It's no secret how much I miss the 90s. Not that I felt at home in my own life then. Just that I was too raw and too green to know that I would always feel that way. And something about Lia Ices reminds me of every 90s lady singer I cried to in my mountain view, periwinkle-hand-print-painted bedroom. (With some Weepies Deb Talan for good measure. )
And if you want your mind to be messed with in an odd, dreamy, creatures-of-the-forest-fairy-tale kind of way, go read the bio/short story someone wrote about her life on her facebook page. Alien. So, she's obviously based in Brooklyn.
Her actual bio...where she's actually from...who knows. I was having a discussion about that this weekend. Bios. The Origin. Home. (I have this discussion frequently. Because people ask me where I'm from and I have a very difficult time answering.) We agreed, Erich and I, (that's who I was talking to) that we don't really feel like we're from anywhere. Up to and including this planet. No where is necessarily home. And no where necessarily isn't home. Just a couple of twentieth century nomads.
But I think it's an idea that is won in reverse, not by building, but by eroding. It's an idea that is, rather, nibbled away at, in sugar-cube sized increments, by eroding the need to control, by putting no parameters on a place, not asking it to fall in line, giving no time limits. The same as all important things: committing and being. Waiting and seeing.
O love is won when we are not bound by time
O love is won when we don't need free to grow