and played it myself to get it the way I had written it when I was in Hawaii that night Macy Gray came and sang it with me and our voices just blended together. It was a first for me, the reggae funkiness of it, but she understood what I needed and her wild vibe gave me the courage to do something else on this song I had never done before…play the keyboards for it.
It quickly became my favorite song on the record and when it almost got pulled off because it wasn't recorded right, I was horrified that one line "I can see past you to the white sand" was not gonna be on the record. It's really important for me to tell people that if they're in an unhappy situation they should not stay forever and be miserable.
If I had stayed where I was with Lindsey I wouldn't be where I am now. I would have eventually lost all sense of myself and become what he thought he wanted.

…The sea never changes not really, it is the constant in my life. I always return here to the flash of those colors through every window…Wind through the night ..

current music: the waves on the shore disclaimer

Comments: 5 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

Tuesday, August 20th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 5:58 pm]
"It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing."

current mood: mystical
current music: Original Sin - Elton John disclaimer

Comments: lips of molasses and tears.

[on the day of Birthday Wishes for Ben and Debra, I look on.....]Thursday, August 15th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 8:55 pm]
but time makes you bolder......
Changes come as we walk through the years of our lives, veils lift and we become new again each time we learn something about ourselves that changes us.
Be it good or bad every moment makes some impact on our life and we stand moment by moment looking at the crossroads and choosing our life.
Time casts a spell on us making us believe in it's magic. Belief is the first tender step towards truth.
When I woke up with a hole through my nose from all the cocaine I'd inhaled, I believed in nothing. My illusions were shattered and I couldn't face the world or go on.
But the magical sands of time ran through my fingers and I began again.
And the stars still laugh and cry and shine and I handle the seasons of my life, as we all do.
May both your lives be full of wishes and dreams woven throughout.

current music: End of The Innocence - Don Henley disclaimer

Comments: lips of molasses and tears.

[When the singer is gone, let the song live on.]Wednesday, August 14th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 6:11 pm]
Searching through a box of old things to find something to donate to an auction for Don's Walden Woods, I found an old leather bound book with faded pages and faint scribbles, written by someone I barely know anymore. Myself from 1981...

Journal Entry: Monday Night, The Forum [1981]
If only for a moment, I shall tell you what it was to be a part of the Heartbreakers tonight, to be so proud that your heart breaks, to hold onto Adria Petty and to watch her dance, and to tell her that it is imperative that she tell her father how good he was and that she danced on the stage for her first time, I knew that Bruce Springsteen would have been proud of her. She has the moves down.

Needles and Pins was good. I feel that Tom and I are better than that, but then we are just beginning. And we will just get better. Gordon said it was Don and Phil. Dear Gordon was our love for the Everly Brothers, it could have been faster, and we will certainly get stronger, but if it was nothing else, it was Tom and I, and Tom and I have the potential to be a stroke of genius, inside us, within us, we certainly can sing. Together, we can sing anything. We can sing whatever it is that is important to us.

Singing with Tom and being a guest of the Heartbreakers has only made me see clearly that I want my own band. I do not want a band of musicians who play for the money. I want a band of angels who play for the love. I am not selfish. I do not want the glory of being a queen. I want a band with Lori and Sharon and Waddy and Russell and Bob and Benmont and Roy and Bobby and Davey and anyone else that wants to be in it, and really just whoever wants to be a part of this. I am willing to share it, and I ask very little of anyone. I only ask that you be the best band that you can be. It was only luck.

And as she sits at her typewriter like Lillian Hellman and she cries, 'Julia, my friend, my guide and my counselor,' and as Julia becomes part of the ocean and her friendship's only part of the memory and she fights and hangs onto a thread of life that has become daily more important to her because it is, to her, her lifeline. And as Adria Petty looks up at me with love and trust and expectations of me, I make my choice. I make my decision. When the singer is gone, let the song live on.

