Elizaveta Ephemeris

Trap (lyrics)

Trap

 

If you could only see

I couldn’t love you more

If you belong to me

I’ll hold you

I’ll keep you

 

But I get so hypnotized

I’m lost

I’m paralyzed

I want to hear your lies

You choke me

You bleed me

 

I want to die

When I feel you inside my mind

 

Hearts weren’t meant to last

Breathing the broken glass           

Tell me it’s going to pass

You’ll need me

You’ll heal me

 

I want to die

When I feel you inside my mind

 

If I loved you more than life

Wouldn’t matter if you died

I’ll follow you

I’ll carry you

I’ll try to make it beautiful again

Without the lies, without the pain

Cause in my heart, I know we’ll reunite

 

I want to die

When I feel you inside my mind

I want to cry

Cause I know I’ve run out of time

 

These moments in time I knew you were mine

Take me, forgive me

Love me, believe me

It drives me insane

I know - it's only a game

Take me, forgive me

Love me, believe me

This is a trap and I know it will kill me.

 

My album is done!!!!!

And here's a late night poem. I'll write more later with all the details.

 

 

 

A time to write, my cup is full, 
I hug the night, I call its bluff -
you cannot hide, my other half, 
I hear you call; I've set my sail.

From dusk till dawn where lovers live
where stardust gathers at the crack
between what's lost and what we give
I'll find you there - I'll bring you back

 

A time to write, the moon is high
it sings and whispers me to sleep
I'm dreaming as I slip away
while streetlights sway and shadows creep

I'm full of hope, I'm blessed by words
tomorrow is a gift to claim
Just wait for me, my other half:
I hear you call; I've set my sail.

Back Stateside

I am back in L.A. and it took me over a week to rest and recover.

As a very intuitive friend told me recently: I have no middle speed. I handle pressure well - I dread it to begin with - but then I also enjoy it and welcome it, perversely. And when I am idling, I find myself feeling lost and much more likely to fall prone to depression.

I am filling in the blind spots on this blog, so don't be surprised to find backdated entries with photos. The truth is, my last two months were so hectic that apart from Facebook and Twitter, I had no time or wavelength to sit down and write here. I know, I know: you have heard it all before. But us, artists, are an emotional kind of breed. Do not hold our unfulfilled promises against us - we will betray you time and time again. Instead, if you can, take what we can give, when we can give it:) We are certainly imprefect that way but we do come through, occasionally.

There is a lot of clarity in my life right now; certainly more than a few months ago. I know where I want to be, and it seems that L.A. is not that place for much longer, at least not exclusively. That's ok, I have had enough of sunshine to last me another 20 years, I have work here, but some of it can also be done elsewhere, like recording. I think I'll be spending more and more time away from L.A. in the coming months and I am ok with that. In particular, I am drawn to U.K. and Russia at the moment. I want to go somewhere with woods.

In general, I feel stronger and more grounded, although a little battered by the recent two months, which were amazing, but also rather tumultous for me on personal level. 

There are simply too many stray thoughts in my head wanting to be released right now, so bear with me as more backdated entries appear in this blog over this week.

For now, I am back to daily work on music because my plan is to have a full album's worth both in English and Russian by this fall. The response to the HERO EP has been overwhelmingly positive, but I already feel I can do so much better. Whatever else life may bring me in the coming weeks, my creativity is alive and well, it's bubbling up in my chest and bits and pieces of songs and poems in four languages are flitting around my head, challenging me.

I also have a show in L.A. this week at a new space downtown called FiftySeven. This may be my only local show for the time being, except for a performance at TEDx Hollywood next month, so if you're reading this, come on out. It's free.

Also, I have been struggling with what is going on in Ukraine. Mostly, my pain is for the people and their desire for a better life, which they so deserve. Unfortunately that desire exists on both sides of the divide, as it often does.

I can't make any political blanket statements because I believe the situation to be far too complex for that. Russia and Ukraine have ties going a long way back and their history and bloodlines can't be separated and that is part of what makes this so sad and also so volatile. Maybe it's a bad example but it's internal family feuds that go on for years and, oftentimes, for generations.Wounds heal slowly in these scenarios and resentment simmers on and on. It can be like that with countries, too.

For myself, personally, half of my heritage is from Ukraine: my father's complete ancestry is from around Don river. His father - my grandfather - was a generational Cossack, while the mother was 100% Ukrainian. My mother is Russian - if you consider that her father was Russian, but the mother - my other grandmother - came from Belarus. My blood is mixed. My sympathy stands with the people of all the Ukraine. My hope is that they will be able to see beyond their differences and long standing frustrations. Ukraine is a beautiul country with incredible potential and wealth of natural resources. Its land is classified as the most fertile in the whole world.

