Two-thousand seven years, three hundred sixty-four days, twelve hours and 55 minutes.

Brandon Warren, Malissa Larson, Heavy Weather, myself, and others will all make a big dent in 2008. I know it.


I'm trying to book a show with Mari McNeil and Bass Reeves in Buffalo. Two of WNY's best. I am excited about it. Still trying to find a venue and a date, but they're both interested, so I think we'll get something great. I'm shooting for February 3rd, a Saturday, somewhere great.


Spent time with my friend Erin this weekend, as she visited. I think she really enjoyed herself, and even though I ended up not having a show, we had a good time throwing some beers back, watching football, and laughing. It was refreshing to hang with someone from home.

Brandon and I went to the Bills game yesterday, and it was a really awesome game and experience. We had cheesesteaks and beers and laughed until it hurt.

I'm very frustrated with alot of things right now. I'm losing confidence in alot of things, in a few areas of my life, and for the sake of my sanity, don't want to get into it on a public blog. I want to do and share and laugh so much, and not be clouded by negativity. I feel like I have less people in my corner, and those in my corner are sometimes in different cities, areas, regions, countries. I feel stale, like a has-been. Or a never-was. (so much, in fact, that I'm quoting "Mighty Ducks")


I go from hope to deflation so often now. I just want to succeed, be happy, impress people, and be a good man. I feel I can be all those, but I just need to be happy. Why do I seek all things at once?

Happy 2008. "And though I know I'll never stand a chance / here comes the jackpot question in advance / what are you doing New Year's / New Year's Eve? / What are you doing New Year's Eve?"

Blog

My blog is getting annoying.

I feel like a street puddle. Stagnant. Growing old.

I feel that a chunk of those around me have lost perspective, and no longer value my friendship like they once did. I can feel it.

At the same time, I am closer than ever with a focused few. I truly value the time, effort, and relationships that have blossomed. I feel my pulse ease, my cheeks ache from laughing, every time I see them. Thank you.

My music career should never feel like something meant to fill in a gap of time until something else is going on, but I feel it is so, especially with those around me. I just released a CD, and I'm not sure why I feel so behind the ball. I guess the best way to put it is that I feel that perspective is getting lost, but not necessarily from me.

I am lonely, and have become jaded at the notion of having someone to share my life with. Jaded, I say, because anger is easier to place than hurt or doubt. I am not confident I will meet someone anytime soon.

I am happy for friends who have gotten engaged. It is a constant reminder that I am socially behind the ball though.

My life seems so full of promise and "up-side," but I don't feel it now. I feel tired, sad, and defeated. I feel I am losing friends, and I need to change my settings, surroundings, or social networks, and whatever might need to be done for my music.

The songs coming out of me are consistently my best work, and I am deathly afraid that no one will care. I feel healthy after a long stretch of being ill, and sleep well. But progress seems lost on me, like I was standing in front of a celebration and not allowed to participate. Or watching a parade. I've yet to make my mark, and I desperately want to. I just want to chance to do it.

My suspicions are heightened. My guard is up in New York City. I want to put the shield away.

I have no lid upon my head, but if I did

You could look inside and see what's on my mind.


I write today awake and healthy. After travelling for 39.5 hours this weekend, driving a total of 1450 miles, playing music for a total of 4.5 hours, all on literally 13 hours of total sleep, I am feeling recovered and able to write here.


My record release was great. I don't know how else to put it. So very many people, making me their Friday night, all the record sales, all the good music with me. All the hugs, kisses, handshakes, well-wishes, compliments, stories, laughs, smiles, and drinks. A real homecoming for me.


I felt like I was up there to kick ass. To kick ass with my performance, blow some hair back, and make the room stop.

Fast forward, and a long weekend of travelling. I don't have the wherewithall to write about the release anymore.

I saw Ingy play, with Elliot, Chris, Bess, Allie, Ben, etc. She was great, and her shows sound no different than they used to, which is comforting for me. All the success she's had, and she's still singing the hell out of the songs as if she was playing the Trash Bar in Williamsburg on a Wednesday night for only me and Ryan in the audience. I've seen a much longer ride than most people in attendance last night, and I was so proud of everyone. Positivity. It's not just a great-but-wordy Stevie Wonder song. Ingrid was nice enough to put me on her guest list, so I could get into the show.

I sat up in the rafters, where I prefer to see a show, so I can do what I do best, observe. I kept thinking to myself, shit I could do this. I am just as capable. I play with alot of the same musicians. It wasn't anything negative or envious or jealous, just a realization that I am in the same company and class as this. I may not have yet had my day in the sun, but we are all in the same boat, I can see this kind of generation brewing and growing together. I may not have been with them from the start, and I may not be close to them all, but I know what I am capable of, what is inside me, and where I want to go, and that makes me feel like I belong.

I feel lonely quite often these days. I know precisely why, but there's little to nothing I can do. No quick fixes anymore, no half-assed attempts at kidding myself. It's time to rejoin the forces down there, the ones I can honestly say I grew comfortable around for so long. Toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble.

The songs I'm writing now keep topping each other. I'm very excited about getting them with the band. Who knows how it will all sound. "Stones," my newest one, already got really gratious and sincerely positive reviews in Canada, so I am optimistic that others will enjoy it. I wrote the end part for Elliot, not in a lyrical sense, but literally writing the piece of music, lyrics, and vibe to go along with a type of drumming he says is most in tune with his spirit. I am hoping he takes my idea, runs with it, shows off a bit in it, and plays almost animalistic and as natural as possible.

I wish I could rehearse with them all day. Like right now. WHAM into a song. It feels awfully good. Soon enough.

Probably won't write again until after Christmas, but who knows. Merry Christmas to you. Remember God is right by you, in the space between your Christmas sweater and your hairy tummy. Be thankful for your life, health, and wonderful people. And, take a moment to catch your breath.

John

newly edited old post.

Wish Upon a Monarch [Sep. 7th, 200510:15 pm]
by John M. Schmitt

For the sake of this writing
I choose an extended metaphor
[So I guess you just won’t know
What I’m talking about]
But my message will remain the same.

When I speed home at night
I stick my arm out my window
Feel the aerodynamics change
As I shift my arm
I stare in silence
In front of me are the Pine Barrens
With disabled cars,
Remains of blown tires,
And so much history creeping in the Thick.
Very tired, the eyes burn
When the wind rushes into the front
This is nothing like driving in Buffalo
Nothing.
Never felt sleepy in Buffalo
Never felt weary
But here, I fight the urge to crash
Because of sweet slumber.

My mind wanders
To the same place as always
[So it never really wanders]
But metaphorically, wanders
Where all writings invariably end.

I pray, but
This is not the Supplication, Praise,
Or Petition prayer I learned about in school.
[I think God knows how great He is
And it’s a given that He know I think that also.]
In my belief system and mentality,
I also do not find frivolous prayers of petition
[God, help me win the lottery]
To be a worthy cause,
To be the Good Fight, if you will.
My issues are not of life and death
Nor of impending moral destruction
Instead I have been blessed from Above
And have no need to implore God’s power.
But I pray for one thing
One tiny gift
One spec of wisdom
Clarity.
I say “Lord, clear my mind up
I know all things in Your time, not mine.”
“Let me be wise, and follow my heart
and most importantly, Your Will.”
I sometimes recite a prayer I learned
Written by St. Ignatius Loyola
Founder of the Jesuits
Which asks God to “teach me”
To be a whole list of different, noble traits
All relating to service
“Know that I am doing Your will
And that You have done the same for me”
This is how I keep my head in order
My life, in all areas, needs to start and end
With the Holy Truth
And it does.

However, this is not an affirmation
Of things I hold dear
[I do that enough everyday]
No, the point is
I pray.
I pray as much as people daydream, if not more
And, speeding home, most nights
I pray to have this nervous feeling cease.

I feel like I have insects bouncing
Literally BOUNCING
In my stomach
I am an insect nite club
And everybody’s dancing.
There’s something to this
Because while I do not necessarily enjoy the intial onset
It is something I remember.
It is not painful
And that rules out any number of incidents
Associated with stubbing a toe, falling,
Scraping, cutting, chewing, swearing,
And so on.
No, it is not painful.
not at all.

Perhaps I’m nervous?
Did I forget something?
Did I turn that off?
Did I fill that out correctly?
Do I have my phone, wallet, and keys?
[In that order]
To answer: No, No, Yes, Yes, and Yes respectively.
So it cannot really be nerves.

Perhaps God knows what this is
[There’sreally no need for the word 'perhaps' in those statements]
And in my Mind’s Ear
I silently hear a whisper:
“Think.”
Fair enough. I will try.

I know this feeling
And I know the insects.
I’ve felt it only once before.
Only one time ever before.

Butterflies.

Monarch butterflies.

Bright orange, beautiful
Monarch butterflies.

Chugging around my insides.
Tickling, twisting, dancing sweetly
Monarch butterflies.

Poking at me,
Reminding me
Reminding me of why I set out
Set out writing in the first place.


There are few people in this world
I whole-heartedly trust
Trust enough to write for, about,
Or use any sort of extended metaphors for.
And really, while I speak of him/her
This is about me
Feeling something
Feeling alive.
This is about me wanting to do great things
To “Measure in Love”
To plug in, and connect.
So I pray.
For Clarity.

And God grants it, like He always does.
And looking at my stomach,
From up here,
Butterflies are dancing.
They’re dancing for me.
I think I like that.

Slowly, gracefully
The tiny one breaks away
And passes into sight
Cascading through me
Until it is in plain view
6 inches from my abdomen.
I’m so far beyond enchanted
To smile, or try to touch it.
I just exist.
The tiny one is here
For me, not I for it.

