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As The Seas Rise To Greet Us: The Shape of Hip-Hop to Come

~ Alexander Frost/Love Anchor (AFLA)

As The Seas Rise To Greet Us: The Shape of Hip-Hop to Come

Tag Archives: Goodnight Lover

Video

‘(Why They Call It) Hip-Hop?’ Music Video

04 Wednesday Sep 2013

Posted by afrostloveanchor in News/Misc., Uncategorized

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Alexander, Alexander Frost, Anchor, art, artist, Frost, funny, Goodnight Lover, hip-hop, hiphop, hot, Love, Love Anchor, Music, musician, producer, rap, rapper, swag, video, youtube

Promotional music video for the track ‘(Why They Call It) Hip-Hop?’ by Alexander Frost

Artist: Alexander Frost
Album: When I Get Pussy
Song: (Why They Call It) Hip-Hop?

Directed by Alexander Frost

‘When I Get Pussy’ (Part 1) Download at DatPiff:
http://tinyurl.com/mnzx8yw
Alexander Frost/Love Anchor on SoundCloud: http://soundcloud.com/loveanchor
Alexander Frost on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/loveanchormusic
@loveanchormusic

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Alexander Frost/Love Anchor News

29 Thursday Aug 2013

Posted by afrostloveanchor in News/Misc., Uncategorized

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Alexander Frost, Anchor, art, artist, birthday, design, fashion, film, Goodnight Lover, happy, hip-hop, hiphop, hot, instagram, life, Love, Love Anchor, mixtape, model, Music, musician, news, photography, poet, poetry, producer, rap, rapper, song, soundcloud, swag, tumblr, video, youtube

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What’s Happenin’ Brother? What’s Happenin’ My Man?

Here’s the News:

1) Alexander Frost will soon release his debut hip-hop/rap release ‘When I Get Pussy’. As of now, it is available in demo form as a two-part mixtape on DatPiff. Click Here to obtain your own copy. Tracks are also made available via the Love Anchor SoundCloud. Click Here to go there.

2) The first promotional music video for Alexander Frost’s release ‘When I Get Pussy’ (for the track ‘(Why They Call It) Hip-Hop?’) has been uploaded to the official AF/LA YouTube channel. Want to watch? You should- it’s awesome. Click here to see it. Be sure to subscribe to the channel as well. The video was directed by Alexander Frost and features a randomized/dadaist montage of both original and found footage.

3) Alexander Frost/Love Anchor Official has been updated. Visit loveanchor.org if you feel like it.

4) Alexander Frost promotional t-shirt designs are regularly shared via Tumblr. and Instagram. If you aren’t already following AF/LA on these social networks, please do so. Links: Tumblr. Instagram

5) Today (August 28) is my birthday. It’s also my mother’s birthday. Anyway, you should check out/subscribe to/follow all the things previously mentioned because that’s my only birthday wish. At least download the free mixtape. Who else would even think to make their all-consuming work available free-of-charge as a gift to other people on their own birthday? A madman. That’s who. Keep in touch. Questions? Ask ’em. Comments? Give ’em. Thoughts? Fears? Hopes? Dreams? Share ’em. Have a crush on me and want to date me? I probably want to date you too, so don’t be afraid to say something. Today I turned 27. That’s the age musicians reach to die. So now I can die. I and you and especially me are forever. You can’t stop this.

-AF

Poem: ‘The Shower (You Are Never Really Alone, Are You?)’

26 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized

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afraid, Alexander Frost, art, bathing, body, broken, commitment, composition, confidence, creative, dating, delicate, depression, development, devotion, dreams, evening, events, fiction, fine art, form, free, girls, Goodnight Lover, guilt, heartbreak, image, intercourse, interpersonal, intimacy, isolation, learning, life, literature, loneliness, loss, lost, Love, Love Anchor, meaning, memory, men, missed, model, Music, musician, non-fiction, Norway, nudity, past, poem, poet, poetry, presence, promise, recollection, regret, relationships, release, remorse, sadness, sex, sexual, shame, structure, thoughts, time, timid, uncertainty, verse, volume, water, women, words

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She shall sing the song of my arrival

Like an old sea-shanty as she showers

And I am left alone to contemplate
The mysterious nature of her room:
The thread count of her blue cotton bedsheets
Why falling water, whether from faucets
Or the clouds on high, reminds me of rain
But I hear the handles begin to turn
I am stirred from my evening reverie
Listening for each stray drip as it drops
Drainwards from the top of the shower head

