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Sunday Soul – Turn of Phrase

Year 11 – Playlist 17/52 – For the week of August 10th 2014

Officially it’s a mystery why the butterfly is called the butterfly. Hensleigh Wedgwood suggests that it comes from the Dutch synonym “boterschijte” (which assumes that the appearance of its excrement is basic observational nomenclature,) but it’s probably something far simpler (like the spoken mutation of bēatan (to beat), and flēoge (fly) put together long before anyone could write or spell and it just blurred into “butterfly”) but since no one really knows we just keep calling them butterfly and we love them. It’s mostly because they are so pretty and they don’t bite isn’t it? If a moth lands on you sometimes it’s worth a good freakout. When other bugs land on you it’s definitely not our favorite thing. Like a Coccinellidae, so similar in every way to a cockroach, but since it’s small and red and cute and called a lady bug (or lady bird, lady cow, and lady beetle) we don’t think of it as a dung beetle and we stick out our finger and hope the little sweetheart climbs aboard. Perception and projection have their way with us, and we don’t mind a bit.

I once ordered a liter of ladybugs from an online garden supply company. The idea was that for something like $8 I would receive a carton of beetles in the mail, and then I was going to open them up and set them free before a friend of mine – like wildflowers only better. Trouble is they charged me for them, and for the shipping too and all that ever arrived in the mail was a postcard some months later explaining that the shop I purchased them from was too far from California to guarantee a live delivery so they regretted to inform me that they hadn’t ever shipped them. That would have actually been fine if they’d been equally as thoughtful with my $8 (but they weren’t.) Still, the idea of a liter of lady cows flying up out of a container in a plume of little red wings was a nice thought. Imagine if they’d been earwigs, or some kind of flying black beetle. It would take a sturdy freak indeed to appreciate a surprise like that.

In my friend Simon’s back yard in Gainesville florida there is a stream which he’s mostly dredged to create water flow, but is otherwise completely wild. He and his daughter and I have paddled through that stream several times. The shores of the stream are populated by the sweetest, slowest dragonflies you’ve ever seen.

They seem to lazily flop through the air, and sometimes they’ll even land on your hand if you stay still enough. It’s delightful until you look into their metallic spider eyes and get the creeps. It reminds one of the things living in the soft silt between your toes in the slow moving fresh waters of Florida. It sent me up onto a huge tree branch until I imagined I saw a snake, and then I was back on the grass and laughing at myself in no time. I’m a city boy. I love the concrete under my feet. I’m not much for leeches, or snake bites.

Of course my point here is that there was no snake, and dragonflies are beautiful. There were no leeches, no fish, not even a tick. We were in my friend’s backyard, however wild, and even if something had gone horribly wrong, help was about 15 feet away at all times.

I remember the summer I saw Jaws. I couldn’t swim in any kind of water for years afterward. Bathtubs were out of the question. No matter how it was explained to me, my mind wasn’t buying it. There could be a shark in the deep end of the hotel swimming pool, and if there was one it was coming for me. I could hear it breathing. It was real.

I suppose that Steven Spielberg is just sadistic enough to have intended to stop me from swimming or bathing between the ages of 12 and 17, but I wasn’t going to be doing a whole lot of that anyway in those tender years where I didn’t live anywhere, and so it was probably time for me to discover the luxury of the occasional shower anyway. But that never stopped me from eyeing those industrial drains carefully while I did (when I did.)

Be careful what you say. Be sure it’s what you mean. Don’t obfuscate your ignorance with slack jawed jargon A. because people will assume you’re stupid (and I know you’re not) and B. because that let’s everyone off the hook. Say what you mean to say, and if that’s some kind of cryptic dialect then right on, but make sure it’s what you wanted to express. If you don’t know a word, ask. If you feel self conscious asking then google it. If you’re clear about where you’re coming from, and can back it up with an explanation then you can rest assured that whatever people project onto your ladybugs, dragonflies, bathtubs or tarantulas is really their head trip (and maybe you can help them with it if they’ll let you.)

Otherwise, remember what Great Grampa Jones always used to say “Sunny, the truth hurts, and you are gonna have to live with that. But bullshit, well that just washes right off in the shower.”

Now go take a shower. Just be sure and check out that drain for sharks before you do.

Thank you for listening. See you next week.
Love,
Sunshine

Here is the track listing for Sunday Soul: Turn of Phrase

1. Butterfly – Herbie Hancock
2. Water Me – FKA twigs
3. Boutade – Miseridub – Mugwump
4. Walk Away – Orthy Remix – S&M Music Company
5. Lost Robot – Toxez
6. With You – 2 Billion Beats Remix – Karmine Rosciano
7. This Time – Douglas Greed
8. Good Night From Chicago – Soul Minority Midsummer Nights Remix – T. Ruggieri
9. Future File – WoDeep
10. Memory Full – Deephope
11. Before We Get Old – Jay Riordan
12. I’m Sorry – Cucumbers
13. Requiem N1 – Zatonsky
14. Remember – thatmanmonkz
15. Jubel – Jason Parker Extended Mix – Klingande
16. Workin’ – Street Choir
17. Rule My World – Kings of Convenience
18. Sunday Soul – Program ID
19. Loser – Grateful Dead
20. Sunday Soul – Program ID

Year 11 – Playlist 17|52
10 August 2014
Total Running Time: 01 Hour 57 Minutes

Buy this music if you love it. Buy it on vinyl. Play it loud. I am curating something personal for the people I love who take the time to listen. If you have feelings and would like to be stricken from the record here, please let me know and I’d be glad to never play your music here again. I’ve been mad about love before, and I totally understand.

May the stars above you shimmer and shine, guiding your heart always, all of the time. May they guide you sweetly, all the way home. And may all your sundays have soul.