Santa Monica (live @ the triple door)
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Carolina...
I have a harmonica
An acoustic guitar
A vintage typewriter and a handfull of ideas.
Sometimes I wish I was living on the road, traveling from place to place, my guitar, my polaroid camera, a sleeping bag.... the stars.... Never really coming home, but feeling at home where ever I am...
Route 66
I-90 to boston
Vegas
New York
The Adirondacks
old town nashville
Everyday a different city, a different group of people, a different life... Nomadic in nature, artistic at heart, seeing what everyone else is doing with my own two eyes.
instead... I write about my ideas on paper, with pen, I leave the office at 5 pm everyday...
and thats when my life begins.
Its a new world that I walk into everyday, full of ideas, bursting with music, to the brim with life.
I am writing more then I ever have, I am seeing more then I ever have too...
its starting.
An acoustic guitar
A vintage typewriter and a handfull of ideas.
Sometimes I wish I was living on the road, traveling from place to place, my guitar, my polaroid camera, a sleeping bag.... the stars.... Never really coming home, but feeling at home where ever I am...
Route 66
I-90 to boston
Vegas
New York
The Adirondacks
old town nashville
Everyday a different city, a different group of people, a different life... Nomadic in nature, artistic at heart, seeing what everyone else is doing with my own two eyes.
instead... I write about my ideas on paper, with pen, I leave the office at 5 pm everyday...
and thats when my life begins.
Its a new world that I walk into everyday, full of ideas, bursting with music, to the brim with life.
I am writing more then I ever have, I am seeing more then I ever have too...
its starting.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Powerless
It hurts so badly, it tears into my skin
makes my eyes red with tears
takes the breath right out of my lungs
I have no power, I have no choice
I bend, I have to bend
my life, my forever heart ache, my dear dear son...
my eyes well with tears, my wrists cry for something stronger.
Lord take this from me, I cannot manage.
makes my eyes red with tears
takes the breath right out of my lungs
I have no power, I have no choice
I bend, I have to bend
my life, my forever heart ache, my dear dear son...
my eyes well with tears, my wrists cry for something stronger.
Lord take this from me, I cannot manage.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
looming through the twilight
My office is vary dull
really nothing happens
Heads pop up from cubicles like Prairie Dogs in the mid west, a funny remark here, a random question there, my GM comes out of his office, walks around the space, walks back into his office
He approves
I have very few things on my desk
Two (2) Ping Pong Paddles
A bottle of hand lotion
A Ceramic Coffee cup from a cafe in California
A Polaroid camera from 1978
A copy of Aldous Huxley's "A brave new world"
A journal
and a few pictures of the most important people in the world to me
I have a laptop, a desktop (with dual 24 inch monitors) a desk phone, a cell phone and surround sound speakers.
I have a white board on the back wall of my cubicle, occasionally I will write a Quote on it, or a funny question a client asked me, but mostly it stays white... staring back at me...
I tend to relate with this white board, more then anything else on my desk, a blank page if you will, an infinite amount of restarts, if it is unpleasant, just wipe it away... but... if you look closely, you can still see a small amount of the previous work on the board, no matter how much you wipe it away, there is still a small memory of what once was.
Its called character
Or perhaps its the Polaroid... it takes such damn cool pictures.
really nothing happens
Heads pop up from cubicles like Prairie Dogs in the mid west, a funny remark here, a random question there, my GM comes out of his office, walks around the space, walks back into his office
He approves
I have very few things on my desk
Two (2) Ping Pong Paddles
A bottle of hand lotion
A Ceramic Coffee cup from a cafe in California
A Polaroid camera from 1978
A copy of Aldous Huxley's "A brave new world"
A journal
and a few pictures of the most important people in the world to me
I have a laptop, a desktop (with dual 24 inch monitors) a desk phone, a cell phone and surround sound speakers.
I have a white board on the back wall of my cubicle, occasionally I will write a Quote on it, or a funny question a client asked me, but mostly it stays white... staring back at me...
I tend to relate with this white board, more then anything else on my desk, a blank page if you will, an infinite amount of restarts, if it is unpleasant, just wipe it away... but... if you look closely, you can still see a small amount of the previous work on the board, no matter how much you wipe it away, there is still a small memory of what once was.
Its called character
Or perhaps its the Polaroid... it takes such damn cool pictures.