current mood:

nostalgic
current music: silence disclaimer

Comments: 2 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

["Our gods are sleeping," she murmured tenderly. "Our paradise is lost."]Tuesday, August 13th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 3:53 pm]
Under the iced moon, the dreaming river is lost in scented rivulets of internal magnetism. Among the dark trees on shore a woman holds a broken mirror, the image of her weeping child peering out from within the mirror's depths. Two voices can be heard whispering in the cold wind. They speak of the silver moons that inhabit the endless black sky, the ancient blue angels who dance in the moonlight, the eternities of longing through which the planets move in their endless, somber dance.
Later, the streets fill with silent women. The street lamps flicker in coded patterns to spell out the ten thousand secret names of the hidden god. Moons rise and fall, rivers flow backwards, the flowers close petal by delicate petal to form silent, weeping faces. In the shop windows, silver hands fold themselves into tight knots of shimmering enigma.
As she lies in the sand, he outlines her prone body with a string of white seashells, each one decorated with a single tear of dark blood. The stars form frightening constellations. Lost sailors wander the rocky shoreline. The waves crash in a rhythm of bestial fury. She rises from the sand, her long hair sweeping across her bare shoulders, her eyes lit with the soft memories of distant ecstasies, and she walks past him, unaware, and into the crashing waves.
He picks up one of the seashells she has left behind, holds it to his ear. Her voice is whispering in the seashell's interior. She is calling to him, calling...
Soon his eyes are burning with a desperate hope. Like a man in a dream, he finds himself walking towards the sea, calling out her name...

That same night the women gather in the woods to bathe themselves in silvered pond water. The sky is filled with invisible hands, new moons rise above the treetops, and the leaves shimmer with a low and reassuring rustle in the darkness. The women bathe themselves slowly and methodically, as if lost in the deepest of thoughts, and the water forms silver trails as it trickles down their arms and breasts and bellies.
Later they dress, their eyes soft as gentle stars and their movements the subtle shiftings of nesting birds. Single file they make their way through the woods to the sleeping village, drifting into the empty streets one by one, headed for their homes. Luminous angels, the women tread a labyrinth of closed doors and shuttered windows. Their footsteps are mere syllables in the language this night is speaking, mere echoes of the grammar the darkness uses to express its many sorrows.
Each woman opens the door to her house and steps into the darkness beyond. There she finds her children sleeping like smoked glass objects on display. Her husband lies still and breathing deeply, the moonlight from the bedroom window forming a square patch of silver upon the wrinkled bedsheets.
Climbing under the sheets, the woman is an exotic flower, a mad constellation, a forgotten deity forming delicate mysteries from the casual gestures of her hands.
Her dreams will complete the simple ceremony of the night.

current mood: dreaming
current music: Hotel California - The Eagles disclaimer

Comments: 4 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

[magick, yours not mine]Tuesday, August 13th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 12:56 am]
I totally believe in magic. Because my life, I think, has been very magic, and magical things have come true for me time after time after time.

Not everyone can admit that they believe in it, but we all wish for it in our lives. We have all wished on a star or dreamed of a fairy godmother with a wand or to have a wand or maybe a time machine of our own.

But not everyone realizes, there is always magic to be summoned at any point. I love to live in a world of magic, but not a fake world of magic. We all really basically have a lot of magic....it's only those of us that choose to accept it, that really understand it. It's there for everyone. That's the only thing that I feel that I am able to give to people and that's why I know that they respond to me because I try to give them only their own magic...not mine, but theirs.

current mood: magick
current music: Magic Man - Heart disclaimer

Comments: 6 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.

Thursday, August 8th, 2002 [Scribbled by Stevie @ 2:25 pm]
I keep a journal, I have for years. I've written everything down. Someday I'll have to write a book that really tells everybody what the last 15 years have been like. It's something I survived.
I tell people all the time that they should keep a journal, even if it's just, 'I had a terrible day today and I don't want to talk about it, love Stevie,' or 'I dreamt last night...' Even if it's just three sentences because at the end of five or six days, you would have created a habit and you will find that over a month that you have a whole story growing. Whether it's just for your own memories, so you can go back at any age, or if you are a writer or a singer, or some part of the creative business. You can be creative ~ anyone can be creative if they want to ~ you just have to want to.
So now I'm trying something different, a journal kept on the computer, written and placed online. A journal of my life and poems and dreams and half formed thoughts.
A journal for myself
A journal for anyone who cares to read it
A journal of a life already lived before
In eyes welled with tears
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current mood: beginning
current music: citar disclaimer

Comments: 2 tastes| lips of molasses and tears.