Empower Your Meditation (Jason Frahms Meditation Series Book 3)

20 Questions: Max & Jason
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Empower Your Meditation (Jason Frahm's Meditation Series Book 3) - Kindle edition by Jason Frahm. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, . In the third book of this series, the student is taken even deeper into an understanding of the energy system that meditation effects within us. Deeper, more.

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The statement is six single-spaced pages and nearly 3, words long. In it, Elverum not only questions the implications of autographing records, but instills the custom with philosophical weight. Its sheer volume and variety has never ceased to amaze me, and that is likely why I write about it so often.

Each time I head home for the holidays or between jobs it is one of the first things I check on after settling in and petting my childhood cat. On the southernmost shelves I see the [ If you were lucky enough to get them, you must admit: by now the chocolates have been eaten, and the roses are beginning to droop. Maybe there are a few once-bitten, raspberry cream rejects left in that heart-shaped box of truffles your main squeeze gave you, but they will retire to the trash can only a few days before the flowers. Afterwards, I ate a shrimp Panang curry for one, and listened to the [ I am going listen to a record, in full, and with all of the lights off, while doing nothing else, so help me god.

This is how I used to listen to music. Before I had a smart phone, or a laptop, or a job. Before I had deadlines, a. Before I had to cook my own meals. An ex had ripped the record onto CD for me and delivered it in a sort of comprehensive British post punk bundle, which contained discs by Gang of Four, New Order, and the Smiths. I would like to blame my misreading of Hex Enduction Hour on the illegible sharpie scrawled across my copy. Maybe it was improperly labeled The Hex Education Hour, [ I was not quite four years old. It was , and two household DJs named Mom and Dad would determine my musical tastes for at least another five years.

Those years passed quickly. By the time we were on the heels of a new millennium, I was finally catching up with the '90s and the music that had shaped my first decade on Earth. Eventually, I would catch up with the Cranberries, too. Interestingly enough, my introduction to the Cranberries and the vast majority [ Is your credit already improving? Do you see abs forming on your once shapeless midriff? The expectation to do better the moment the clock strikes can be [ Certain songs have a way of tangling themselves in our days, weeks, and months, eventually embedding themselves in our psyche, forever to be associated with the particular time and place in which they meant the most to us.

Here, Madison looks back on by recounting the songs that dominated each month of the year - sometimes because of the anticipation of a live show, sometimes after crate-digging yielded a new discovery, and sometimes, maybe too often, because they helped mend a broken heart. In the two brief periods I lived in London, I developed a new relationship with Sundays. For 15 plus years of my life, Sunday was directly associated with Monday, and therefore brought about a rash of panic as the unfinished homework piled up and the unknown week stretched like a canyon before me.

In college, there was no Sunday freedom. The sewing studios at FIT were open seven days a week until 2am. I would work on my projects incessantly, catching the train back to Brooklyn in the wee hours and sometimes heading straight to the Pratt campus, where the [ It was difficult enough for my dad to watch his daughter trade in lime green skorts and butterfly baseball tees for army fatigues and combat boots. Stranger were the glue-fixed hairdos and safety pins that were to come.

The other night I found myself hovering over a smorgasbord of tiny sandwiches. Fortunately, I was able to scarf down the teetering structures of fig, bacon, and biscuit before the panelists took their seats. This usually occurs on December 22nd. Thanksgiving is a controversial holiday with a wretched color scheme. The shirking of materialism is undercut when Black Friday rolls around. To many, Thanksgiving is merely a day to get tanked, watch college football, and shout about politics with Uncle Larry. Holidays are hard for me.

Sure, there was a five-lane bowling alley and a one-screen movie theater, but roller rinks were too big for the bite-sized britches of Arlington, Washington. There are many consequences of a town with no roller rink — namely that it becomes by default a town with no disco ball, and that is no place to live, my friends. Marysville, Washington, the next town over, was no place to live either, but it had something we Arlingtonians did not: a roller rink.

With skates, and shakes, and a disco [ Somewhere in a parallel universe lives a Karma Comedian, a Cheerio Girl, and a one-winged dove. Dirty deeds are done by Thunder Chiefs, and Tony Danza holds us closer…so close. This is the Land of Misheard Lyrics, and it is a silly, silly place. Yet it is a place we are all familiar with, having suffered varying degrees of humiliation during our visits there.

