Golf on Sunday
Gets me through Saturday
Taking me through Friday
Guster is my Soundtrack of Life right now
Wake up the past few days to:
"Woke up today to everything grey
And all that I saw just kept goin on and on
Sweep all the pieces under the bed
Close all the curtains and cover my head
And what you wish for won't come true
You aren't surprised love, are you?"
____________________________
Part of following The Way
'The path of moderation'
Is cherishing the grey dawns
The cool breeze
The smell of fresh rain
My spirit ascends
And the music
Speaking in tongues
Raises me
"To tell you the truth, I've said it before
Tomorrow I start in a new direction
I know I've been half-asleep
I'm never doing that again
I look straight at what's coming ahead
and soon its going to change in a new direction
Every night as I'm falling asleep
These words repeating in my head
Voices calling from a yellow road
To come downstairs and say hello
Don't be shy, just say hello"
_______________________
Complacent, content Me
I don't wear that badge well
I want everything I can taste
Whether it be the soft, infinite nature
That are a new pair of women's lips
Or the screams of those
Who understand what I can do with song
I must be forced out into the open
To fight through my astigmatism
into the sun
When I begin to feel pain
Associated with loss
mal-opportunity
Or discontent
At dishonesty
Or Deception
Or when my Anxiety Friend pops by
To say hello recently
I again find solace
In words not my own
Transcending my emotions and state
"So long, so long and on to the next one
Go on and it won't be too soon
You're gone, you're gone, are you waiting for something?
Go on cause I won't be back soon
It's hateful to say, see it this way
Don't even know who you are
But in my defense I'd do it again
I don't need to know who you are
So long, so long, front foot leads the back one
Go on and it won't be too soon
You're lost and gone and on to the next one
Don't need to know who you are "
____________________________
Hamlet to Ophelia: Adieu, Adieu.
Echoing back through a millenia
How oft we say goodbye
Out of necessity
I said goodbye to "Annie" once
I would not help her anymore.
A weekend that will test my limits
And my spirit
Resolve
And ability
Come see my show
And see me play me
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
June 15, 2007
June 14, 2007
And now we pass, and just like glass
Tell the tiny chemicals
The ones you hold responsible
They've lost me
You've lost me
The ones you hold responsible
They've lost me
You've lost me
Tugboat
So, I'm kinda chugging along today. Maria and I got dinner last night, followed by some wonderful desserts in one of downtown Brooklyn's finest eateries, Junior's. Yummmy.
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.
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.
June 12, 2007
The boss is overrated
Talk about being in the right place, at the right time. Just because you write pop music, doesn't mean you're good. And, just because you're successful, does not mean you're good. Call me a class warrior, but I need to verbalize it. Bruce Springsteen is horrible.
First of all, he writes out of pure nostalgia. I say this because he had a choice after his very first record, one that I enjoy, "Thunder Road." His choice was this: make touching, heartfelt, honest songs about suburban life in New Jersey, about love, early adulthood, and a longing to rise above the mediocrity around him. It was sincere, rough, and beautiful.
But then, the 80s happened. And this is a hot point - did the 80s make Bruce the way he is, or did Bruce make Bruce the way he is? Our culture had an indelible shift once the 80s arrived, and people like Bruce were at the helm of hip and cool. Suburbia was finally reached out to as a target market, and as an accepted facet of American life, and so culture, sex, TV, and consumerism (most importantly) poured in in a most uncensored, blatant way. So Bruce Springsteen, with his headbands, ripped jeans, and baggy, torn-off dress shirts, became a sex symbol. He sang songs like "Dancing in the Dark," and if you compare the synthesizers and beats to his first record, the contrast is stark. He brought Courtney Cox on stage, and made himself appear desired by gorgeous woman. In point-of-fact, gorgeous woman indeed desired him, but that's beside the point.
So, Bruce wrote "Born in the USA." Tell me, reader, what is it about? It's not a patriotic song. It tricks you. Look up the lyrics. It laments the Vietnam War, and puts in to question what it means to be American. I don't have a problem with this, but I feel this is one of music's biggest misunderstandings. Bruce never bothered to mention this though, he just pounds his foot on the ground and looks at the crowd like "Yeah! Sing it OUT!" He let Ronald Regan use it as a campaign song until someone realized what it really meant. Some call that cool, some admire Bruce for it. I think he owed us all the respect to stand up for what he meant.
Everything from that point on, from "Dancing in the Dark," is crap. Crap, crap, crap. Tacky, gaudy, cliche, and generic. I think of his songs "Devils and Dust," "The Rising," and so on, and I think of how it's all the same. He tells the story of a young girl, young man, or someone, who is hard on his luck, and can't seem to find his way. Or, he tries to market 9/11 in a way that's neatly packaged and seemingly innocent. It's probably sincere on his part, and I don't think he's a bad person or maybe even a bad guitar player, but enough is enough.
This blog will sting many people around me who love Bruce, but I cannot find that something special in what he does.