Your form is still faint and fragmentary
As you take two steps across the threshold
The steam rises, and billowing above
The vague outlines of your bare arms and face,
Follows in your wake like a graveyard ghost

Now you stand disconsolately before
The cold, dead stare of your own reflection
In the impartial glare of the looking glass
You gaze through the mirror towards your epitaph:
Perhaps ‘Here Stands the Fairest of Them All’
You turn around to ask my opinion
As if you did not possess the foresight
To finger my stops when I move to speak
To pull from me the words you long to hear
As if I would not say them anyway
But we both know before they leave my lips:
‘You look wonderful with your towel and robe
Your eyes are twinkling like two falling stars
But perhaps you would look better without’

Your hair hangs bright-brown like sycamore boughs
Concealing your chest like a waterfall
Behind whose curtain the buds of your breasts
Rooted beneath the damp soil of your skin
Have bloomed from the bulb of your beating heart

Rouged to red by the birthing doctor’s hand
Something of your skin relies on fever
A flush creeps across your cheeks when we touch
Lip-prints linger upon your still-wet skin
In all of the places I have kissed you

I cup your breasts from behind like a thief
Or a schoolboy afraid to meet your gaze
Still embarrassed by his own nudity
Blushing for the sake of both our bodies
(At least for now as the lights are left on)
In the dark I develop my senses
Letting the tips of my fingers tip-toe
Down each vertebrae of your naked back
Like each is a step on a walking path
I fit your body like a puzzle piece
Like a hand slides into its winter glove
Let our tongues twist like two sleeping serpents
Hidden away from the dry heat of day
Buried below the depths of desert sand

After the eagerness has abated
Sleep rolls over you like a gentle tide
As your breath begins to slow and settle
Into the tender cadence of a snore
You dream something deeper than my madness

I leave a note where you’re sure to find it
In the breast pocket of your suit jacket
So at least you know that I think of you
Each and every time you go away
Whether for the few moments when you bathe
Or for the eight hours of the working day
(‘You are never really alone, are you?’)

‘How Will The Poets Sing of Suicide? (Eulogy)’

17 Sunday Mar 2013

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Alexander Frost, allusions, alone, art, artist, artistry, author, cancer, composition, creation, creative, death, depression, desperation, disease, end, eulogy, fiction, figures, form, Goodnight Lover, heal, heartbreak, historical, history, isolation, life, literature, loneliness, loss, Love, Love Anchor, meaning, meter, methods, mortality, Music, musician, non-fiction, Norway, ottava rima, poem, poet, poetic, poetry, references, relationships, sex, suicide, terza rima, time, words, worry, writing

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Gilman chose chloroform over cancer

She picked the etherized rag over all

Tumbling into darkness like a dancer

 

An old ranch hand missing youths mystery

Hemingway took Chekov’s gun from the wall

And blasted himself into history

 

Rothko answered the Primitivists call

Slashing up his wrists in a rush of red

Fagan could fly, but in Rome chose to fall

 

Woolf stuffed the pockets of her overcoat

Worn atop her favorite dressing gown

With stones and drowned, fearing she’d missed the boat

 

Plath put out breakfast in old London town

Then sealed herself off with the gas left on

Sexton chose her car with the garage door down

 

Gros sank in the Seine like a yearling fawn

In like a lion, fished out like a sheep

How does one mistake Baron’s ease for brawn?

 

Poor Jeanne, despondent enough for two

Dove three stories into Stygian sleep

Days from the date her second child was due

 

While watching industry and commerce creep

Christopher Wood chose rustic scenes to paint

By train he gave his passage to the deep

 

Tchaikovsky toasted with cholera-taint

Amidst a Petersburg epidemic

The spectre of the failed sixth, his name saint

 

A man may break his bones with stone or stick

But van Gogh revolved around the quick sigh

Of stars burning to singe the vigils wick

 

Like Mayakovsky he died by the gun

The modern end to the everlasting

When the sun reveals what the moon has done

The bane of the clipper ships half-masting

As the daylight plays out how the war was won

Quicker than the pole rigged up for casting

Removed of worm so nimbly there is naught

Left with mind enough or tongue to be taught

‘Balloons (Sonnet)’

16 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Alexander, Alexander Frost, Anchor, art, artist, author, chores, cleaning, composition, creation, creative, form, Frost, Goodnight Lover, heartbreak, human nature, isolation, lasting, literary, literature, loneliness, Love, lovers, maintenance, Music, musician, Norway, poem, poet, poetry, rebuilding, relationships, rhyme, scheme, sex, sonnet, time, writing

