why don’t you come on over, stop making a fool outta me?:

there is a level of musicality that no amount of practice will get you to. everybody wants it, but only the lucky few have it. the rest of us keep on doing, cause music is good, after all. even if you aren’t a genius, there’s nothing better.

amy winehouse does have that gift, and to see her pissing it away makes me wish i could reach through the laptop monitor and wrap my fingers sround her golden, emaciated throat. i’m a singer too, so i know what she’s doing, and i know that, try as i might, i can’t quite do it. i’m good at what i do – but i’m not a genius.

i’m also old enough to be her mom, so i see that she’s fallen into that self-destructive once-in-a-lifetime lovetrap that so many of us do, and she can’t see choosing anything but the road that she’s on. but yesterday she was on a stage filled with incredible musicians who were taking a step back and listening to HER (she’s onstage with annie f’in lennox! ) and she had to diminish the whole thing (not to mention herself) just a little bit by substituting “free blakey, my fella” for ‘free nelson mandela” in one of the choruses. i’d bet you money blakey told she’d do that if she really loved him. he’s a sick little pimp, that boy.neither big, nor clever. and i believe she’s very aware of the pull she has, the one that makes me waste time writing about her when i’ve got better things to do – because, despite her addictions and her stupidity, i love the way she sounds.

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your front yard is underwater

pomegranate, lotus + plum

and then some

funny how time slips away

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