Friday, August 8, 2008
One friday morning
I woke up this morning in a stale room, recycled air, 74 degrees. Climbing out of bed I dressed myself in a T shirt, arm pits yellowed with time, and a baggy pair of sweat pants, they felt familiar, this all felt familiar. The clock glowed 6:13 am, dark green on a black back drop, I had three packages of individually wrapped saltines for breakfast, they had been sitting on my dresser for weeks, not really the healthiest, but they will have to do. I pulled open the small window above my small bed, the fresh air snapped me back to my senses, I turned of my alarm clock radio which had been buzzing Vivaldi for the last ten minuets, my roommates usually poke there head in my room and turn it off for me, before I have a chance to get at it myself.
I grab my towel off of the door where i hung it yesterday morning, walk to the bathroom, the floor is cold, its a universal truth, the linoleum in the bathroom will be cold, no matter what, I find comfort in that. The shower head sputters as I turn it on, the room fills with steam, I climb into the shower and face my back to the shower head, rubbing my neck under the warm water, I grab the dry, cracked bar of soap from the ledge of the shower, lather it up and coat my body in a comfortable white film, a shell, a new layer of skin, one that I get used to, but just as easily I can shed. With a stern hand, I wash the new skin off of me, afraid to look at it any longer, afraid to compare it to what was underneath, what really is. I lather my hair, rinse, repeat, as i run my hands over my freshly clean skin, hair, I study the imperfections, a long scar on my knee, jutting coller bone, scars on my wrist, as the water falls over my face, I turn the heat up, slowly, until I cant hold my face under the water anymore, I turn the water off and step out into the world. My reflection in the mirrors have been replaced with a fog, a mist a different view of myself, I towel off and toddle down the hall way back to my room.
The window has been open the whole time, exactly 19 minuets, cold and crisp as the outside morning air, I find a pair of clean underwear, socks, I put on my new Khakis, I purchased them from J Crew a month ago, the tag is still on the waste band, I tell myself it is so I can bring them back whenever I want, but really its about control. I have a new flannel that I have been falling in love with, I gingerly place it over the same white T shirt with the yellowing arm pits that I threw on before I took a shower, Slip on some sneakers, pocket my wallet, keys, phone, cash, its 6:43 and I don't need to be at work till Eight.
As I step out the front door, on my way to my little red car, I have a desire to see something, something other then what I see every morning, I am up unusually early for no real reason, so, Instead of heading right for my car, I walk around the neighborhood for a while, 48 minuets to be exact, I see men jogging before work, mothers dropping kids off at near by day cares, teenagers and business men walking the there respectable bus stops, all of this life happening around me, all of these people, looking out from there own eyes, seeing things in a way that I will never understand, I smile at a young woman that I pass on the sidewalk, she is in a business suit, cant be more the 24 years old, her eyes are friendly, her head is cocked slightly to the side, she has a briefcase in one had and a Star wars lunch pale in the other... curious, I think, but quickly I forget her, as I come back to my culde sac I walk to my car door, unlock it open the door... but before i get in, I look around, one last time, at the people, the birds, the sky the bus, this is the last time I will be in this moment, my car shutters as it starts, and I am off, its Friday, and I am in love.
I grab my towel off of the door where i hung it yesterday morning, walk to the bathroom, the floor is cold, its a universal truth, the linoleum in the bathroom will be cold, no matter what, I find comfort in that. The shower head sputters as I turn it on, the room fills with steam, I climb into the shower and face my back to the shower head, rubbing my neck under the warm water, I grab the dry, cracked bar of soap from the ledge of the shower, lather it up and coat my body in a comfortable white film, a shell, a new layer of skin, one that I get used to, but just as easily I can shed. With a stern hand, I wash the new skin off of me, afraid to look at it any longer, afraid to compare it to what was underneath, what really is. I lather my hair, rinse, repeat, as i run my hands over my freshly clean skin, hair, I study the imperfections, a long scar on my knee, jutting coller bone, scars on my wrist, as the water falls over my face, I turn the heat up, slowly, until I cant hold my face under the water anymore, I turn the water off and step out into the world. My reflection in the mirrors have been replaced with a fog, a mist a different view of myself, I towel off and toddle down the hall way back to my room.