Breaking away, darting to my right,
It vanishes
And then Clarity takes control of my being.
But this is not over
Because there ahead of me,
In my Mind's Eye,
There in a black sweater
And brand new jean skirt
There sits the hurting,
Fallen Jennifer.

[Why such a sad, sullen thing
In such a beautiful happening?
God, why are You showing me this?]

She sits, unsure, with uneasy feelings
About what people can do to one another.
But yet, this is not a sad image.
It is not possible.
She may sit, sob, seemingly sulk
Nod, cry, and nod more
Sing, Laugh, and Reminisce
Fear, feel, and grow nervous
She may be more scared than ever
But here, in front of you, John,
Here tonight
Here with the Monarchs
Here in the Pine Barrens
Tonight
Yes, here
She glows.
She glows as a fire-fly,
As a phoenix glows.
She shares the deepest,
The darkest, most untouched aspects of herself.
The hurt that seemingly lasts
She shares it with you, John.

But it is not sad, nor is it hopeless
Because as I glance up,
I see her outstretched hand
She says “Here. I thought you might want to know.”
There is her Heart
Hurting, yet still beating
Still searching, still needing
Still terrified.
She gives it not out of romantic gesture
Or to “win me over”
But instead shows it,
With painstaking care
And a grace.
[all the while glowing...]
She shows me her heart
Out of Trust
Overcoming the fear in her mind.
I ask her: “What shall I do with it?”
But as I do so
I finally look up at her face
Radiating, iridescently glowing
She just smiles,
[She always smiles]
She laughs, looks away, and cracks:
“Ehh, just don’t tell anybody...”
Capped off with a wink.
I promise not to

...And the Monarchs start dancing...

Feverishly, with a purpose
They want me to know something.
Perhaps God wants me to know something.
Perhaps I want Me to know something.
It feels uneasy.

And Jennifer notices,
“What the matter?”
But there is really nothing wrong
In fact, it is one of those ‘epic’ times
When men recall 40 or 50 years later
Where they were, what they were doing
And who they were with.
And tonight, I am in the car
Speeding home
Alone
With Christine and the Monarchs.
No, I assure her, nothing is wrong
All is fine
All is more than fine.

The soundtrack kicks in
And frankly it doesn’t matter what it is
Because anything beautiful would work
But as I look forward
Jennifer looks back
Holding her Heart
So tenderly, so carefully
I ask: “You see the butterflies, Jenn?”
She nods, as they dance between us
As one lands on her lap.
It, too, glows as it becomes
A part of her now.
“They’re not here for me,” I tell her.
“These butterflies are here for you.”
She smiles, sweetly, and looks up at me
And she glows.
She glows.
The Monarchs glow.
Her eyes glow.

“Why are they dancing?”

And it is then,
In that very moment,
In that space between
Fantasy and Faith
Where every atom in my being
Knows the answer.
[Even God is grinning like a fool]
There, in the car,
In the Pine Barrens
With the windows down
With the wind
The burning eyes
The praying
The glowing Jennifer
The Darkness
The Monarchs
There is the truth.
Just say it!

“They're dancing, Jenn,
Because I love you.
The Monarchs, you see,
Are my heart,
And you make them glow
They are yours to do with
As you wish.
But they will always dance for you-
Always.”

And with that
Another ride home complete;
Another daydream at night;
Another wish upon a Monarch.

18 months ago, it all began.

I sit here blogging from 1275 York Ave. probably for the last time. Tomorrow is my last day working with Dr. Strong, and I'm not sure exactly how I feel.

Monday I begin a position at Human Resources, working in the Benefits Department for the hospital. I'm not really sure why exactly or specifically I decided to look elsewhere for another position at the hospital, but there are many factors. The stress and 'gravitas' of working with patients filled with anxiety, fear, and desperation takes a toll, and I am not of the right mind to continue dealing with it. I care too much. There is no thick skin on me, and I am blessed that I don't usually have to see the faces of the patients usually. But, Mr. M, Mr. G, Mrs. E, Mr. S - the patients that have touched my life the most, move me to tears. Especially Mr. S.

For the sake of privacy, I'll call him Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was diagnosed with gastric cancer, and saw us in the beginning of this past year, like many patients. There was nothing entirely remarkable about him, and I worked just as hard on arranging his tests, appointments, and over the phone as I would with any patient. I do remember that he had no family whatsoever, no relatives, and his only contact was his parish priest. This is uncommon, but I have seen it before.

But then things really took a turn for the worse. Mr. Smith was found to have something in his bladder on scan, which was then biopsied and found to be bladder cancer. Now, this means that he did not have stomach cancer that just spread to the bladder, but instead, had a seperate, isolated site of additional cancer of another type. While this is not uncommon, it is relatively rare. I could not imagine the thought, if that were me. What do you do?

And then, Mr. Smith was found to have something in his colon. A biopsy was done of this as well. Colon Cancer. Again, this was not a spread of his bladder cancer or gastric cancer, this represented what is called a "third primary" cancer, another seperate site of disease. So this man had three different cancers, all churning and growing and dividing out of control. What would you do?

Well on one day, I needed to call Mr. Smith about his appointments. He had just been released from a hospital the following weekend, as all three of his known cancers started to really get at him. We wanted him to come in here, and possibly be admitted, so we could start to treat him better. So I called Mr. Smith, and the phone rang and rang. I was about to hang up when he finally answered.

I introduced myself, said hello, and he was very nice, as patients usually are. I said I was sorry for disturbing him, and asked if he had a few minutes to talk. He said I was not disturbing, and that is when he phone started to crackle with static. It became difficult to hear him, so he said he was "going inside" so I could hear him. I was shocked he was outside, a man that is so sick. He went on to tell me he hasn't had too much time these past few weeks to tend his garden, and today was such a beautiful day that he needed to be out there. He was very sorry for having made me wait on the phone. I asked him about his garden briefly, and he said he is cherishing every last minute out there, and how beautiful it all was. I gave him the information he needed, and he wished me a good day.

Mr. Smith died about a month later, and that day is never, ever, ever lost on me. Even now, a 24 year old man is sitting at work and bawling. His garden. Three cancers. Not a care in the world. Not a person around with him. And yet, I feel I have always been with Mr. Smith since then, that somehow he spoke to me on a soul-soul level, not just through a telephone. God blessed him with a beautiful day, and he really took advantage.

Mr. Smith lived more in that one day that I ever have. In his death, there is life, and how fitting. I am really not doing it justice, but I really hope this rings true for all who read this. A very holy man he was.


There are dozens of stories like these that I have, things I am taking with me as I go forward. I feel Dr. Strong and I function on the level of friends now, as much as it could be given that I assist her. I have made friends in the office, with Maria, Scott, Liza, Linda, and Harriet, and I am off on my own path again on Monday. I am sad now about it, but I know it is ultimately for the best.

This was my first job after school, the place that plucked me out of unemployed obscurity not a moment to soon, and made the rest of my life, the idea of living my dream, a reality. I am still under its umbrella, but it will certainly not be the same anymore. The Mr. Smith stories will no longer be going on, but there will also no longer be the intense stress and anxiety that comes with this job as well. I am blessed to have been here with these people, and it is time to move on.

I don't have it in me right now to talk about my music. I'm excited more than you know, but it would take up too much time here. More soon on all that.

Enjoy your gardens people, enjoy them as healthy, happy, people. With the bees, sunshine, dirt, and bird-chirps, we have all been blessed. Thank you, Mr. S, for showing me through your life in action.

"Look at the glade girls...

Your cool new spot
No, stay in the shade, girls!
It's getting hot

It's getting orange"

A fever pitch in my life. So very much.

A recap. I'm currently ripping caluses off my fingertips. How very telling.

My CD is out. My music career unofficially underway. The CD Release was really wonderful, and such a brilliant turnout.

Spent the week afterward touring the Northeast. Made some great contacts and friends, especially in Philadelphia. The time with Jeff was great, I remember why we became such good friends.

Back here, time for Thanksgiving. Made a feast for my friends, and got drunk. 7 bottles of wine. Family, it seems, is where ever you call home, so I was not terribly sad about not being in Buffalo.

Last weekend, one of my only free weekends since September, I went to see Seurat at MoMA. Went with Malissa and Adam. Adam tends to do his own thing, which is good, he knows what space is like. Malissa and I spent over an hour in the Seurat exhibit, and I showed her all the different things in his paintings, his use of color and light, his expressionism, subject matter, and his life story intertwining the paper and canvass. A man of the same ilk as me. Malissa gets it, and would walk up as close as me and then pull back, and the joy I got from his works was remarkable. We laughed until our face hurt, I think because that is what life in its purest form is all about, joy. I am so grateful to have shared that with her, and with Adam.

Played in the village this past weekend, the crowd was electric. Chatted with a new friend from Wales, who bought my CD. They have such wonderful names, the Welch, and their language is so mysterious and lyrical. To me, she spoke in limerick.

Another fresh face that night, too, and seriously, who but me gets caught up talking about Imperial Russia, losing track of time, until 3am? In a crowded bar with ghetto music blasting? Apparently someone else does, too, and it was as if the windows were opened on the night and on the last few weeks. I am a complete, total, and guilty-as-charged nerd. I prefer History Channel over weekly dramas, Modern Marvels in HD over Entourage. Maybe I belong at Columbia Graduate school, too, studying literature. In any event, someone met me half way, and followed up on it the next day. I've already got a book to swap and more insight to share.

Week one of Advent. O come, o come Emmanuel. These are the days in between for me, and I know that being alone is only temporary.