Why is it that so often it is people and countries who possess the most potential for greatness seem to have been given the hardest trajectory?

What I do condemn, however, are various agendas lurking behind the popular movement, as they always are. I pray for peace, and on my end, what I can do is write music that can, hopefully, heal in a very small way.

The song below was set to lyrics by an early 20th century Cossack poet N. Turoverov. Post-revolution of 1917 he immigrated to the West to escape the bolshevik oppression, but he hurt for his homeland and was unable to ever fully separate himself from its pull.

This song is not a political statement - rather it's a way for me, personally, to process grief through what I do best: sound + voice.

I have been asked to translate the poem, and I'll try my best in the coming day or two.

I have actually written three more songs to Turoverov's poetry in the recent week. I think I will release them as an EP this summer. I am getting the taste of the language back again. I love writing and singing in Russian. Oh, who am I kidding? Roots are roots. Wherever you go, there they - and you - are.

 

 

 

Poem

I came across some beautiful imagery by Ed Fairburn. He draws faces in vintage maps. My friend and designer i102fly will go crazy when she sees the link I sent her because she has (shhhh!) a map fetish. She even has map patterned pants. But who am I to talk? I love maps, too. Although probably not with such passion, and I can't read them very well, ever. But to me, maps have always represented adventure and possibility.

Then it struck me: oh my, when was the last time I wrote a poem? Sad, sad state of affairs when a self proclaimed POET AND FLOWER ALCHEMIST hasn't written any poetry for... well, for a very long time.

And here is a little improvised poem that shaped itself because of the imagery.

 

The years, travels and worries
Laughs, loves, tears
Secrets, songs and stories
all inscribed on our faces.
Time's an artist, too, you know
He works slowly, gently
Every face is a little different
A canvas to fill with minute details.
So why do we shame ourselves?
Why do we seek to erase history?
Who said Time's art is ugly?
My face carries a map of my journeys
Both on the inside and the outside
This scar is chicken pox when I was ten
This wrinkle is for the one who got away
And these lines are growing because I laugh a lot.
I am a wanderer and a lover
I sing and I love to sleep
I get spots when I eat too much sugar.
My face remembers everything
and maybe
It is time to forgive myself in it.
(ek, 2014)

 

 

 

new song lyrics

So what a couple of weeks! Video shoots, raging strep throat and more. All meriting another entry in a moment... Why didn't I blog while in bed? Good question. Maybe because I was so miserable all I could do was watch BBC crime series. And so this means I owe my blog lots of attention...again.

For now, happy to say this song below will make it on the 2 EPs out in the coming few months. It feels right.

 

Love Song #3.

 

You are so bad for me

But I love you tenderly

I couldn’t bear the thought

That you may go

 

But you are a faceless wall

Sometimes you’re a carnival

And if you swallow me whole

I need to know

 

Is it addiction that feeds me

Is it affection that binds me

It takes so little to cure me

Why did you have to remind me

 

That you are so good to me

When I hate you bitterly

You rise above, fill me with love

Until I choke

 

You are the Christmas day

You laugh my rage away

You’re always right

So why do I fight

And try to provoke

 

Is it addiction that feeds me

Is it affection that binds me

It took so long to convince me

That you were destined to find me

 

(instrumental/vocal bridge)

 

You see the best in me

You love my honesty

You never stop

And you pick me up

When I am low

 

But this is a travesty

Cause you don’t mean a damn to me

I want to care

But it’s just not there

And you gotta know

 

It’s the addiction that feeds me

You are the habit that binds me

You’ve given all just to please me

Now you should learn to despise me

Now you should learn to despise me...

bloggs:)

I think blogging more regularly is finally starting to become a habit. I often come across blogs of artists and personalities I am interested in - only to find out that their blog entries are often one a month or even less. I wonder why that is? Why start a blog if you are disinclined to write?

I can posit a reason or two: sometimes, life just takes over. It is so fast, furious, or even simply nice, that writing about it seems to be a moot point. Why write when life is so full you don't feel the need to fictionalize it in any way? Or when everything is a nice routine? Writing when you are content seems to be less of an urgent activity than when you are striving, unhappy, nostalgic and desire to express yourself. If an artist's life is normal, happy and full of normal, happy regular things - what is there to write about? Maybe there is, but there is less of an urge to try and do so.

Sometimes, however, it's the opposite. An artist won't write because he/she feels too fragile to write, because everything has gone wrong. Some of us are less inclined to share our faults and failures with the world at large. "No news is good news" sort of thing. What this means is: we hide when we are weak and feel lost. Reaching out to the world and letting it know we are in trouble seems like a cop-out and a signal that we are, indeed, failing and unworthy. An artist who has been public for a while is also surrounded by people - management, label and others. If there is a sense of frustration and it has been vented online, it will surely find its way to be seen by those who are connected to the artist's career, which is probably not a good thing.

