Tag: #googlebookmarks
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Humpback Aria
A stellar original composition and keyboard piece by this man, Randy Anagnostis, he calls “Queen Creek.” Lyric and vocal interpretation from portions of an essay I’ve been writing exploring the inner dimensions of free diving. Anagnostis at the keyboard.
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Spoken Word collaboration with music, video, photo, word.
I’m pleased with this music, video, and word piece edited and created by Randy Anagnostis; with collaboration from Gabriel Thorburn’s photo of mountain sheep and lyrics from the poem, “Many Names Have Never Been Spoken Here,” written by Russell Thorburn during their father-son Mohave Preserve National Parks Residency in 2013. Vocal interpretation of Thorburn’s poem…
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See you tomorrow (March 17) 4:00 pm @ Starbucks, Apache Junction (@Delaware & the Trail).
Celebrate St. Patrick’s Day and hear some Irish music tomorrow. Bring canned food for Starbuck’s monthly donations to a local shelter. Write a limerick, the winning verse gets a Starbucks gift card. https://soundcloud.com/greg-ormson/molly-malone
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Irish IRISH music on St. Patrick’s Day at the Apache Junction Starbucks (including a limerick contest to win a Starbucks gift card)
Six days to St. Paddy’s IRISH MUSIC — is there really such a thing? Yes, and Irish music takes you into its culture hook, line, and sinker. It’s known for telling powerful stories of resistance and sacrifice, land and liberty, love and loss; it cants of a thirst for the grog and flare for…
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THE LANTERN from UW La Crosse, on yoga and leather
BALANCED BIKERS: YOGA + HARLEYS = BIKING, BODY BENEFITS This isn’t your ordinary biker gang. Technically, it’s not a gang at all — just a community of denim-clad Harley enthusiasts who love to roar down an open road, and then unwind with some deep breathing and meditative poses. “Learning to breathe, be calm, work on…
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The Diamond Speaks in Runes
And the Diamond Speaks in Runes By Gregory Ormson If my friends could get out of their summer houses, we met at the diamond to sharpen the angles of our wild fastballs. The guts of our dirty brown ball unraveled like a tongue, wagging at the glove skipping by, hurling past the catcher in angry…