RE-POST: Kings will Kill Kings, and Marry their Queens

Needed to re-post this, as it really highlights some things about me now. Enjoy.

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.

Operation: Hurry Up and Worry

An update.

Most crises in my life are always an internal "ordeal." By ordeal, I mean that there is some kind of repeatable narrative that involves a few periods, with a similarly-themed outcome each time. The first period: the Underestimation, the next: the Realization (aka Bitching), the third: the Revelation, and fourth: the Rescue. By the end of the cycle, I feel older (not in a good way), a little bit wiser, and a lot of bit of exhaustion. The current ordeal has to do with the past three weeks of my life involved as Juror #9 for a felony robbery case in Brooklyn Supreme Court.

So, let's call this ordeal Operation: Hurry Up and Worry.

The Underestimation

I set out to Jury Duty fully anticipating that I would be going there for the day, and return to work the following day. The break would be tremendous from work, and I could just take a load off, learn a bit about the court system, and come home to a good night's sleep.

Well, I was chosen, first time around, first moment ever inside a courtroom, to be a Juror. For a trial. That hopefully concludes this coming Monday. That was over 3 weeks ago. I again thought I would not be there for very long - they do settle all the time outside of court - and that it would be a relaxing break from work. The hours were later in the morning, so that meant more sleep, and it was in Brooklyn, so that meant shorter commute.

The Realization (aka The Bitching)

The first day I am there for trial proceedings, my work Inbox is flooded with messages from my boss indicating that my area of work at the hospital was in serious need of attention. Due to the trial schedule, I would be able to work 2 days a week, as court was not in session then. This is where the realization set in. This whole Jury Duty thing is the worst. I can't stand the other people on the jury, I don't have internet access up in the Jury Room, and the case is so boring and tedious and drawn out that I could scream. My job, it now appeared, was taking a major, major hit by my not being there, and I know I would catch hell for the duration of the Jury Duty.

Two things: first, I was not reprimanded because I was on Jury Duty, but rather, because my system in the office, when I'm not there, is simply not possible. I had never been away for this long before, and it caused incredible angst. Angst over whether I might actually be fired for not having a better system in place.

One day, in the office, fighting back a nauseating panic attack over my fate at work, I approached my boss, with tears in my eyes, and asked if something was going to happen to me. I explained my issues with anxiety, and that I would not be able to eat or sleep if I was not sure of my fate. I was, as you could imagine, exceedingly over-reacting. I was told I could work overtime and weekends to make progress in my area, which I did, and spent the next weekend in the office.

I then began to reach out to those around me to complain about how badly I had it, and how I wished it would be over. My friends are always supportive and loving, and they also know I do not complain unless I'm truly in a tough spot.

So this circle of negativity and anxiety would swirl and swirl, and the next thing I do is to add my work email to my blackberry phone. So now my anxiety-inducing stimulus is so readily accessible that it resides in my hand. This seemed to be the best thing to do, taking all the nerves into account. Knowing and churning about something was better than not knowing and churning about not knowing, I thought. Right?

the Revelation

Last week I was writing my dear friend Ann just a quiet update about my life, laden with complaints and laments and uncertainty. And then, Paul Simon's song "Still Crazy After All These Years" came on my headphones. And suddenly, I began to think about my family, my Mother and Father, my Grandpa; all the history and countless hours spent on this Earth before me. And the countless ones to follow. How ungrateful I am, and how quick I am to choose negativity in my life. A job is not something to abscond, surely, and when one feels like your livelihood is being taken away, it is natural to feel anxious, but this was extreme. It was irrational and unfounded. It was silly.

The music made me do a self-status check. Family? Check. My parents and sisters are wonderful people, inside and out. They speak honestly, and they laugh even more honestly. Friends? Check. They listen, they comment, they try to help, and sometimes they even take a lump or two on the chin at their own expense so I might feel better. Priorities? Hmm, this is where the focus needs to shift. What's important, really? And what's worth getting nervous about to the point that you hungrily stare at lunch and not dare eat a thing?