The window has been open the whole time, exactly 19 minuets, cold and crisp as the outside morning air, I find a pair of clean underwear, socks, I put on my new Khakis, I purchased them from J Crew a month ago, the tag is still on the waste band, I tell myself it is so I can bring them back whenever I want, but really its about control. I have a new flannel that I have been falling in love with, I gingerly place it over the same white T shirt with the yellowing arm pits that I threw on before I took a shower, Slip on some sneakers, pocket my wallet, keys, phone, cash, its 6:43 and I don't need to be at work till Eight.
As I step out the front door, on my way to my little red car, I have a desire to see something, something other then what I see every morning, I am up unusually early for no real reason, so, Instead of heading right for my car, I walk around the neighborhood for a while, 48 minuets to be exact, I see men jogging before work, mothers dropping kids off at near by day cares, teenagers and business men walking the there respectable bus stops, all of this life happening around me, all of these people, looking out from there own eyes, seeing things in a way that I will never understand, I smile at a young woman that I pass on the sidewalk, she is in a business suit, cant be more the 24 years old, her eyes are friendly, her head is cocked slightly to the side, she has a briefcase in one had and a Star wars lunch pale in the other... curious, I think, but quickly I forget her, as I come back to my culde sac I walk to my car door, unlock it open the door... but before i get in, I look around, one last time, at the people, the birds, the sky the bus, this is the last time I will be in this moment, my car shutters as it starts, and I am off, its Friday, and I am in love.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Her heart was hard... in produce section of QFC
We see life in between the fault lines
her husband left her, a year ago, there three children all live abroad
Missionary in Uganda
Peace core
Teaching English in China
I cant tell you the way her heart swelled as she relayed the stories of her newly wed son, still a child, married in traditional ugandan fashion, in the desert, with his new wifes family, none of them spoke english... she was able to see her son web, and meet her new family. A world away, while his mothers life was falling apart, his life was coming together, like she could never have experienced, this is a new world.
Her daughter left Scott, he was no good for her anyways, her students were to important and Scott wanted to get married, her daughter was to young, she was coming home for a month to help her mom move into a smaller apartment, since the divorce, money had been tight, and she couldnt make the house payments.
The peace core took her eldest to Azerbijan, on the iranian border, no peace, no hope, just lives torn apart, hearts looking for a home. Her son was bringing that home to them, that hope was in his eyes, in his hug, the children loved him most...
There mother told story after story of her lovely children making something great of there lives, all the while she hid the pain and harsh reality that hers had fallin apart, she was ashamed everytime she spoke of there father, maybe he ran out on her, maybe he had another lover, I never found out, but thats okay...
I wanted to tell her... I wanted to hug her, and tell her, that her life is not falling apart, her life is not in shambles, I wanted to hold her hand and walk with her as she picked out her tomatoes and her lettuce and reassure her that her children are pushing on a legacy so much greater then that of a perfect marriage, of perfect parents...
I walked away from that QFC with some hope... that life will go on, when life falls apart... life will go on...
thank you for that, Mother in QFC, thank you.
her husband left her, a year ago, there three children all live abroad
Missionary in Uganda
Peace core
Teaching English in China
I cant tell you the way her heart swelled as she relayed the stories of her newly wed son, still a child, married in traditional ugandan fashion, in the desert, with his new wifes family, none of them spoke english... she was able to see her son web, and meet her new family. A world away, while his mothers life was falling apart, his life was coming together, like she could never have experienced, this is a new world.
Her daughter left Scott, he was no good for her anyways, her students were to important and Scott wanted to get married, her daughter was to young, she was coming home for a month to help her mom move into a smaller apartment, since the divorce, money had been tight, and she couldnt make the house payments.
The peace core took her eldest to Azerbijan, on the iranian border, no peace, no hope, just lives torn apart, hearts looking for a home. Her son was bringing that home to them, that hope was in his eyes, in his hug, the children loved him most...
There mother told story after story of her lovely children making something great of there lives, all the while she hid the pain and harsh reality that hers had fallin apart, she was ashamed everytime she spoke of there father, maybe he ran out on her, maybe he had another lover, I never found out, but thats okay...
I wanted to tell her... I wanted to hug her, and tell her, that her life is not falling apart, her life is not in shambles, I wanted to hold her hand and walk with her as she picked out her tomatoes and her lettuce and reassure her that her children are pushing on a legacy so much greater then that of a perfect marriage, of perfect parents...
I walked away from that QFC with some hope... that life will go on, when life falls apart... life will go on...
thank you for that, Mother in QFC, thank you.
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