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the old coats of paint have started to peel
Cracking in sorry clefts near the wainscot
it’s a wonder what weather can reveal
secrets we hid and sorrows we forgot

most of these chores will bother me for weeks
Braving the swaying stairs to the attic
can wait until i’ve wrapped around these leaks
anything at all to soothe this static

with five senses to feel four seasons change
Each day you remain my single desire
still content to see the breeze kiss the range
sunsets go starless as our souls catch fire

with your name stuck in the back of my throat
filled like a balloon with your breath i float

‘Sestina (Silence)’

07 Thursday Mar 2013

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized

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Alexander, alone, Anchor, art, author, autumn, caring, creative, depression, development, fall, fiction, form, Frost, Goodnight Lover, growing, heartbreak, interpersonal, intimacy, intimate, isolation, knowing, learning, literature, loneliness, Love, lovers, Music, musician, Norway, nudity, poem, poetry, reading, relationships, romance, seasons, seduction, sestet, sestina, sex, sharing, tercet, weather, writer, writing

Here, while l lie still beside your body

Immersed in blankets to harbor this heat-

Rising, falling like beach wash in silence-
In the lane the breeze rustles the dead leaves
But the tip of your tongue makes bold of night
Flickering gently like candles whisper

Your voice delights my ear when you whisper
Arising, moonlight welcomes your body
Waltzing towards the window you greet the night
And in this moment I long for your heat
But what would happen if one of us leaves?
(The other would contemplate the silence)

It is hard to fall asleep in silence
It is more comforting when we whisper
Discussing the season, the scattered leaves
The secret pleasures of your lithe body
Its fragrant nudity, its wondrous heat
The light it emanates into the night

Often I think about some lonely night
When I lay here without you in silence
Bringing blankets from the basement for heat
Speaking your name in naught but a whisper
Wishing myself nearer to your body
Hoping for footfalls in the scattered leaves

(What will I do with myself when she leaves,
Throw on a coat and search throughout the night,
Seeking some evidence of her body?)
Why should I disturb this haunting silence?
Because it is magic when we whisper
Twisted together like snakes for some heat

(But, as for now, I am blessed with your heat
And pay no mind to the sere, rustling leaves)
Let me serenade you with a whisper
That escapes on the wind, pierces the night,
And permeates the dead winters silence,
Breathing chills down your naked body

Your body is not like the fallen leaves
With its heat it burns holes into the night
Inscrutably, like a whisper (silence)

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The Soundtrack to The Previous Post: Things Falling Apart

24 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Uncategorized

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Alexander Frost, art, artist, death, Goodnight Lover, heartbreak, human nature, isolation, life, loneliness, longing, loss, Love, Love Anchor, Lover, meaning, Music, musician, relationships, sex

The soundtrack to the post located below. I can remember listening to this song in the dead of winter, when all my plans and hopes for the future had vanished, when I had nothing to live for, and I would wait for my phone to ring…but it never did. I was looking forward to meeting someone in a new place, to leave the old memories behind- and I was so happy for once that I didn’t feel like me. And I watched it all crumble; but my plans were already made, the gears set in motion, and I had to somehow find something positive in moving thousands of miles to a place where I knew no one, except for the girl who decided out of whimsy to throw it all away.

Reflections: Positive Living

24 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Essay, Uncategorized

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addiction, Alexander Frost, alone, art, artist, chivalry, class, courtesy, death, deception, desperation, drugs, forward, gentleman, girls, Goodnight Lover, happiness, heartbreak, hippies, human nature, humanity, isolation, jocks, life, loneliness, loss, Love, Love Anchor, manners, meaning, Music, musician, Norway, outlook, poseur, progress, relationships, sex, society, status quo, women