Does it comfort you to know you fought the good fight?

Ode to Seurat

Transitioning through life
One stiff drink at a time
A member of the New York Intelligensia
Our class moves the foundations of all that is here

Shakespeare, it is believed, would play ghosts in his plays
And he always would have a similar message
Remember me
Remember me, O Hamlet
An artist's biggest fear is anonymity.

That somehow, somewhere, and at some point
No will care for what your entire life was based on
That even children, children's children, and children's children's children
Will not see the lineage before them
Will not honor the ghosts.

So fame befalls all artists minds as a means of being remembered.
Remembrance, more than money and posessions
Because fame is at cost of privacy and the positive anonymity.

Seurat.
La Grande Jatte.
"By the blue, purple-yellow-red water"
As we pass, in our perfect park
Made of specs of light and dark

I rememeber you, George. You are your painting.
I toil as you did, George.
I am sure to pass on to my children your work.

Round and round

Dec 1 - Wicked Willy's, NYC 9PM
Dec 3 - Tainted Blue Productions "From the Penthouse", Brooklyn, NY 9PM
Dec 5 - Abbey Lounge, Boston, MA 7PM
Dec 7 - Snooty Pig, Corning, NY 9PM
Dec 12 - Sidewalk Cafe, NYC 9PM
Dec 14 - CD Release Party - Nietzsche's, Buffalo, NY 10:30PM
Dec 15 - Bottom's Up Lounge - Sault Ste. Marie, ON 9:30PM
Dec 29 - Wicked Willy's, NYC 9PM
Jan 12 - Crimson Frog, Harrisburg, PA 8:30PM
Jan 16 - Steel City Sessions, Philadelphia, PA 8PM
Jan 26 - Enter Stage Left Coffeehouse Series, Hopkington, MA 7PM
Feb 8 - Snooty Pig, Corning, NY 9PM
Feb 16 - Uncommon Ground, Chicago, IL 8PM
Feb 23 - Brooklyn Coffee and Tea House, Providence, RI 7PM
Mar 14 - Snooty Pig, Corning, NY 9PM
Mar 17 - St. Patrick's Day Party, Snooty Pig, Corning, NY 9PM
Apr 12 - Molly Brannigan's, Scranton, PA 8PM
Aug 24 - Perk's Coffeehouse, Norwood, MA 8PM
...
...
...
...

See me. Feel me. Touch me. Heal me.

Much going on

I have another job interview to work in the Benefits office of the hospital next week Monday. I would be working in mid-town, up on 40th and 3rd, in the same building as Gov. Spitzer. Here's hoping.

I'm not nervous anymore with my job. I'm on top of everything, have an accurate and decent tracking system, and have been receiving good feedback. I am excited to move forward in the coming days and weeks, even if I do not get another position.

My CD release show is on November 13th at the Bitter End. I've been rehearsing with my band for the last week or so, getting us ready for that night. I am nervous that it will all come together. I worry that enough people are going to show up.

My song was nominated out of thousands of other songs for the New York Songwriter's Circle annual Songwriting Contest. Top 25 out of thousands. First try, too. And for "Annie," how fitting to have it be the one.

Brandon lives in my basement apartment of my house. It's been really, really great thus far. I'm excited to see him at his craft, working tirelessly on his songs, watching movies, drinking beers, and laughing. He's so easy to be around, and just goes with the flow. He's going to do well here.

I'm drinking a bit more than I used to, just a drink or two after work. I've found that it's not the alcohol doing something to me, but just the idea of a crisp beer or ice-cold Bailey's that is so refreshing. I still don't get trashed or have more than literally 1 or 2, so I think it's okay.

My aunt was sentanced to 5 year probation following the accidental shooting of my god-daughter, Cassie. I keep them both in my prayers, knowing that God is still working.

Started going back to Church with Adam. It felt really good, and I loved singing the way I sing with praise music. It's such a relaxed thing for me, and I think my voice sounds best. Adam isn't Catholic, but still really felt compelled to go, and that was really inspiring. We're going to continue to go.

Adam and I have spent alot more time together in the house, and we've really hit it off. He's so very similar to me, especially in terms of mannerisms, outlook, and habits. He really gets it, what the important things are, and recognizes the absurdities that can exist around us.

It felt good to go to open mic with Brandon at Bar 4, and to see Megan. She has a grace about her; I feel as if she were always wearing a lavish gown with the way she walks. It felt good and right to hold her in my arms, like I know it always will.

Played the Sidewalk Cafe, the "Anti-Hooten-anney" with Malissa. I was asked to play a show in December based on my performance of 1 song, "Ophelia." Another rubber stamp for me, that I am a viable singer/songwriter. I am good at what I do.

An upcoming tour in a few weeks, partly alone, partly with Jeff Weimer, and partly with the whole band. Always with a car, though, thanks to my mother. First time going to Philadelphia, and hopefully seeing Ian and whoever else lives there.

Another gig at the Back Fence Saturday, another opportunity to make boatloads of extra money. Can't wait. Football in the park on Sunday at 1, followed by football on the tube at 4.

Lots to report. Back to work.

Literary Commentary through myself.

"So Ophelia stepped out into the Great Divide
And decided she'd try to walk on water
She said, 'kings will kill kings
And they marry their queens.
But love always seems
To be lost on me.'
Oh, you're lost on me
You're lost on me."

Inserted into my song, I get goosebumps now everytime I hear this part. So compelling when its being analyzed; does this mean Ophelia drowned herself?

Or rather, did she really get to walk on water? Was it a desperate attempt to have some magic in her life, now that she sees things are they truly are?

Or, is she making fun at Hamlet for saying that to her? Is she more angry and hurt than irrational?

What do you think?

In "Hamlet", Ophelia kills herself out of grief. I think the verse I put into the end of this song will both hint at that, and shed different light on her and her perspective on love. I think she is as doomed as Hamlet knew he was, and the last line is the affirmation of her fate. It will always be lost on her. And Hamlet.

So why not try to walk on the water? If she could walk on water, there might still be hope for love to be magical, too, and things may be different than she now sees. And maybe she wasn't trying to kill herself after all. Hopeless romantics are always hopeful on love, and maybe she thought if she believed hard enough, she'd float along the river like a waterbug. Hmm...

Bus to Maine

I long for lighthouses
Riptides barreling into rock
Mist covering my face
Like a head of woman's hair

Standing in sandals
Under overcast skies
In complete and total silence

____________________________________

How oft the words must be ripped from me

Bus to Corning

Wherever I go
The clouds keep following me
They reign above me
Crossing state lines
Amidst the pines

Couples, oh couples
Couples become a sea of tangled, mangled hands and feet
They want to braid their limbs.

June 29th

My tooth hurt
But now has subsided
My family hurts
And now will heal
My body is run-down and tired
And now I will rest

My mouth endured
And I accomplished what was asked
I pray for my family,
For my parents' marriage

Do people worry about me?

June 1st

For once
And just this once
I socked you between the eyes
You always could blow me back
But my Honesty
And my Heart,
in an attempt to set the record straight
And get back on its feet again,
Let you have it.

You've made me teased in love
I'm even wondering if you count on the list.

I bought you flowers, and it was to be an early birthday celebration...

...on the Hudson, looking at the Statue of Liberty.

And you "let me down again, and" you're "sorry."

So I took Dan. And we had fun. And drank.

And all the while I was getting texted by women I wished were you.
By women who weren't supposedly designing logos for this season's harvest.
By women who seek my affections, lust, time, and company.

And you've got 4 songs now.
You've captured 4 of them,
forever in their grandeur unto you.
Congrats.
No one's ever had more than two.
And none so stark in highest highs,
lowest lows, imagery, focus, and depth.
Not even in the vicinity of close to these 4.
My best work, you must know,
has come toiling over whether or not you wanted my affections.

That is no Muse.
It has been a cross to bear.

I threw the flowers out after work, on my way to the bus stop.

Sounds like a love song, sounds like a love song

Tina Shaffer called my manager yesterday
Didn't say what for
Besides saying she was calling
"About John's song"

You see
I had just submitted a song
For the 2007 New York Songrwriter's Circle Song Contest
The contest that she runs

Made me perk up
Who knows what she wants from me
Or wants with "Musical"

Playing in such a festival and the Circle
Stamp of "Legit" on my career file.

CD Release - Mo Pitkins or Bitter End?
East or West Village?
Where in Buffalo?

Rehearsals - when and where, let's get ready

My career begins now. Let the ferocity commense.

Amtrak and April 1, 2007, a retrospective.

date
Apr 1, 2007 4:28 PM

subject
Re: email - part uno.

"I'm writing you on the train today
Speckled rain drops wipe the grime off the window
I draw the shades because the daylight does not feel so redeeming
I listen to songs that make my head swirl
And with chord progressions take me to the heights of human awareness

There is no set time for my return, as there usually is
I will have to brave most of the summer in South Brooklyn
I've never felt more 'in my body' than recently
I feel and cherish every hair, scab, iris
Your writing speaks to me, or through me
My mind need not filter it as I would normally do

You speak of the real me, my naivety and half-attempt at wisdom
I feel tormented by things bigger than me
I feel blessed at the same time, if that makes sense
And every new song that enters me today
Makes me want to show everyone so many things

I desire to be loved, I tell myself repeatedly
I want love in my life

I write words for what will be my opus
"Be content in who you are /
Be content that your might not necessarily go far /
But you'll try anyway"
Am I the only one who realizes what that means?

Everyone sleeps on the train
We always sleep on the way home

I want to write Freedom
To scream at the tops of the highest,
Most spectacular places
To proclaim it, and live it
Freedom in its purest form
In its truest form
I want to stand above everyone
Look down, see the Free
And love them.