And finally, it may be a question of discipline. Starting something is easy - like buying a plant. Sticking with it, feeding it, making sure it gets water regularly, trimming it, puting it in a bigger pot - well, that's a whole other thing. Good thing: blogs are like succulents - they don't die. Blog or not blog, your page is still there. 

I used to be terrible with plants, in fact - before my whole 'flower alchemist' phase. I am quite a bit better now. When I look at my plants now I can almost tell when they are happy or not: it is almost as if it is talking to me. That doesn't give me any ideas as to WHY that is, of course, but most of the time it is pretty easy: it wants attention. With attention comes water and care. A little bit of regular attention to anything, and it will grow and flower, including a blog: regular being the key word here.

This morning I found a great quote from Tchaikovsky: 

“There is no doubt that even the greatest musical geniuses have sometimes worked without inspiration. This guest (inspiration) does not always respond to the first invitation. We must always work, and a self-respecting artist must not fold his hands on the pretext that he is not in the mood. If we wait for the mood, without endeavouring to meet it half-way, we easily become indolent and apathetic. We must be patient, and believe that inspiration will come to those who can master their disinclination.” 
― Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

It is so true, in my opinion. In Russian we say: "Аппетит приходит во время еды". This means: Appetite arrives while you are having the meal. 

I do use Twitter, of course, but there is something so annoying about having to use 140 characters. I prefer it for news and communication, as well as keeping up with people I admire, who are online - like Esa-Pekka Salonen, who is my favorite conductor, and many others.

And so I am happy to say that I am getting back into blogging regularly - not to blog but to write, because I am developing a taste for it again. Writing should be done for writing's sake, otherwise it is contrived, stunted and reads more like a press release, than an account of human experience. Same goes for poetry: I have been so focused on music recently, I only now realized how much I have neglected my poetry. Not that both don't go hand in hand, because I do write lyrics, and that can be constituted as a form of poetry. However, what makes writing poetry different is that there is no music involved, and words and the spaces in-between are both the brush, palette and the canvas.

 

 

Anti-Lamentation

 
Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don't bother remembering
any of it. Let's stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

Dorianne Laux

 

 

 

 

I have been performing. Writing. Pondering. Practicing Flower Alchemy.

The digital map of the Beatrix Runs story is coming along nicely, as is the new site.

To stave off anxiety, I have been reading more poetry and working on songs which require a lot of vocals. I find that curiously calming.

Sometimes poetry is ornate like a piece of baroque furniture.

But sometimes it is simple without being simple. It is almost like code. There are some poems that seem to speak to the mind behind my over-active mind. They hypnotize/slow me down and I manage to zoom out from the immediate drama that my brain is chewing over and over.

The one below is from a poet I don't know well - in fact I found him surfing the internet, only to realize to my shame that he was one of the key authors of the 20th century.

Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one...
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

Wallace Stevens

Spring Song - new song lyrics

Out in the street

the winter's shedding her disguise

and people smile

and look into each other's eyes

You walk with me

the air's fragrant like a ball

I can't say why

but I am feeling ten feet tall

 

And everyone can hear my melody unfold

the time has come to open up and let go of the old

because it's Spring

there must be something better on the way

awakening, I raise my voice to this Life.

 

You're by my side

Your every word is fresh and new

it must be spring that made me fall in love with you

the green makes way through overwhelming gray concrete

and I can see the flowers blooming down the street

 

And everyone can hear my melody unfold

the time has come to open up and let go of the old

because it's Spring

there must be something magic on the way

awakening, I realize that

 

I want you to stay

I want you to stay

I want you to stay

 

You say to me: 'I know exactly what you mean;

If you say "Go!" - I'll throw my caution to the winds

You may be right and we're a temporary thing

but here's our chance to taste a little bit of spring'..

 

So everyone can hear our melody unfold

the time has come to open up and let go of the old

because it's Spring

there must be something better on the way

and when we sing, we raise our voices to Life.

(EIK@ 2012)

 

 

You (new song lyrics)

I will be premiering this tonight.

On this:

 

YOU

I would have given you a world without an end

If you had only crossed that bridge you'd built towards me

I drew a treasure map; you held it in your hand

Because the time before you tried - you nearly lost me

 

It's you, you - the distance I must brave

You, you - the mystery uncharted

You, you - the burning in my veins

You, you - the only thing that matters

 

Of all the continents discovered on my quest

you were the fairest one - a tantalizing vision

So when I landed on your shores, I loved you best

To make a home with you became my worst decision

 

It's you, you - the history I've made

You, you - that bears not repeating

You, you - the silence in my veins

You, you - that keeps my heart from beating

 

Wind is turning on me

waves are churning on the sea

ships are burning...

 

You.

(2012@EIK)