i realized the most common phrase i’ve encountered while playing in bands pre-show is: ‘hey, which one of you brought the blow?’
the most common phrase post-show is: ‘hey, do we have any of that blow left?’
and between song communication is usually along the lines of: ‘hey, this is awesome. did you make sure to put the blow away safely? you did, right?’
and it’s always a riot to lean over to someone mid-song and say ‘i do cocaine’ in a whisper, a la Dr. Rockzo, who bears an uncanny and i’m sure intended resemblance to david lee roth, minus the face-painit of course. so, if you’re a young musician, please believe me when i say that i am not advocating drug use. in fact, i’d say if you’re good to go without it, then steer clear. but i’m also an advocate for thinking for yourself- so don’t take advice from me or anyone else. sure, i’m an excellent role model. i try to be everything men today seem to be lacking- chivalrous, well-educated, a notable polymath, and an all-around sophisticated gentleman who isn’t afraid to fight for honor- whether by gun, knife, sword, or hands. but i don’t smoke or drink, not because i’ve been blinded by fear from joe schmos and regular church going, law-abiding folk who’ve stuck to the straight and narrow, that path that inevitably leads to the middle class. they’ll tell you that illegal is the same as immoral, and that you’ll hurt your body as well as be looked upon as a misguided misfit by all the other regular folks who’ll sooner point the finger than lend a hand. that’s not true, i don’t believe- if you do what you feel is right and put in enough hard work and risk, no one will be looking upon you. i like to have fun and kid around just as much as i like to be dead serious and work myself into the ground in hopes of doing something that matters- it’s transcendental, this learning to discover things for oneself; and if only in that way, you’ll raise yourself, your awareness, your very essence above everyone who’s got the nerve to say what you should and should not do, and in so doing, you will realize that it’s you who’s looking down on all of the rest and not vice-versa. you can be a star, and i don’t mean in the sense of a celebrity per se, but in the sense that you’re beautiful and amazing and everything going on inside of you, though it one day must come to an end, is absolutely mind-blowing. you can cast your glow upon anyone who’s the presence of mind to look up every now and again to remind themselves that we’re all floating on a ball of rock in space, and that though humanity is gorgeous, knowing that we all live on this hospitable planet (perhaps the only one in the ever-expanding vastness of the universe), that we are able to form relationships at all and communicate with others though we feel very much alone at the same time. but we are very much alone in the scope of things- despite the progress we make as adaptive, intelligent beings, for every advance we make in ridding the world of some ill, we seem to come up with many more new methods of more efficiently annihilating one another. and we’re doomed to die anyway regardless. so what’s the use? no, this isn’t a rally for peace, because i know better. and i’m not a hippie- this machine destroys hippies and their songs that are basically just long-ass guitar solos, their bumper sticker politics, and their pacifism. i’ve had enough from being exposed to that crowd- hang out in bars, listen to music, smoke, drink, and play frisbee or unicycle football. it’s the same old shit: they’re reacting against jocks by doing the same things. only the bar is different, the music is different, and it’s just old-fashioned pigskin (minus the circus sideshow aspect)- and they smoke and drink themselves into the same fucking stupors. no one’s reacted against anything really. just each other- the fellow man we regard as the ‘other’. the ideology is the same- get fucked up, try to be as normal as possible, even though that entails never actually accomplishing much. and people, some of them i’ve put my trust into and made sacrifices for, will call me ‘anti-social’ ad chastise me for trying to ‘make everything like a fairy-tale’, though i’ve done nothing besides something: reacting against it all, because it’s all the same. life is a fairy-tale, so long as you have some determination, ambition, decency, and class. some girls will think it’s an act of desperation to hold the doors for them, to open their car door and close it for them, to run their bath water and try to bring a little bit of light and romance into someones life. and i know a girl or two who is desperate because she ‘wants to be treated badly’, ‘not made to feel like a princess and perpetually in a swoon’, and despite their talk of not wanting to be thought of in terms of their looks, some girls will hold it against you when the room turns to stare, not at them, but at their boyfriend instead- and they’ll realize that all their other friends have average-looking, but below-average when it comes to having some class and showing some common courtesy, so they’ll throw away every single plan, every single sacrifice, to acquire a downgrade. that said, you can be a star- you may frighten people away with your brilliance and intensity, and it’s so much easier not to be great, but it can be done if that’s what you truly desire: being extraordinary. you just have to get higher than everyone else. that’s how it starts, so you may take that how you will. it’s an allusive device that creates circularity back to my original thoughts, for one, but it’s your life. do with it what you will. go find your pieces- i know i’m missing someone. it’s nice to believe that there’s someone for you, though i’ll sleep alone, wake up the same way, and all the while some little girl who doesn’t know what she asked for threw something priceless away. she won’t sleep alone. she’ll spread herself wide open looking for something to fulfill her, though she knows its gone for good. and she will get hers. it’s nice to know that you all exist- even if you don’t like me and don’t talk to me. i’m used to it, or so i try to tell myself. but one never really makes peace when he’s trapped inside his own mind. i love you all. don’t do drugs- unless you can share. sharing is caring. i share all kinds of deeply personal shit, and people still think i’m cold. no, i’m burning. i’m on fire. i’m quite warm. so don’t be strangers. say something….anything at all. my favorite thing was talking on the phone to a girl until she’d fall asleep, telling me her dreams, her hopes for the future, our plans together. and we’d say ‘good night’ and i’d be happy knowing she was safe and sound. i left her flowers on valentine’s day because i knew her ‘man’ wouldn’t. he made her cry. so after messing it all up, she calls me up, tells me that it made her night- finding a gift and a note waiting for her in bed when she’d come home crying from the bar. she asked me out for coffee. i declined. i did it out of spite. i give beauty in everything i do, no matter. i’m glad she cried, and i hope she cries all of the time- she was actually very pretty when she cried. she’d show some emotion, and i’d kiss her tears away. because i enjoyed the taste. and i’ll remember it always. goodnight, lover.