"All the sights of Paris / Pale inside your iris"
The head swirls again.
Rufus
It has been so long since I have felt what true love is

I hear you speak of your worries of finding a man
And it seems unreasonably pessimistic
Because you are the Beacon
You give me hope
That there is another kind soul
Walking around the other side of the island
And when we cross paths
It is good. It is very good.
And I haven't needed to think very much past that level.

Please do not feel anxious anymore
You are worthy of everything you want
And I feel it being drawn to you.

This week, Easter
I had wished to be at a better place with God by now
Palm Sunday, the Passion read at Mass
The party favors we get to take home and hang up
Remind us we have a part in the nails and wood
I want to feel close to God again
And I was just a short time ago
I can be close to God
And I hope Easter can bring me into His favor
I would love to share Easter with you
Let me know if you are interested

I haven't been able to bare myself to anyone in so long
And it fucked me up at the time
But you are always so kind, so understanding
And you accept me unequivocally
I don't feel embarassed to say
I am a Man of God
Or that I get scared of so much
It never shakes you from my corner
Thank you.

Sending thoughts somewhere south of Syracuse"

Raking.

Been awhile. Been a long while.

Had friends up to visit from England. It's funny how no matter where you are, you are "up" when you visit New York. We had a wonderful time, and I think I'll be seeing them soon.

I need to just purge out the things that transpired in the past few weeks, just to clear out my mind to the really creative part, like clearing away dead leaves at the foot of a tree.

Birthday weekend was wonderful, with all the friends and drink, and music. Birth-day itself was hilarious, going to The Cellar, side-splitting with my closest friends; bottle of Jameson to take home and enjoy.

Brandon played a good show, first one in NYC. He kicked ass, and he's going to do great here.

My Bitter End show was good, lots of friends came out to see it. Feels good to have such support.

Vinny's Xtreme Birthday 2007 was impressive, and he fell asleep with his head on my shoulder on the way home. That should say enough.

The show at the Back Fence was alot of fun, and well-played. Met a girl named Dorothy. There's no place like home.

Now it's Monday, and tonight I'll be completing my application for graduate school. I'm excited to be a professional student, all at once, and no matter where I am, I can continue my education. I'll also get to enjoy a night of home-cooked food and relaxation.

More ideas for songs floating 'round. Soon they will all come. I just have to live this life.

I think I might take off tomorrow, and go see a museum or something. I hear its not as crazy during the week.

The "gravis" of the blog will return later, or tomorrow, now that I've raked everything up, and put them in fun orange plastic trash bags that resemble pumpkins....the leaves are all gone.

Tabula Rasa

Another cycle 'round my sun is complete.
I wonder if I have another 50 left in me.

What does the phrase "The more things change, the more they stay the same" mean?

It means that every situation I encounter is just a variation on another situation, with the faces, times, places, and contexts different. Here I stand, above the waters that swirl below me, seeing human drama and strife played out in the most ordinary of ways. The players playing parts all seek something, and are constantly searching. Some incapable of love, others addicted to it. I see the musical chairs, revolving doors, and spirited debates and arguments, and I choose to rise not partake. I choose to observe. The more things change, the more I stay the same.

You see, this one loves that one,
this one hates that one,
this one uses this one,
this one uses that one.
There's nothing else to it, at its most primal level.

Once in awhile, someone will pluck me underneath the waters, and I will gasp and claw upward toward air.

I will circle around, swirl amongst those who haven't seen what real priorities are, what a moral compass does to one's self, or how a quick fix spells demise.

We all lie to each other down there - we mislead, spin, employ games and devices and machines - to either gain someone, lose someone, or use someone.

We fight currents that have existed for centuries. Currents that are currently still current.

Yet I never seem to stay down there, and I've grown to almost detest being down there. Down in the depths. Swirling in cycling seas. Searching.

I'm easy to find. Just look up. And there is much, much more to me than meets the eye.

I've grown so accustomed to being solo, in all respects, to being up here above the waters, that when someone pulls me down, and I narrowly escape, it's alot worse than if I had already been down there.

Others used to join me up here, but slowly I see each one of them below, and perhaps the human experience is based on such happenings: I am up here because I do not want to be there, and I have chosen not to be there, and chosen to be here, if that makes sense.

The more things change, the more I stay the same.

The more the themes remain the same.

I am destined to love. To have a family. To share. From up here.

A clean slate is not a blank slate.

It means I've wiped it off.

Then I washed my hands, rubbed my brow, and picked it up again.

2240 Miles, 45 Hours, 5 Days Later Part III

...is not really going to happen. Sorry.

North Manchester was great, flat, quiet, and the ride home was exhausting and tedious, but worth it. That's about it.

I haven't written in so long. I had played the Knitting Factory Main Stage a week and a half ago, I played another show at the Back Fence and another at Wicked Willy's too.

There's alot of things I would have wanted to say in here, events to discuss, situations playing out, struggles, frustrations, etc., it is best I think to start anew. Clean slate.

2240 Miles, 45 Hours, 5 Days Later Part II

Back in Brooklyn, ready to go to Buffalo.

I had decided awhile back that I would rent a car to go to Buffalo, and spent almost a month doing extensive research on what would be needed when I rented. A major credit card, a valid driver's license, and enough credit on the credit card to cover the initial cost of the rental. So, I now have my first major credit card, a Visa, with a very moderate-sized credit limit. I never had one before because I heard nothing but horror stories and bad things about them, and I also never thought I had the credit to actually go ahead with it. Anyways, there's a world of unknown when starting anything new, but I was confident with arranging my ride to Buffalo - credit card + Avis rentals + $$$ = comfort and ease on my trip.

I got up early on Thursday to go to Avis and pick up my rental. I had forgotten to pay off my credit card the night before so it would be clear for today, so I just called and made a payment. I was told, however, that this payment would not be seen until the next day. Therefore, the funds needed to be held on my credit card would not be there, and it would be declined. By tomorrow, I would need to be in Indiana. They also did not take debit cards here in NYC, like they do at home, so I was really in trouble here. I had no way to get home, it was 8am, and Elliot was supposed to come with. I started to panic. My heart racing, saying to myself "think John!"out loud, I started to feel like this trip just might not happen after all. Or, at least, I would be going alone. I decided to run home and talk to Elliot about options. I tend to think better when discussing with people than on myself mulling something over. It's not dumping on them, it's more using discussion to help channel nervous energy into solutions.

I could take a train home to Buffalo, and I looked at Amtrak. Completely sold out. I could take a bus home, and those left at 11am, all the way at 42nd st, not very close to me. They were also enormously expensive. Lastly was a plane from JFK, and that, too, was incredibly expensive, but more doable, seeing that its only 90 minutes to Buffalo in the air. All of these scenarios would mean my mother would need to pick me up from the airport, bus terminal, or train station, and I'm sure she would not be pleased about that. Not to mention, I was still unsure about the possibility of renting a car once I even GOT to Buffalo, given all the red tape and uncertainty. The other looming possibility was to just not go. But, my mother had switched her day off from work, and countless other people were already planning on coming to see me in Buffalo to play. What to do. What to do.

After explaining to Elliot how a rental car is booked (which is hard for anyone to wrap their mind around - I don't think the workers know the process even), he said he had a credit card that should cover the hold, and I would then pay in cash when we returned it. We decided we would go ahead with this option, as it seemed like it could work. If it wasn't possible, I would just fly home, and rent a car in Buffalo. I would also have to play the shows solo if I had to fly.

I'm a firm believer that stress is caused by, at least in one way, by either the lack of or perception of lack of options in any given situation. Knowing that only one way will possibly work for a particular situation is the direct cause of angst and tension. However, knowing that there are at least two options, that very notion, immediately relaxes pulses, returns bleathing to only slightly elevated, and widens one's perspective. Feeling more relaxed, knowing I would find a way, we departed for the Avis location in downtown Brooklyn.

We were given the rental car without incident, and my corporate discount from my hospital was a great help, giving us unlimited miles, and waiving the fee for being under 25. We now had a brand new PT Cruiser, in a wonderful blue-green color, and a world of driving ahead.

After scrambling home, we quickly got ready, and left at 11am. If we hauled ass, we could get home by 6pm, and have a minute to catch our breath, and then play. We were armed with a portable DVD player, two laptops with internet connection, two iPods, and Sirius Satellite Radio. Plenty of things to distract, entertain, and keep me going I think. We had to stop more than I normally would, since we left in such a frenzy, so we had to arrive in Buffalo much later. A GPS device we got from the rental company made the navigation of the trip very easy. After dropping Elliot at home, I arrived in Buffalo at 7pm, 30 minutes before I was slated to play the show. My mother was home, and had her nurse friend and her husband over. She had bought some clothes for me, and had them laid out so I could quickly change. I had wanted to get dinner with her and my sister, but I just wasn't able to anymore. I left in a flash, and arrives at Caz Coffee Cafe at 7:15am.

I hadn't seen Debbie, the owner, since I left Buffalo last year. Since then, I heard she had the unfortunate news of learning her sickness had returned, and she would need further treatment. When I saw her, she looked so full of life, but very thin, and her bandana undoubtedly was covering signs of chemotherapy. It was great to see her, and she give me a big hug and a kiss, saying how glad she was that I was there. I also saw some of the staff that used to work open mics when i played. The Caz hadn't changed much, and if anything, looked that much nicer than I remember it. There was now wonderful artwork everywhere by local artists, and I felt that it really had a wonderful home in South Buffalo.