So, I start writing to Ann about my Grandpa, a man that forever holds a very serious and important space in my life. I tell her a story about a life lesson I learned from him, and how I've constantly went against it despite having learned it so young. And then I pledge to be better, I see how much I have, and I feel the pit in my stomach go away. Consequently, things at my job start to go light years better, and I feel missed instead of looked down upon. Almost out of it.

the Relief

I debated about meeting up with Maggie, who was in town for her birthday, because I had something else I said I would attend around the same time. Maggie politely insisted we meet for drinks, and I got into a cab so that I would get there sooner from Brooklyn. The weather was horrible, I've been having such a horrible time of it lately, and traffic was absurd. Would have gotten there faster if I took the train.

I arrive, and see her to my left with a glass of red wine. She jumps out of her seat, and her hair bobs up and down like only Maggie's curls can. She pulls me in for a hug and a kiss, and its one of the tightest hugs I've received in probably a year. I take a big, long, deep breath, and go order a drink.

Turns out, she's going through similar trying times from her job. She almost didn't make the trip, but is glad she did. I feel like we speak on another plane, two people that know something everyone else does not. That we'd never tell what it was, either, not for anything. I buy her a shot of whiskey for her birthday, not knowing it was her Father's drink of choice (a man I look up to, respect, and am fully intimidated by, in the nicest way imaginable).

"Happy Birthday, Miss Maggie."

She asks me to visit Buffalo again, to take time and just exist. To do ordinary things with her, to not chase some idea or dream for once. It sounds perfect. She asks me if I finished her song, and I told her it would need time; "do you want it good, or do you want it done? I want both."

And there is my relief. A woman I just adore for who she is, the choices she makes, the way she lives, and the company she keeps. God swooped in, and removed the cast iron weights off my shoulders. I texted her later that she was supposed to come to New York, "to make everyone else happy."

New Song

A new song I'm writing, seemingly about nothing:

"Caroline the Queen"

I woke up spilling out
Into a chilly day, without much sense
I take all of my best-laid plans
And still feel like a mouse inside a man

I come through
The longest line to see you

Caroline
I hang on every word you say
Caroline
You are the Queen of my Cafe
You are the Dream inside my Day

You've got a certain way
Of transforming the words that leave your lips
Into full-blown liquid gold
That Strangers take with them in sips

I can't make due
With the other girls who replace you

Caroline
I hang on every word you say
Caroline
You are the Queen of my Cafe
You are the Dream inside my Day

Cuz lately mornings take hours
and Days take weeks
But it calms my head just to hear you speak
My drink order to me

(Solo)

Caroline
I hang on every word you say
Caroline
You are the Queen of my Cafe
You are the Dream inside my Day

And when I wake
It's you I see
And I will take
A piece of you with me

Completely Moved

"John,

Thanks so much for getting back to me. I have been talking with my student about contacting you and apparently my school email was putting your messages in a spam folder. Regardless, glad we are in contact now.

I use the song ["Ophelia"] every year when we act out Hamlet in class. I play the song at the beginning of the unit and the kids usually say something like, "That's a pretty song," and don't quite get the meaning behind it. Then, after the play, I play the song again and they give a collective, "OHHHH" and appreciate the song so much more. We then talk about everyone's hermeneutic and explain that our perceptions of things are determined by the lens through which we view the universe. Specifically with reference to your song, we say that one reason "smart English people" are "smart" is that they know Shakespeare and the universality of the author facilitates their connections to so many other texts.

After doing this lesson for two years and having about 200 students listen to the song, I can say confidently that about 95% of 16 year olds in Michigan love the song. The other 5% probably won't like anything that a teacher gives them. :) I will be sure to share the motivation of your junior HS English class with classes in the future.

I found your music from listening to Acoustic Long Island. I love that podcast. My wife listens to it once in awhile and she does not have a very large appreciation of music of different genres, much unlike her husband. However, when we go on trips, she always says, "Play that one Ophelia song."

Do you ever play in the greater Detroit area? Have any other teachers contacted you about using your music in class?

Thanks again for the contact.

Aric"

REPOST: "Tugboat"

I found this post way down near the middle of my blog, and it is as if another person had written it. I was so in touch with myself and my thoughts then, it's amazing to read it new and re-apply.

