Blurred Postcards

January 15th, 2013

Kobmusic + Museica Faves 2012 are here!

KobMuseica: Faves 2012 by @Museica & @Kobmusic

December 31st, 2012

I WON’T MISS YOU…

…Twenty Twelve. I won’t. You were too hard to swallow anyway. So, farewell!

TIME FOR CHANGE. SO BE IT.

September 17th, 2012

If you think I don’t know why/ you chose to turn away and die/ you don’t know me.

I am just playing fool/ don’t let that fool you/ unless you want to/ and I guess you do.

the season is long. and this one’s gonna be even longer. without you.

September 7th, 2012

This is the sea…

Soothing, yet unsettling. Infinitely mysterious, vast, immense, however familiar. The sea rocks my dreams but also leads a main role in most of my childhood’s nightmares. It travels throughout the world bathing our souls and our bodies and our memories and our futures, and it never ends. It never ends.

The sea brings you to me and leads me towards you. Every time I immerse myself in it, you are there with me. However we choose to call it, the sea, is just the sea. Loving brave waters that heal minds and kill bodies and hold the ashes of those who will never return. The sea is life. The sea is love. The sea hides our fears and, sometimes, it makes our dreams come true. Sea, let me forever sail you.

This is the sea.

Exitmusic – The Sea
Pearl Jam – Oceans
Akron/Family – Italy
Beach House – On The Sea
Zulu Winter – We Should Be Swimming Bobby Darin – Beyond The Sea
Iggy Pop – The Endless Sea
The Who – I Am The Sea
Deerhunter – Sailing
The Waterboys – This Is The Sea

Photographs by: Marga Dorao, Ignacio Dorao Moris (http://ignaciodorao.artelista.com)
Paintings by: Margarita Moris (http://margaritamoris.artelista.com)

July 22nd, 2012

The prettiest words are often found in bathrooms…

Without you, the emotions of today would merely be the dead skin of the emotions of the past.

May 15th, 2012

SoHo

Sitting on a borrowed window ceiling facing Broadway: everything’s shaking. Must be the subway passing under my building. Or maybe it’s me. But no, it can’t be. Because I feel such peace despite of the hundreds and hundreds of passers-by that walk, not at a slow pace, never at a slow pace, towards West Houston, towards Bond Street, towards Bleecker. That’s New York for me: an endless source of energy that most find stressful and some of us breath quietly while our hearts skip a bit. Or two.

Under my borrowed window ceiling I can see it all. I can grasp it all. The top of the biggest and most majestic buildings are within reach, so close; so unimpressed I am by them, yet so incredibly thrilled to be part of their history. Gigantic blind windows look at me and I look back at them trying to imagine what’s happening behind them. Trying to rebuild pieces of history, the pieces of the history that made of SoHo, my neighbourhood, what it is today.

Gentrification is the keyword. Some call it the SoHo effect. It started here, and it expanded all over the city and out of the limits of the island, reaching Brooklyn, reaching Williamsburg, reaching the world. Or maybe not yet.

First came the workers. Then came the artists. And the junkies. And the filth. And the decadence. And the 70s and the 80s opened those windows, those incredibly huge windows for the world to see them. And the Bohemians lit, photographed, painted, poemed and sang and made love to a million and one fire scape ladders.

Give way to the riches now.

Aliens and Nationals that don’t know better bump into each other on the turmoil that’s Broadway while the savvy navigate the little streets and get lost in their beauty. A bit tainted, true, but somehow immaculate in the perception of the those who have a soul.

Superficial as it is, tacky is it can be, loud as it shouldn’t be, appreciated for the wrong reasons, SoHo can be, IS, a refuge for the tormented souls and the appreciative types. And I know, I know the best corners to observe it without being pushed into the follies and the simpleness engraved on the asphalt, on the shop windows, in the models and the actors and the megalomaniacs and the mythomaniacs.

I know SoHo. SoHo knows me. And we miss each other.

SoHo A Spotify Playlist

Hamilton De Holanda – Samba Do Soho
The Pogues – A Rainy Night In Soho
The Puppini Sisters – Soho Nights
Nick Cave – A Rainy Night In Soho
Soho 3 – Riding My Bike
The Tiger Lillies – Soho Boy
Alonzo Levister – Soho (Take the F Train)
Tom Waits – Downtown Train
Yo La Tengo – Downtown
Lloyd Cole – Downtown
Interpol – NYC
CocoRosie – West Side
Ella Fitzgerald – Manhattan
Kings Of Convenience – Manhattan Skyline

March 9th, 2012

Question Mark

New York is my impossible love. The most attractive, magnetic, mesmerizing yet toxic of the loves I’ve had. The one who excites me the most, the one who makes me suffer the most. The incessant liar, the constant soul-batterer. The most interesting, the funniest. The one who makes me cry the most; the one who makes me laugh the most. The one I never manage to forget no matter how hard I try. The one I always used to go back to whenever I was clueless. And the one I always end up running away from. Supposedly forever, each and every time.

Málaga is my steady love. It is the kind of mature, safe love that doesn’t quite manage to stir my soul, but that succeeds in giving me peace. Málaga is the protector, the provider. It never disappoints me, it never hurts me, it never tells me lies. It doesn’t give me much in terms of adventure, passion or liveliness. It is not gale, but gentle breeze. Málaga is bliss. A golden cage of soothing waters and healing suns. It is always there for me no matter what.

And Madrid… Forever on the borderline between familiar and stimulating. Always in the reserve. Waiting for me to pick it, while I also wait, wait for it to pick me. But life always pulls us apart. Madrid is my remote love. Always my first choice when my other lovers fail me. Fascinating Madrid. The only one of my three loves that manages to make me feel strangely at home, yet incredibly full of vibrant energy. Madrid. Not impossible at all, but maybe just improbable for now.

And so, while I wait for life to push me into the arms of the one love I really want to be with, I keep dancing back and forth between my schizophrenic lover New York’s disproportionate appetite and Málaga’s humble security that keeps me anchored to the land, to reality, to my roots.

Home Again - Beach House
A Day in the City - Tribes of the City
Travel is dangerous - Mogwai
NYC - Interpol
Future starts slow - The Kills
Answer to yourself - The Soft Pack
For Now - Twin Shadow
Come back home - Two Door Cinema Club
Dance Away - Smith Westerns
Can you find a way? - The Rapture

February 15th, 2012

The ring

I have a ring that I always wear on my little finger. It’s worth nothing: my 12 year old nephew made it for me years ago, and for that sole reason, it’s my favorite accessory ever.

I’ve lost it a million times. But, so far, I have always managed to retrieve it. Always. And whenever I come across it in the bottom of my backpack, on the corner of a shelf, inside my toilet bag, on the basin, wrapped around my scarves or trapped in the lining of an old coat, I somehow feel complete again. Without it I’d feel naked, under construction, out of focus, unfinished.

I have a ring that I always wear on my little finger. Sometimes I even manage to wear it on my ring finger, though it doesn’t reach the end of the phalanx, but I like to wear it that way. I have lost it a million and one times. Actually, I don’t even know where it is right now. But I know I’ll find it again. I always do.

Jamie Lidell - The Ring
Caribou - Bijoux
Iron and Wine - Friends they are Jewels
Ohbijou - Make it Gold
Niños Mutantes - Anillo
El Columpio Asesino - Perlas