Mendez was late since I asked him to buy some extra guitar strings for me, since I still had broken ones from my Maine trip. I set up some of the sound equipment, and then just waited for him to arrive. Debbie did not mind that I started late, as she knew the big crowds that always turn out to see me in Buffalo. So Mike showed up, we set up the sound, and we were off and running...

As I was getting equipment out though, a man was sitting in the room I was about to play in with some friends and family of his. I bought out the gigantic speaker we use to play out of, and he looked at me and said "You don't really have to use those in HERE, do you?" It kind of rubbed me the wrong way, and I just smiled and said, "Yeah, we sure do." He then asked me the standard questions, "So what kind of music do you play?" "What does it sound like?" "Where are you from?" which I am very used to at this point. I think those questions function for only a small amount of reasons.

First, they can be sincere and out of genuine curiosity about who I am, what I do, and why I do it. I meet this line of questioning with honesty and sincerity right back, and I welcome people who take a vested interest in who I am as a player. These type of people tend to stay at the shows for awhile, and then leave after a set or two, grab my business card, and apologize for ducking out early. I have hope they ultimately would come back to see me, but who knows.

Second, there is the people who ask me those things as a line of questioning, almost as if I was filling out an application for the opportunity to entertain them. If I don't say the right combination of influences or styles, they brush me off. If my life story isn't as compelling or dramatic as others, they usually leave before I begin. The inquisition I am under is usually done destructively, and I sense that music snobs often take such roles, feeling that someone with talent couldn't POSSIBLY be playing at the local coffeehouse in South Buffalo. I say destructively, because I sense that they're looking for a way to duck out, and way to unplug from the connection a performer makes, and any reason to hate. These are the tough sells, the types I have to be on my A-game around. When I am, they will stay for the entire set, and they will be more impressed than the sincere passer-by I described above. You've taken them on a journey if you've impressed them, bringing them all the way from the extreme of "here we go again, you're gonna cover Tom Petty," all the way to "holy shit, this is great, I can't leave." They're the people that become die hard fans, if you can swing it with your performance, because you take them to a place they love beinf. The way they felt when they first heard "Tommy" by The Who, or the wonder they felt walking into the Rock-N-Roll Hall of Fame for the first time. If you can touch these people, you have succeeded that night.

This guy at the Caz was the "destructive" asker. I could tell just by his tone. He was readying himself to be annoyed and uncomfortable, and ready to leave after the first song. As much as it pissed me off, it also challenged me. Every stage is a new task, a new feat to accomplish, and being at my old stomping grounds would be no different tonight.

I rocked it, in a more folky way. I've learned that screaming and loudness do not equal depth, and decided to hold back some on my songs, opting to reach out to people's sense of love, truth, and space. Space gives us the opportunity to think, and makes mundane things interesting. Much in the same way that baseball is so dramatic, or the way an open G chord, with the proper space, can entrance someone. I played with this space, and I could tell it was working. There was not a peep out of the entire crowd, less the blender in the other room making smoothies for my friends and family. I played my new song for everyone, and I could tell people got it. I could tell people in the audience were either engaged or newly single, and "Ophelia" touches on all that with its message.

Anyways, the set went on, and I played well, and took a break when Elliot arrived to set up his kit for a neat little set we were to put on. He had modified percussion, drums without the "drums" really - the parts of the drums I love, but without the loud, cutting noises and expectations that drums carry with them. The drums would be an extention of my guitar, and subsequently, of my voice. The vocal is the center, which moves all other things with it, and I've learned to embrace that. I used to think the melody moved it, but it's more the actual voice. Sorry, abstract singer/songwriter-type jargon. The point is, we were going to explore the space, and prop up the acoustic guitar to give it the flight to help the vocal out, aiding in dynamics, and keeping a rhythm people can bob their heads to.

We played well, and played off each other well. People really enjoyed it, and were saying how interesting the space was with just the guitar, vocal, and drums. Debbie was happy to have us, and had a great night of business at the Caz. All my friends came out, some of their parents too, and stayed the entire night. My family was there as well, and we all decided to go to my favorite bar back home, Doc Sullivan's, for the best wings in the city, as well as the wonderful drinks and people.

I started to pack up my things, now around 11pm or so, after playing for 3+ hours, when a felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the guy who had asked me all those questions, the one I labeled as a dick; he had stayed the entire time, and I hadn't noticed. His family and friends had also stayed. He shook my hand, and had really genuine things to say, and wished me well. He wanted my card, and said he was sure to buy my new CD that is coming out. He told me how he wasn't planning on staying, but he really liked what I was doing, so he and his family decided to make a night of it. It was a wonderful moment, and I was hoping it would turn out that way.

_______________________

Doc's was hopping, as usual. The drinks flowed, the wings were fried, and I had a great time talking with my friends and family. It was as if I never left; home is a place you never really "leave." You just notice you're there from time to time, wherever you are in the world or life.

I drove Elliot home, and headed back, my eyes burning from the sweat earlier draining into them. They would be red for the remainder of the weekend, but it didn't matter. A good trip home, touching people by song. That's what is rewarding for me. That is what home is.

Evening passed, and morning came. Saturday.

More on North Manchester, Indiana tomorrow. Stay tuned.

2240 Miles, 45 Hours, 5 Days Later Part I

He played no paycheck, he played too many bills

He played a boring life, he played no thrills

He played they don't, they don't, they don't, they don't

He played they don't, they don't, they don't

He played they don't, they don't, they don't

Give a damn

About him




No one's gonna miss him at work today

No one's gonna say, "it's just not the same without what's his name"

No one's gonna miss him at work today

No one's gonna say, "it's just not the same without what's his name"

-Rachel Griffin, Portland, ME

___________________________________________________




Let's start in Maine. My deepest venture into New England, met with anticipation and angst, as I longed to see crashing waves...for lighthouses.




My bus ride up was rather quick. A small stop in Boston, and I was on my way North. The roads leading into Maine are lined with dense pine trees, coming very close to the road. I feel as if I was apart of a expedition into a thick wilderness, where the path was barely cleared by a convoy ahead, and mysteries linger in the Thick. Maine is "good for a weekend - good for a lifetime" it is said, and the rigid pines and hilly roads told me I was headed to a place that had its own way of doing things. I like that - almost the way Buffalo feels, or Ediburgh, Scotland.



I was expecting this grand entrance into Portland, and that certainly was not the case. I was expecting steep sea-cut rocks with waves crashing on them as the wharfs and city buildings co-existed as a product of our nation's love of seafood and our system of capitalism. I foresaw cobblestone streets, victorian street lamps, and weathered faces to be bopping around. Instead, I think I entered into a transitional neighborhood, near the Maine Medical Center. The houses looked disheveled and in need of repair. The people were all out on their front step, watching the cars, and me, pass by. Not exactly the pristine Maine in my head.



Fortunately for me, my Inn that I stayed at is right across the street from the bus terminal. The Inn at St. John's it was called, and it reminded me of living in England. My room was way up on the top floor, and the amenities were very much like living in Manchester. A sink in the room, with an attached toilet room, a nice closet, beautiful bed, and wonderful view. I was excited to sleep in a bed not my own for once, to sleep peacefully.



I arrived with 3 hours to kill before my show. I decided to walk along Congress St., the main drag in Portland, so I was told. The consierge at the Inn had given me a map of Portland, about two feet by 1 foot in size, and told me Congress St. was where all the main sections were located. I started my walk along Congress, and Portland was starting to weird me out. Depressed housing, downtrodden peoples, and little to no signs of culture or arts made me worried this trip might be fruitless. But I kept walking. By the time I arrived around Bramhall St., I noticed little quaint pubs, vintage shops, and other boutiques beginning to pop up. I went into one of the pubs to get a bite to eat and a pint, the Bramhall Pub. It was located in a basement, and its European qualities seemed to be just what I needed. Unfortunately, the bar was blasting old Boston records, smelled of stale beer on the floor, and was filled with much of the same type of people I encountered on my walk up the street. There would be no tourists in this bar, and apparently there was no kitchen either. I had to settle for a pint of local beer, which was tasty. $3.25 too. Shocked at normal drink prices.



Leaving the pub, I decided to enter the Sal-Vo located nearby. They had a crazy record collection in the back, but I think all the hipsters raided through them, because all that was left was obscure Tammy Wynette records and the greatest hits collection of Englebert Humperdink. Or it seemed that way at least. They were about to close, too, so there would be no purchases there, and I would press on towards the city centre.



Crossing over State St. was like entering a new world - the bustling traffic, little art shops, record stores, restraunts, and clubs all seemed to have a place on the blocks I passed. The people changed too, seeming to be more my speed, and I knew this was getting closer to what I had longed to find up North here. I decided to stop in one of the local Mexican restraunts, located next to a really hip coffeehouse. The meal was amazing, a humungous chimichanga with rice and beans and shredded beef - I could not finish it. $15 for the whole meal, too. Nice.



I walked a little further down, but upon inspection of the time, decided to double back towards the Inn and start getting ready for my show. To my surprise, I hadn't really walked all that far, but just uphill. The walk back was nice and quick, and I still had time to relax before my show.



The room was so cozy, and I lay down and watch some episodes of "Top Chef." I never really understood why food needs to be so complex. To me, freshness means goodness, and always will. To make my meal overly complex is to take some of that away, and it will undoubtedly be lost on me. Anyways, I readied myself and called a cab to head out to the show at the Dogfish Bar and Grille.



The Dogfish was also very different than I expected, and the room felt more like a Buffalo bar than I think I initially would have thought. The people were all chatting with the bartender, who knew them all no doubt, but I got the impression that passers-by would be just as welcome. I met the soundguy, and he had a sense of selflessness that was a bit odd, but refreshing. He was glad to be there, but don't ask him too many things, because he's just there to be doing sound. He was excited to hear me play, and that make me feel comfortable.