"So, I'm kinda chugging along today. I went to bed super early, like 9:30, and I woke up so refreshed today. I think I'm starting to find a sleep rhythm for once. Been following the Zen Guitar book I was given, and it's shed light on many things in my life. Self-deprivation gets us nowhere, and will only feed us to follow a different path than The Way. We must take all things in moderation, accepting their risks, enjoying their benefits, and possess the wisdom to put them down, walk away from them, or turn them off.

Tonight is going to be boring, but wonderful. Pay day has arrived, that means another two days of me saying "don't blow it all this weekend! SAVE SAVE SAVE!" and then Monday comes and I think "what the fuck was I thinking? Did you need all that shit?" lol I make myself laugh. It's like a married couple makes up the duality of my psyche. They truly love each other, but man can they fight. When they're unified and pissed off, look out. I think that's why my temper is so intense, my potential to scorn so drastic. They're never afraid to talk to each other though, and I think that's the beauty of wisdom. Constant colaboration with the soul. Forever adjusting, observing, discussing, thinking, feeling, and finally doing.

Tomorrow I'll be seeing some bands, and then having people over the house to party. I've missed people over our place. It has become such a place of comfort, a caccoon out in the middle of South Brooklyn, a beautiful, thriving, peaceful, spacious home. "The Big Brrrrr" doesn't hurt, either (my room with chilling AC). Saturday is yet another show at Wicked Willy's, with Maia Davies playing from 7-8pm, followed by a set of original music by me from 8-9pm, and then our standard set of fun music from 9-12. I love that I sing so much now, that I play guitar so much now. That it's forced in my hands out of necessity and love blended together. It keeps me honest, it keeps me grounded and forever feeling like a student.

If you're reading this, I miss you. I've not seen so many people in so long, and you all mean so much to me. Meghan told me I make people feel like they're the most important person in the world when I talk to them, but to me, they are. I live in the moment, a nanosecond behind the present on the space/time continuum. The words and feelings and sensations that accompany those I love are things I try to snatch up and cherish, and forever will be that way. It makes me so observant and aware. It makes me feel real things and emotions. The prospect of seeing Eric, Maria, and Jessica next weekend makes me jump. Not to mention my family.

Don't ever be satisfied. Ever. Don't let yourself do that. And don't ever think that you are not worthy of whatever it is you want. It will be drawn towards you once you take ownership of it. And please continue to laugh, it's what gets us by. It's what makes me crave tomorrows."

Mighty Wind

I arose this morning completely amazed at the beauty of friendship.

And in essence, the beauty of it all.

Had my friend watch "Unmistaken Child" last night, the documentary on the search for the reincarnation of a Tibetan Buddhist Master by his closest disciple, and it reminded me that there is so much beauty and incredible things I know nothing about.

So many valleys filled with people, so many people praying for the fate of this world, and so much wind pushing air around. A Mighty Wind, "blowing piece and freedom, blowing equality" as they say.

Constructive problem solving, which to me separates real friends from acquaintances, is such a beautiful thing.

"I have a problem, but I want us to arrive at a better place by working through it."

"Me too."

And so two people discuss their differences in opinions, the things they take issue with, and the entire time, in the back of your mind, is the understanding that this foundation is much, much too deep to cause this to come crashing down. It makes tones calm, words are thought about before being said, and honesty is spoken that might not otherwise be spoken.

At the end, they follow up with some sort of "I'm glad, and you're still important to me, and will be."

And WHOOOOSH, the anxiety vanishes. Like a gust of wind. For good. And besides the onset of exhaustion, I march forward down the street and through my Day into an evening of relaxation, music, and laughter.

I wake up refreshed, and eager to leave my home and come on here and write for whomever reads, and myself.

I wake up and am actually comforted by the realization that I will never see so much of what this world offers, even in my own neighborhood, my city, and my country. I am comforted in knowing that those bits I don't see will thrive like the ones I do see. The System, God, the Essense, runs deeper than my own senses, and runs everywhere.

To be here is to be everywhere. I'm comforted by that.

Anxious Nervous Nelly

My bouts with anxiety have been legendary lately.

I missed work on account of one bout.

There are sources of it the anxiety, too; faces and events I can point to for why I'm anxious, which I guess is better than having it just generalized.

When I'm anxious, as I am right now, my knee bops up and down at a furious rate. When I notice it, shift, and go back to typing, the other one starts to bop. I cannot bear to keep the nervous energy inside.