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For this installment of Only Noise, I reached out to my friends and fellow music journalists to ask: what lyrics have you tragically misheard in the past? And oh, how the gems rolled in. Some misinterpretations [ In the lead up to Halloween or as I like to call it: The Greatest Holiday on Earth , I have been on a steady diet of horror movies, scary books, and spooky music.

HONKY TONK HOEDOWN WITH GOLDEN HORSE RANCH BAND - OCTOBER 6

While watching The Thing [ A bit of distraction seemed necessary in that moment, even if it was in the form of a demonic clown named Pennywise. Sitting on the Manhattan-bound C train, I noticed a man in a grey flannel suit to my left.

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He, like most modern passengers, was fixated on his smart phone. The tap of his thumb did not cause [ The assailing object was not a steel cage, nor a neon pentagram, but a sculpture of two massive handguns affixed to scaffolding. Manson was rushed to the hospital with undisclosed injuries. Though it was a frightening incident and one that led him to eventually cancel several upcoming tour dates , the knowledge that Manson was not in critical condition allowed a bit of black humor to creep into the scenario.

The short answer is: a lot; coffee is the lifeblood coursing through the entire book. Tomorrow marks the first day of autumn.

THE JAPANESE HOUSE - OCTOBER 22

You might not believe it given these muggy degree days, but Fall is upon us nevertheless. Fall is the best for multiple reasons, including turtlenecks, Halloween, and mock-necks; but it is also a time when things die. Bar backyards. Your summer tan. All gone. Looking back on this time last year, I was writing about the death or at least prolonged hibernation of CMJ. Lou Reed remained a New Yorker when he passed in , and his city praises him still. Sometimes, these columns are damn hard to spit out. Trump, North Korea launching a missile over Japan, devastating floods in Houston and South Asia, and rallies filled with actual Nazis, just to name few lows.

This is the closest I will ever get to Tom Waits. Much to Mr. And no — it is not Carlo Rossi. My father has been planning this night for months. Having me home in Washington, fixed on a barstool, drinking in the songs of my favorite artist. I on the other hand, have been apprehensive about the [ I never went to summer camp as a child. Summer camp, like talking dogs and successful marriages, was the stuff of movies. Camp was a tradition I never longed for, or understood, or even thought of. So I was a bit surprised last month when my sister asked me to help out at her Teen Songwriting Retreat — as a camp counselor.

Comparatively, I am [ Repeat after me: Loser. Double loser. If you were a certain age in the late s, this insult — when paired with the correct hand motions — was the ultimate dis to peers, siblings, and losers of every stripe. Think about the last party you threw. Think about the beer bought and balloons inflated. Remember the quiche you labored over, only to realize no one wants to eat quiche at a party.

Now consider the playlist you made. Did hips swing and booties shake, rattling the room with merriment? Well congratulations, my friend; you have accomplished something far beyond my abilities. What does summer sound like? For those of you living in respectable locales, it may sound like the buzz of John Deer lawnmowers, or a nighttime orchestra of cicadas.

Summer anywhere but New York might hum along to the tune of unfurling picnic blankets and jet skis zipping across lakes.

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But for New Yorkers, the hot season presents a whole new catalogue of sounds — and smells — to take in. Summer in New York is unlike summer anywhere else. Spring Fling, Kevin, the object of your eternal tweenage desire, is playing the school dance — in his band. Kevin is in a band.

Or, more accurately, Kevin has a band. You see, he writes the songs, and the lyrics. He sings them, and plays the electric guitar. He got it last year for his birthday. Kevin looks great tonight. The plan was as simple as it was unprepared; utilize my two-week vacation in Paris and the UK to discover new music, catch some live shows, and, well…write about it. It would be a piece of cake or, as the French say, a piece de cake. Last year, before the presidential election tore through the fabric of reality like Dr.

The second step is showing up. Take it from someone who makes a living overbooking herself at events like these I once thought I could manage seeing six shows in one night at CMJ… after working from With over bands playing in four [ My earliest memories of dance involve ballet — or at least my sloppy stab at it. More than actual dancing, I remember the shined and scuffed Marley flooring; that pleated, boiled-wool skirt flopping over Ms. Was ballet not princess training after all? Was I in the wrong room? Ballet class was a rigid environment that, even at five, I failed to see the point of.

I thought I wanted to learn ballet…but [ I no longer own my very first record. I can still hear it spinning on the portable turntable my dad leant me for late night bedroom listening. The portable record player was a goofy little invention. Sweazy Fiction. Stalder Non-Fiction. Schramm Non-Fiction.

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