I can never get used to seeing my picture plastered on a window or wall, and when I walked into the Dogfish, it was no different. But a musician must have an image nowadays, and I think my shot with the UB t-shirt, looking off somewhere will fit just fine. But I digress.



I was hoping that Rachel Griffin would turn up, an INCREDIBLY talented singer and piano player from Portland who I found on MySpace. Her song, "Lighter than Air" is so beautiful and swirling, it is a wonderful example of conveying an image through song. Please look her up sometime.



Well, in terms of the show, it started out slow, with everyone talking and doing their thing while I played. Whenever that happens, I have a big decision to make as a performer. You either meet them at their loudness, rise above it, and make them notice you, or you quietly pour your heart out, and let the word catch on slowly, the way fog creeps in on a cool Sunday morning. I chose the latter. I kept playing slow song after slow song, each time putting my life out there in the hopes that everyone in attendance would stop their conversations and take heed. But they persisted. It wasn't until I played a cover song, much to my dismay, did the room focus more on me. This was the purpose of my entire trip, and therefore, it was important that I was heard by everyone. Once I grabbed them, I never let go. And song after song took hold of the room, and I saw the heads bobbing, the eyes widen, the claps louden, and the whispering begin. A couple in the back of the room moved up to get closer, and a crowd of people entered who starting hooting and hollering after every song. My set ended to much praise, handshakes, and tip-jar-passing. I did okay on tips, and had a dinner entree included in my "fee" for playing. As I sat back listening to other people come up to play, each a little different, some truly excellent, some very new, I began to feel that there was a truth in me I was sharing with the world; that I was slowly and on a small scale telling people what a life is like, what a spirit sounds like in song. I felt accepted into their clan that Wednesday night, I felt respected.

I do not know a single soul in Portland, so when Zuppe walked into the bar, I did a double take! Apparently he was recording someone that night up there, and decided to suprise me and check out my set. Unfortunately, he missed it, and I was eating my dinner when he arrived. It was still really great to see him, and he brought his friend John, a bassist in a well-known Portland band. Open mic was about to wrap up, when one of the local girls shouted out to the host, "We want to hear John again! WOO!" and the whole bar echoed her sentiment. I couldn't really believe it, and after I had broken a string on my guitar, I was definitely not expecting it. The host obliged, and it ended up working out for everyone, as Zuppe got to hear me play, the crowd heard me sing some more, and I felt even more welcomed in a city I was beginning to fall in love with.

After my set, Zuppe and John invited me out with them. We must have went to 5 different bars, never staying too long, seeing bands here and there, and hearing stories from Zuppe on how "the farther North you go, the worse the pussy gets" (direct quote). I didn't know what he was talking about though, because the women there, some of them at least, had an aura about them that intrigued me. John told me about how he works at a radio station, and how the lead singer of his band is a genius and nutjob all at once. I wonder why I can't seem to find the solace others do with being unreasonably off-the-wall. I must maintain a healthy balance and rapoire with my own selves, that I can never let a single part of me take over and start dictating. We stopped at the swanky NYC-style bar, and that's where I started to feel drunk. The beers all hit you at once, you know, and they sock you. I was socked, and ready for bed. Last call, 1:30am, time to cab it home to the Inn.

I plopped into bed, feeling utterly comfortable and satisfied. I felt confident, whole, and looking forward to the days ahead of me.

_________________________________

Waking up the next day, I lay in bed most of the day, less a stroll to the lobby to get a free bagel and orange juice. I missed breakfast, the way the tea smells in the morning, as you squint in the face of the blazing morning sun. Good morning, Maine, how are ya?

Check out was uneventful, as was my bus ride home to New York. I arrived home at night, to spend the evening with Jay shooting the shit and raving about how we needed to go back to Maine as soon as possible. I wish I had left something there that I care about, like my driver's license - to give me an excuse to hop a train and enjoy the Thick.

Evening passed, and morning came. Friday morning.

(More to come about my travels to Buffalo and North Manchester. Stay tuned.)

The Story of How You Begin to Remember

These are the roots of rhythm
And the roots of rhythm remain

A well-deserved recap.

I took off of work on Friday to go play in Corning, NY. I decided to take a bus there, and Lindsay and I would just drive back to Brooklyn the following morning.

The subways were all messed up in Brooklyn on Friday, so it took me forever to get to the Port Authority. I made it to my bus about 5 minutes before it left, but that was fine.

The bus ride was beautiful, and being so high up, it made the trip I've done so many times seem like brand new. I saw the Susquehanna River like never before; the way it winds and bends around the Appalachia, with the rapids, the white water acting as a mirror to the droopy, low hanging clouds that always seem to resemble a cartoon character I grew up watching. The shallowness of the river was starkly constrasted to the ferocity and depth of the rapids, all bordering the other and minding their own business. Life passes through each, and I spectate. The Delaware Water Gap is striking, the way the mountains, with their up-ended sedimentary rock, cut swathes into the water, so it seems. The truth is, the water has cut the swathes into the mountain, but I digress. I longed to pull over, hop over the rail, and take root amongst the trees and jump in the shallow water. To feel wet sand, and be unable to get rid of it from between my toes for the next three days or so. But that would not be this trip.

I missed my connecting bus from Binghampton to Elmira because of some heavy construction on I-81 going into Binghampton. I began to panic, and had to find a way there in time to play. I had to take a cab to Elmira, costing me (well, at the time, my mother) $120. I arrived in Corning 20 minutes before I was supposed to start. An otherwise beautiful, touching day was completely up-ended by the huge financial hit and anxiety that was missing the connecting bus. My sister and mother came out though, and their presence was wonderful, even if they kept to the back of the venue for the most part. Scott played with me, and that too made me calm down. He was very even-keeled, and such a great help. Deb and everyone at the bar were incredible, as always. Lindsay showed up right as I was about to play, and it certainly raised my spirits. Still, I felt really frustrated by the day, not being able to see Brandon very long, putting my mother and sister in a huge inconvenience and frustrating them, and putting me in the dreaded position of playing immediately following a long road trip. It was not going to go well, I thought.

We started playing, and the bar was otherwise non-responsive. They didn't seem too into it, and while I know I was playing well, it seemed like I wasn't "touching" the people the way I usually can. My back ached like no other, I was sweating terribly, and my leg was bleeding from scraping against something. It was not going well, and it was just another thing contributing to a shitty evening. On top of that, after the expensive cab ride, I was only going to break even from the show, something I've been really trying to avoid lately.

At the end of my first set, a group of about 10 people came in, ranging from a woman about my age, all the way to two elder women. They all had green on, with green party hats and necklaces, very much like St. Paddy's Day. When they came in, I played some Irish music, and they all perked up and started dancing. One of the younger women came up on stage and started singing with me, and everyone else was drunk and swaying back and forth. After the song finished, she pulled me close and began whispering in my ear. She said "listen hon, we're all here tonight for our two aunts, _____ and _____." [editor's note: I forgot the names, but that's not the point] "They both have cancer and are not doing well, and we decided to take them both out as a family and show them a great time...would you mind playing a song for them?" I immediately agreed, and a sense of what tonight was about began to seep into my head. I played song after song for them, not taking a break, and they all kept dancing, even the elder aunts, as if they were all 16 again. They would scream, shout, clap, and do all the things we all do when music takes hold of us. Smiles, laughs, drinks.

I started to play "Mrs. Robinson", and the family kept on dancing. When I got to the part of "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? / Our nation turns its lowly eyes to you" I noticed one of the aunts, now dancing with her much younger nephews or cousins, stop dancing altogether. She stood there and reached out both arms to the boys on either side of them, and pulled them in as tight as she could. The boys danced through this gesture, and brought themselves in closer to her, and a moment was had. It was not lost on me, and when I saw that one small thing, I started to weep. I immediately turned my eyes towards my mother, now standing at the bar, and she saw it too. My eyebrows raised, my forehead crunched, and it was as if a Mack Truck hit me. Family. In it's most tangible form. Family.

I know knew why I had been put through the ringer trying to get to Corning. I could not possibly have profited monetarily from something like that. The lessons of the evening would have been completely overlooked if I kept thinking about the tremendous payday I was going to get. No, instead God (or whatever you wish to call it, fortune, luck, fate, etc) placed me there to experience that and learn from that. I had been careless with my family as of late, and when chips were down, I am always there for them, but I had been terribly inconsistent. Missing calls, leaving cards and gifts at home when I promised to bring them, fighting or mal-treating them, and ultimately expecting them to bend-over-backwards to dig me out of either a self-imposed mess or being dealt a bad hand by life. It's not fair to them, and I owe them much more than I could ever give them in times of crisis. My family had been through enough in the past few weeks, and I should not be another stressor for them. My music seems to always make them happy, but I feel that should not be enough on my end. It's just a shame that it took something like that hug to jolt my mindset, and make me see how selfish I really can be. It's not the way to live a life, the way to treat people you genuinely love. I have to do better.

The show finished without incident, and the family tipped me $40 dollars for helping make their night out a good one. I gave it to Scott for all his help, reluctant as he was to take it.

Lindsay and I spent the night in the hotel provided by the bar owners. It was wonderful, a suite with kitchen, living room, and huge bedroom. The bed was comfortable and welcomed. I was so dehydrated from playing that my body frightened me with the signs it was displaying. I won't go into it on here, but I was worried for awhile. I fell asleep a wiser man watching Family Guy with Lindsay.