More than anything, being anxious is completely exhausting. Utterly exhausting. The kind where I get all the nervous energy out, and the thought of walking home from the train is just insurmountable. Might as well be 100 flights of stairs.

But before all that, is the onset. It typically involves my heart racing, inability to focus, and inability to sit still. My stomach churns and churns and churns, and I can't stop focusing on what is making me anxious. I want to make it right or discuss it with the relevant party immediately.

I've just yawned. There you go. It's 2:29pm and I'm yawning. I just had a soda, too, so you think I'd be caffeinated. My point is I HATE BEING ANXIOUS.

I also don't know how to act accordingly when I'm this way. I feel any sort-of God-given wisdom is out the window, and I'm literally feeling like "hummin-a-hummin-a-hummin-a" when it comes to facing problems.

But really, what am I afraid of? It's all irrational stuff stemming from wanting to be accepted and successful. About maintaining any and all relationships, and taking care of everyone. It drives me completely nuts.

"I throw my fear around". Wise words, Mr. Mayer.

Cracking knuckles

I'm just a shorter version of my brain.

A stockier, less tall, less attractive version of my brain.

My brain is taller, just as charming, and more alert.

Our bodies, being the instrument by which we live, are wretched things. All those joints, muscles, hairs, the rolling and rolling.

I need but my eyes, ears, vocal chords and mouth. I don't even give a damn about my nose.

My body throws mud on my brain's windshield, making it rest, making it rub the little small hard things out of my tear ducts in the morning.

All the sneezing, illness, yawning, blinking, blinking, breathing.

My brain exists inside this otherwise miserable apparatus, guiding it around in a dangerous and unknown environment, constantly taking care of it and pandering to its every need.

The only joy I derive directly from my body is the way my fingers are guided into making sounds on a fretboard. The way music comes from my hands.

Otherwise, it's constantly being reminded of slight discomfort from my keys not sitting well in my pocket, or an itch on my arm, or a stuffy nose.

Most of my day is spent reacting to feedback about how my body wants me to slightly change position, scratch something, eat something, or rest.

In fact, I think part of growing up is learning to have almost no reaction to the dull aches and pains of everyday living and moving. We learn to numb our brains to the small nuisances. We experience pain and discomfort so regularly that we turn it off. Our brains turn it off.

Ever been sick? Of course. Notice how sensitive you feel to every discomfort? How your back tingles and you can feel the very shirt on your back? That's what we could be feeling everyday, but it is learned to suppress all that excess information.

"yes, but love your body!"

Umm, no. Not today. I wish I could find a zipper in the back of my body, and let the "brain" me walk around a bit. No more shifting, creaky knees, itchy arm, yawning, achy feet, or cracking of knuckles. And, no need to slow down to sleep, or pine for sleep while trying to get something done.

I am a short version of my brain. A short, short version.

Coolest email ever.

Just about made my week...

"Hello, my name is Kevin and my English teacher played your song
"Ophelia" for the class last year. I really enjoyed it and I've been
trying to get it somehow (legally because I don't want to cheat you
out of money and I understand that you are not a very famous person...
yet ha) because i want to share it with some of my friends who are not
in the English class I had. I don't have much money to spare, I was
wondering if I could work something out as maybe a cheaper donation
for just the one song. Please email me back whenever you have the
time. Thank you.
-Kevin"

"Kevin,

No need to pay. Here you go. Hope you enjoy it, man. Who is your English teacher? I'd like to give him/her a thank you. I think it's really great he/she used my music when talking about Hamlet!

Best,
John"

Wow - full circle! My song, stemming from HS English, now used to teach it! What a wonderful honor!

Lessons

Lessons learned this past few weeks:

Live well and with respect for your body and your principles.

Family is paramount, the most important thing we can actually hold in our hands.

An idea that does not come to life will oft kick down the door to three more ideas.

My life is protected by grace, but is not immune to failure.

I love my friends, wholeheartedly, and their support moves me to do great things.

Business is nothing more than a showcase of who is working harder than who.

When you will it in your mind, take ownership of it, and live as if it were, it is.

I would rather not be able to see than not be able to hear. That was a very tough decision.