Reunion

Space and time
Seasons and tides
A decade, twice and thrice.
Time enough for reunion,
Not quite enough to
Bridge the years between
Friends and acquaintances,
Couples and sweethearts,
Rivals and competitors,
Absent and abstaining.
Old friends are best as
Old age ushers nostalgia.
Fewer than a handful
Of years spent together
In the Strenuous Life
Still can mean so much
In the shared experience
Of affirmation and embrace,
Coming full circle in the
Universe radiating light-years,
The departed immortalized
In the stars, in our hearts.
Sentimental and maudlin?
Then, drink a hearty toast,
Back to life actualized
Until we meet again
On some sunny day
In time and space,
Love and grace to all!

The Cobain-Winehouse Exploitation

When my family had a recent trip to Portland, Oregon, on my birthday, we had the occasion to visit Voodoo Doughnuts and stand in line for the privilege of enjoying their bacon maple bar.  While waiting outside at the end of a rather long queue, I heard what sounded like a song by Amy Winehouse over a speaker system.  As we got closer to the entrance, we encountered the source of the music: a wayward-looking, perhaps homeless hippie girl with tattoos and piercings playing a ukelele with a voice that was uncanny Winehouse.

Thinking back on that incident reminded me of how the music business exploits artists like Kurt Cobain and Winehouse who obviously needed professional help in dealing with their mental health and drug addiction.  The industry has no qualms in profiting from their one-of-a-kind musical talent.  Amy Winehouse, the poor girl who struggled to survive in the rough and seedy parts of London, sang of how people tried to get her to go to rehab to which she just said no.  She became a sensation tailor-made for the Grammys, and unwittingly suffered the absurd irony of having a rendition of that same song sung on a pop TV show about an American suburban high school glee club.

Cobain, the sacrificial lamb of grunge punk angst who sang of teenage alienation, depression, drug addiction, and even whoring of musicians by the industry mercenaries, ended his mental torture by scattering his brains all over a room in his house in a pleasant well-to-do neighborhood by the western shores of Lake Washington.

Meanwhile, life goes on for those of us in artistic mediocrity who continue to shop digital music from iTunes or to steal it outright from other web sources.  Bewildering and cruel ironies of life never cease.