The next day we ate and drove back to Brooklyn. The trip was nice, and I got to hear all about the work Lindsay is doing in the greenhouse in Fredonia. She works with Dr. Titus, a man I enjoyed having as a teacher, and she really knows her stuff well. She is so bright, and so sharp, it is welcoming to speak in depth about things like native plant life in Chautauqua County, or the way non-native species such as Japanese Knotwood invades and smothers species throughout the region. It's fascinating stuff, but you have to love it.

She got her first dose of New York, and sadly, it really rattled her. She was dreading driving home as soon as we got there, and I sensed she never really was in the moment while we were in Manhattan, looking around to see things the way I would. It was too bad, and when we got home we both felt ill. We ended up staying in, and she planned on leaving the next day to return upstate. I'll be seeing her on Friday though when I go home, so not all is lost.

We watched almost the entire Live Earth concert, chock-full-of flubs and missed notes, interesting collaborations, and a wonderful message about helping to reverse the climate change and our global footprints. Global warming, and I have done extensive reading and listening as part of my biology coursework and as a concerned human, is a very real and grave concern, and is not a product of normal weather fluctuations that occur throughout history. There is now indesputable evidence that is a general consensus from the scientific world, from the physicists, chemists, biologists that I have encountered in my college years. Across the board, the knowledge (not a "belief" anymore) is that Earth is getting too hot, too fast, and too much CO2 is being generated. We must try to curb this before we permanently hurt the world of the many generations to come. We musn't be the cause of our own demise.

Lindsay left on Sunday, and I played a show. The show went well, and that's about it. Nothing truly insightful about any of it.

Family. Trials and faith. Sense of togetherness. Unity. Knowledge. Happiness. Struggle+Family=Ability. Love.

Bosstone

The eyes burn. That means I didn't satisfy the daily slumber requirement set forth by the cells in my body.

I'm slumping today, working out of necessity where I would have otherwise called in. Too many other days to not be here for that are coming up.

Went to Boston to play and celebrate America's birthday yesterday. Had no sense of direction, no idea of the street layouts, no idea what to expect. It was a dreary day at best, but not too hot. I took the Chinatown bus, because of the cost, there and back.

The thing is, I do not understand Chinese people and culture, far beyond the language. The food we bought before we left was from the Chinese bakery, and while it was really cheap, the bread was stale, the hot dog loaded with nitrates, and even the bottled Snapple tasted like crap. Everyone else on the bus was content with their purchases, and it makes me wonder if W.A.S.P.s like me just don't have the stomach that others may have. Anyways, before I knew it I had abdominal pain and heartburn, on a non-stop bus to Boston. I know the Chinese supermarket near my house smells like rotting fish, and I cannot bear to enter it again. I don't get their sense of humor. It is so closed-off, and other times it's blatant enough that I've seen someone point and laugh at a perfect stranger. I dunno, I'm just saying I guess.

Boston is a ghost town, at least from what I saw. Even Quincy Market and the state house, popular tourist attractions, seemed sparsely populated. I was expecting more urban sprawl, since everyone I've ever met from Boston likes to talk it up, saying how great it is. I don't know, I mean, you can feel the history in the city when you arrive, and everything is really clean, with new buildings interspersed with old colonial ones, but I think people make a place have a pulse, and there was none to be found. Zuppe told me once that it's like Albany, but cleaner. Touche.

I played at Revolution Rock Bar, for about 10 people, early, so the bar could close 'cause it was so slow. The people I knew in Boston weren't able to make it, and a few strangers-turned-fans stayed to hear me play, and then bailed when I was finished. I played well, and the bar enjoyed my music, and apologized for the lack of people. We gotta go back on Friday or Saturday night and show them what we're made of.

I opened with the new song, "Ophelia," a bit faster, with new voicings and lyrics over the bridge as per Zuppe's constructive criticism. He mentioned that Ophelia walks into the river and drowns after going mad in Hamlet, and this was an interesting perspective to bring to mind. I wrote the bridge, then, on the bus ride down. Everyone keeps saying it is my best work to date, and I really think it could be. It's not 1000% complete yet, so we'll see how the days and the ways shape it.

Corning, NY tomorrow, meeting up with Lindsay and playing. Then she and I drive back Saturday, and spend the weekend finally relaxing. Yankees game and another show on Sunday, leading up to a week of Maine, Buffalo and Indiana next week. I jump at the prospect of travelling so much, so many miles under my belt, so much Americana unfolding before my eyes. It will be my third and deepest trek in New England, with each time testing the waters further and further. Every little waterside community I see seems to be a portent of my future. I want a little girl and a son. I want a wife, and I want Sunday afternoons on a boat. I want to wash the sea salt out of my clothing every Sunday night; to wake up at dawn, make breakfast for my family, and hold them tighter as the weeks go by.

All this is very fleeting
But my spirit is strong
And I look skyward
To know I have come correctly.



Boston sucks.
Go Yankees.

New song: "Ophelia"

"Hamlet to Ophelia:
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
Echoes through millennia
'Adieu, love, adieu.'

And we play these plays
And say these parts
And dance through all these issues in the dark
Feigning madness
From the start
While we dance through all these issues
in the dark

"Hamlet to Ophelia:
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
Echoes through millennia
'Adieu, love, adieu.'

I just can't take the stage
And say these parts
And dance around these issues in the dark
Feigning madness from the start
And we dance around all these issues
in the dark

And Kings will kill kings
And marry their queens
But love always seems
to be lost
on me.

So, to my Ophelia
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
Echoes through my heart and lungs
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
(and kings will kill kings)
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
(and marry their queens)
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
(but love always seems)
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
(to be lost on me)
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
(to be lost on me)
'Adieu, love, adieu.'
(to be lost on me)
'Adieu, love, adieu.'

recording on the way. Should be done today. Will post when finished.

Perspective is EVERYTHING

I'm in a daze today
My family is now in turmoil
Leading up to us saying goodbye
To Cassie's earthly remains on Friday
Accusations, anger, frustration
Remorse, fear, regret
Division
Law enforcement
Whirling around
Wrapping us up
In frenzy

But the smoke shall clear
The lives mend
The spirits lift
And we will stand back and see the truth:

Cassie is gone
at the accidental hands of her cousin
She is united with God
Our lives forever changed
And those responsible will be held accountable
As sorry as I will be to see that
when it occurs.

"There are greater forces than you at play here
We must bring people together now
Not drive them apart
All other worries are fruitless."

Cassie Covers

Back in Brooklyn, currently working. Need to articulate the comings and goings, the ebbing and flowings of the days gone by.

My family has been cut down by loss. A tragedy of sharpest pains has hit us all; a young life ended so suddenly, so accidentally, and so tragically.

Only if you are like children can you enter the Kingdom of My Father. I think back to singing "Let the children come to me" in elementary school in Church on Fridays. "Never hinder them, never stop them, just let the children come." Cassie has gone to God, and she is there.

As a thinking man, I am contented to know that she must, absolutely must, be with God right now. United with Him, with great life force. One in the same now. She had her last rites, she was without sin, without any blemish whatsoever, and for that, I am overjoyed. I feel our prayers have only made her closer in unison with God, and she now is a part of those who have gone before us that observe, assist, and help intercede. This comforts me, and I hope it comforts the rest of my family.

I saw the depth of loss on Saturday, I witnessed it firsthand. I took 3 or 4 steps back, evaluated my own life, family, and priorities, and saw how beautiful a family truly is. I played the role of reinforcement, relieving my sister who had been at the hospital all day and all night and all morning, along with my father who was there that same timeframe as well. It was just this horrible yet at the same time, inspiring, moment. We would all make little jokes, something my family does to try to deal with things, and little sarcastic remarks about how Cassie thought her doctor wasn't very funny. Then, as expected, the reality of who was lost would set in, and everyone would be hit by a wave of devastation. This cycle would go on and on, and seemingly will as long as it needs to. But I felt everyone already celebrating the beautiful, yet short life, and I saw the imprint she made on everyone there.

I myself recall all the times I saw her at my aunt's house, ruling over the house and taking no lip from anyone. She called my father "Nutin", meaning nothing, and even his strong personality was no match. My sisters would leap and cheer for her, would squeeze her tight and show her off, my Aunt would laugh and sit back and revel at the energy and beauty of young life. She was the spark to that side of my family, and she always will be.

It's fitting that we all wear pink and purple to the funeral. I too, even thought I cannot make it, will make sure to wear my pink tie that day, for Cassie. We will be the pink and purple members of the princess' court that day, and I will be honored to take part, even from so far away.

There is tremendous wisdom in youth, and Christ saw it, and I see it now.

Little Cassandra

Cassandra
The little firecracker
That makes my sisters and father bounce
We're praying for you, love
Hang on right there.

Aunt Debbie
Be strong
Life is forever dealing you setbacks
And this tragedy is no different

Be with my family tonight, Lord.
However you wish to take,
Be with us all
And make us one in you.

The boy who I helped baptize
Has shook us all
And crying right now is not the half of it.

Ceasefire.

Let the slinging stop.
You win.
No more of it.

When you bend it, you break it, it's gone

So I didn't get my promotion.
::punch in the gut::
Not because I didn't do well.
Because I just haven't worked here long enough.
I was a "superstar" in the interviews, I was told.
And, in the end, I've lost nothing.
But I feel so disappointed.
It is certainly bringing out other things.
Now, I might not be able to go home.
I don't think I'm going anyways, now that I think about it.

Must have been karma.
Must have done something.
A cloud has just covered me
And into the depths I go yet again.