An Excerpt from ‘For You, To Unravel Love’s Mystery’, a novel

21 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Fiction, Uncategorized

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Alexander Frost, artist, author, debut, excerpt, fiction, Goodnight Lover, Love Anchor, model, Music, musician, Norway, novel, poet, roman a clef

“Aren’t you ever nervous to perform?” she asked in a tone of genuine concern.
“No, not really, but that is, of course, an anomalous phenomenon. Nervousness is an integral part of performance art. At one time or another, one is bound to experience it, unless of course you are blessed with another of those integral parts.”
“And what part would that be?”
“Delusions of grandeur,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“In my own estimation,” he continued, “I’m perhaps the most significant poet of my generation. A person with a sense of self-worth as inflated as mine requires either a mentor or a critic, possibly some combination of the two to really reach that necessary state of actualization. In the case of the mentor, I need someone to corroborate my sentiments, to cut the cables so to speak, the anchors holding me fixed to the ground, to give me that extra boost so I can drift away from the terrestrial and onwards to the heights of true genius. Of course criticism is an absolute necessity in itself, though it plays a decidedly different role in the process, for in the event that I’m not as good as I think, someone needs to throw the dart, to shoot the arrow that punctures my balloon. And as it all begins to deflate around me, as the helium escapes and hisses in my ear to drown out the voices singing praises in my head, I will be allowed to ever-so softly descend to ground-level, hopefully without any incidence of serious injury. But the latter,” he added, as a vaguely mischievous grin began to spread from the typically immobile corners of his mouth, “that contingency is only applicable in the event that my presumptions are incorrect, and, especially in matters of concern to my self, I am hardly ever mistaken.”
After hearing this spiel of self-aggrandizement, the only thing she could do was smile at the seriousness and sincerity with which it was conveyed.
“I sure hope you’re right, Dmitrii,” she added with a good-natured laugh.
And, in truth, despite the differences that had arisen between them, she did wish the best for the young man, wholeheartedly and altruistically, though her thoughts were admittedly glazed with just a modicum of self-interest. She lived in hope that one day, if Dmitrii could achieve the recognition he desired, and in so doing accomplish the goals he had set for himself, that perhaps a sense of fulfillment, or at least of contentment, would replace the myriad feelings of negativity that she, as one of his only close friends, knew he carried with him like a burdensome badge upon his sleeve, one that did not signify any specific achievement, but represented instead the long list of things he had yet to do, a list that never seemed to grow any shorter despite the days and months that passed. Yes, she hoped that one day he would be able to exhibit the reciprocity she so desired, that which would enable them to share the love that for now only she harbored within her heart, that love which she cast like a tow-line into the abysmal darkness he inhabited, hoping somehow he would find it despite the absence of loving light. But until the day she could feel the tug at the other end, the only one by its very nature capable of letting her know that it was Dmitrii and no one else, tow-line in hand, waiting somewhere out in the great expanse of his desolation to be reeled in like the catch of a lifetime, she would patiently wait with the warm-hearted and hopeful determination of the fisherman’s wife who, despite the most portentous ill-omens, bides her time in silence even after the date of his expected return is long past, letting the tide kiss her feet as she walks the beach, her gaze always and forever directed toward the horizon.

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http://www.mtv.com/artists/love-anchor/

20 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by afrostloveanchor in Uncategorized

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Alexander Frost, free, Goodnight Lover, jazz, leaving home, Love Anchor, MTV, Music, Norway, streaming

http://www.mtv.com/artists/love-anchor/

The track ‘Leaving Home’ from the ‘Goodnight, Lover’ LP is now available to stream via the official Love Anchor MTV artists page. It’s free to listen, and it’s free to share. So hop to it, friends. Peace.

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