And for the record, I am not bitching
And fuck you if you want to label me as dramatic
I care so much about what I do
Who I do it with
And where I do it at
That when disappointment strikes
My spirit breaks a bit.
Don't blow me off
Or write me off
Or dumb me down
To be a glorified actor.
You'd be dead wrong.
I have Wrath
My most glaring deadly sin
And it can take hold of me so quickly
And so completely
And leave no one in its path
But don't. Don't do that.
I have layers like an onion
A raw, stinging onion
That awaits cooking use
And if you cannot see that
Then we are now done with this post.

My favourite scene...

Me and Sean Conrad acted this out
in Sophomore English class for a project.
The great Dane, cunning and sarcastic
He makes an ass out of his would-be father-in-law

Enter HAMLET, reading.

LORD POLONIUS
How does my good Lord Hamlet?

HAMLET
Well, God-a-mercy.

LORD POLONIUS
Do you know me, my lord?

HAMLET
Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.

LORD POLONIUS
Not I, my lord.

HAMLET
Then I would you were so honest a man.

LORD POLONIUS
Honest, my lord!

HAMLET
Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

LORD POLONIUS
That's very true, my lord.

HAMLET
For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god-kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter?

LORD POLONIUS
I have, my lord.

HAMLET
Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to 't.

LORD POLONIUS
[Aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone: and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again. What do you read, my lord?

HAMLET
Words, words, words.

LORD POLONIUS
What is the matter, my lord?

HAMLET
Between who?

LORD POLONIUS
I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

HAMLET
Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, for yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could go backward.

LORD POLONIUS
[Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't. Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

HAMLET
Into my grave.

LORD POLONIUS
Indeed, that is out o' the air.
[Aside] How pregnant sometimes his replies are!
A happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.--My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.

HAMLET
You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal:
except my life, except my life, except my life.

LORD POLONIUS
Fare you well, my lord.

HAMLET
These tedious old fools!

Kings will kill kings, and marry their Queens

My stomach is finally settled. BURP. I drank too much; I got sick on Saturday night. But that's neither here nor there...

Friday was reminiscent of how my days were a few months ago. Jay was home working and seeing his family, Vinny was out to dinner with someone, and Elliot was working I believe, so I had the house to myself. I remember how I used to have that every night when Ryan still lived with us, and at first I cherished it, but it began to weigh on me.

Well, I welcomed the solitude for once. I was invited out to see Maria and Carolyn, but I was already down to boxers and a t-shirt, eating some chicken and watching baseball when she called. Another time for sure.

My time alone was wonderful, watching baseball and studying the game as usual. No other sport can attract both casual fans and "student" fans. I'm a student, and I love to see stats, match-ups, tension, and drama play out on the field. The Yankees lost 2-0 on Friday night to the Mets, and although they lost, it was great to see an entire game. That's the beauty about baseball. The Yankees lose to their cross-town rivals, and everyone just says, "eh, get em next time" and heads home. There are no tears, no screams, no boos, just a feeling that it's a long season, and sometimes you take your lumps, sometimes you give the lumps. It's a great way to view life. Every loss is not a cause for concern, unless the losses start piling up. Every win isn't meant to be jubilant, unless the wins start piling up. Then, in the end, the sum of our consistent efforts is what translates into victory or defeat. The way school works, with all the quizzes, papers, tests, projects, and so on. The way a marathon works, one foot in front of the other, 25+ miles.

After the game, I decided I would go lay down for the night, with it still early, because I knew full well that tomorrow would be a long day. When I sat in bed, I accidentally click on my blog when trying to log into myspace or something, and my last post came up. I read through it, and had an almost out-of-body experience. Often times I will re-read words or lines I have written, and they almost seem to be from the mind of someone else. I never quite know why my soul chooses the words that it does, and I think when I am in a logical, normal mode, like right now, my mind is speaking. But, when I wash away all the muck, and let the soul speak, I see and read things I wasn't sure I was capable of articulating.

For example, I wrote, in reference to my feelings of loss and being let down: "Hamlet to Ophelia: Adieu, adieu." In context, it made perfect sense. Hamlet is the most compelling and intriguing character I have ever encountered in literature. The stakes for him could not be higher - a recently dead father-king, an uncle marrying a recently-widowed mother-queen, and a ghost commanding him to "avenge me." He is betrothed to Ophelia, daughter to Polonius, a court advisor. Hamlet suspects his uncle has killed his father, and then charmed his mother in order to become king. He feigns madness (if you ask me), and casts aside all others in his attempt to get revenge.

Hamlet's relationship with Ophelia is one that particularly always interested me. While pretending to be insane, he pushes her away; he calls her names, shoves her, and makes her incredibly uncomfortable. Then, after an unfortunate accident, he accidentally kills Polonius, her father. Ophelia then goes insane from this, and kills herself out of grief. She lost everything, including herself. Hamlet pushed her away, on purpose; he removed her from his love and affections.

Looking at things from Hamlet's perspective, there were so very many factors that were weighing on him. He had the immense grief of suddenly losing his father, coupled with the frightening and sobering request of the spirit to "avenge me." He had intense anger at his mother for not mourning her husband long enough, and quickly marrying his brother. He had recurring thoughts of suicide, which is where the "To be or not to be? That is the question." speech came from. His childhood friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, were trying to murder him, and his future father-in-law, Polonius, worked for his uncle and was a royal pain in his side. All this swirling around his head, his room, his life, his sleep, his soul.

And then there was Ophelia. The little flower that loved him. The one source of true love and concern in his life. His one opportunity to feel alive again, to feel something again. Hamlet becomes an animal before our eyes, and his one chance to turn back, if you ask me, was in staying with Ophelia. Hamlet slaved over this, until finally deciding he would end his times with her, as it oft made him lose focus on what he felt needed to be done. He called her a whore, screaming "Get thee to a nunnery!" and scared her sick. Polonius was trying to use her with him, and he realized it, and needed to cut her off.

Now, that is remarkable. Standing in the face of all that, Hamlet even turns away romantic love. Not even his heart is worth saving, and he shuts it down. That is where I can begin to relate. I have never lost someone so dear to me so suddenly, and my heart goes out to those who have. I can only speculate on what that must do to your feelings and mind and body. But I do know what it is like to deny someone your affections, despite your inner-workings wanting otherwise. I know what it is like to feel tricked by someone you loved, as Hamlet did with Ophelia, and feeling the wrath associated with it. It makes you a cold, calculating animal. You want to feel nothing, and you want to build a massive wall, so your bleeding stops and you keep any new information from getting in. You say adieu, not bon voyage. Adieu, out of frustration, longing, anger, and sobering clarity.

There is another facet to this I think. It is more a jealous feeling than anything. There are certain people who have a knack, not that much different than the way I have a *knack* for solving problems with electronics, for being in love. They go from one, to another, to another, to another, blowing through people, cherishing every moment, and getting drunk or high from whatever it is that love does to us. You know what I mean; this is not just some girl who finds her flavor-of-the-night when out, or a guy who hooks up all the time. I'm talking about the people who have 7 6-month relationships in a row, dating back to sophomore year in high school, or the ones that always are on the cusp of seeing someone new, because she seems so exotic, wild, or grounded and normal for once. I don't really understand it - is there a love receptor that they are especially biologically attuned to? Do they just get lucky that many times?

I have been in love twice in my life. For two distinct periods, no more than 14 months at a time. I have much to show from those two times, and I cherish them no matter how they worked out or ended. They are times I fall back on when I feel no love, and those people, ironically enough, are still a big part of my life. The love never leaves you, you know?

But what is frustrating is how so many people blow through others like Hamlet's mother. They mourn a relationship for a moment, and jump at the next thing that comes forward. Good for them, right? Way to get back on the horse, eh? Just because I haven't had that good fortune, doesn't mean I should get pissed at those who have, ya know?

Yeah I know, I get it. And I cannot just neatly put someone away and stop feeling. I cannot pour myself into someone new without living out the one before. It fucks me up too much. I doubt myself, my spirits, and who I am as a man before I can ever let someone new in. And I cannot even begin to wrap my mind around the people who can do that with new people. I admire you, and wish I had what you have. I get tastes of love every now and then, and I get all excited and anxious for it to take hold, and then I'm left there as the bus leaves. "Head in my hands, here I am standing in my bare feet / watching you drive away, watching you drive away."

Hamlet has shown me a way that I can deal. I have to turn to ice, to completely shut down. To guard myself ferociously until that hurt goes away. It feels like a caged animal, more a golden retriever, who wants to lick everyone's face, but can't get out of his pen. You say adieu, you must say adieu.

So love is lost on me, and maybe always will. I've yet to meet someone willing to give what I want to give, at the amount I do and expect. I wonder if there is such a person.

And in this very notion, I began to play my guitar in my room, and a song came out. Based on Hamlet, based on me, feeling the depth that comes from a soul speaking, not a mind. It felt GOOD. REALLY GOOD.

I went to bed on Friday feeling numb, but comforted in my new addition to my repertoire.

Saturday was good, with rehearsal, the show, good friends, and getting sick on the way home. We played excellently, and Zuppe came up to play bass with me, which meant so much. I felt respected by him; I felt I was part of the scene here. He's a tough sell, and he was itching to play on stage with me. It was wonderful. Maia Davies was wonderful, all the way from Quebec. I was so sorry I missed her show on Sunday too. But I suspect we will cross paths again soon.

Sunday was golf and relaxation, once I calmed down about playing terribly. But, my spirits were up and it was a nice day to hang out with Vinny and laugh. My friends make my life so beautiful, so wonderful, in their own way.

Wow, this is long. But I can go on and on about Shakespeare, most especially Hamlet. It feels good to articulate that all for myself, and for others it may ring true with as well.

Adieu.