For example, he recently has decided to become Bob Dylan. Singing poorly, stripped down, harmonica, tattered clothing, songs about Americana or those forgotten, showing people what a "naked" Bruce sounds like. But please. He is no Dylan. He can't hold a candle to Dylan. This guy is sitting up there, singing and playing, and people immediately think there's something magic going on. Bruce says he's sitting up there singing about the ones society does not reach out to, that he is their champion. Devils and dust? Devils and Dust? Here's the thing about that one little line:
A little trick songwriters do when writing. If you hear a line, something like devils and dust, in passing conversation, you hang onto it. A hook, it is called. Aliteration helps. Now, take that one line, and construct an entire song and meaning around it, so it sounds legit and deep and meaningful. But is it really? Of course not. It's writing from the outside in, instead of the inside out. Hooks arrive in songs, at least for me and those I respect, from the songs themselves. Verses and choruses meld together from a life experience, or from a learned idea, emotion, or concept. Devils and dust, while it sounds deeper, was probably the very first thing Mr. Springsteen had when writing that song. He then had to find a way to (this is a BIG thing here) "APPLY" the meaning to that phrase through the rest of his song. Do you see what I mean? It's fake, it's meant to apply meaning to something that sounds appealing to masses; its not his life or someone else's life or experiences. I could sit here and write songs literally all day if someone kept sending me hooks.
That last bit may be hard to understand if you aren't directly associated to music, but it's crucial to my point. I think this notion makes him phony, the way pop-punk bands are, the way The Eagles are. Think about it, what is "Hotel California" really about? There is no deep meaning. I assure you, the hook, like the proverbial cart, was placed ahead of the meaning, the proverbial horse. Look at a song like "Don't Think Twice, it's Alright" by Bob Dylan. The depth, the real and raw emotion, it's all there, and everyone knows it. No one questions what Dylan writes, because he lives it. The way Johnny Cash does. The way new-folkies like M. Ward, Damien Rice, or Jewel (pre-hip hop, "Pieces of You" phase) - these are the cohorts Springsteen would like to be held in regards with (except probably Jewel, just making a non-gendered case). He cannot hold a candle to Johnny Cash. Couldn't tie his shoes. It's so clear once you listen closely.
Listen to your pop records again, and tell me you don't agree. REMEMBER: Just because you write pop music, doesn't mean you're good. And, just because you're successful, does not mean you're good.
P.S. The Boss? Of who? Not me. And hopefully, not you.
First of all, he writes out of pure nostalgia. I say this because he had a choice after his very first record, one that I enjoy, "Thunder Road." His choice was this: make touching, heartfelt, honest songs about suburban life in New Jersey, about love, early adulthood, and a longing to rise above the mediocrity around him. It was sincere, rough, and beautiful.
But then, the 80s happened. And this is a hot point - did the 80s make Bruce the way he is, or did Bruce make Bruce the way he is? Our culture had an indelible shift once the 80s arrived, and people like Bruce were at the helm of hip and cool. Suburbia was finally reached out to as a target market, and as an accepted facet of American life, and so culture, sex, TV, and consumerism (most importantly) poured in in a most uncensored, blatant way. So Bruce Springsteen, with his headbands, ripped jeans, and baggy, torn-off dress shirts, became a sex symbol. He sang songs like "Dancing in the Dark," and if you compare the synthesizers and beats to his first record, the contrast is stark. He brought Courtney Cox on stage, and made himself appear desired by gorgeous woman. In point-of-fact, gorgeous woman indeed desired him, but that's beside the point.
So, Bruce wrote "Born in the USA." Tell me, reader, what is it about? It's not a patriotic song. It tricks you. Look up the lyrics. It laments the Vietnam War, and puts in to question what it means to be American. I don't have a problem with this, but I feel this is one of music's biggest misunderstandings. Bruce never bothered to mention this though, he just pounds his foot on the ground and looks at the crowd like "Yeah! Sing it OUT!" He let Ronald Regan use it as a campaign song until someone realized what it really meant. Some call that cool, some admire Bruce for it. I think he owed us all the respect to stand up for what he meant.
Everything from that point on, from "Dancing in the Dark," is crap. Crap, crap, crap. Tacky, gaudy, cliche, and generic. I think of his songs "Devils and Dust," "The Rising," and so on, and I think of how it's all the same. He tells the story of a young girl, young man, or someone, who is hard on his luck, and can't seem to find his way. Or, he tries to market 9/11 in a way that's neatly packaged and seemingly innocent. It's probably sincere on his part, and I don't think he's a bad person or maybe even a bad guitar player, but enough is enough.
This blog will sting many people around me who love Bruce, but I cannot find that something special in what he does.
For example, he recently has decided to become Bob Dylan. Singing poorly, stripped down, harmonica, tattered clothing, songs about Americana or those forgotten, showing people what a "naked" Bruce sounds like. But please. He is no Dylan. He can't hold a candle to Dylan. This guy is sitting up there, singing and playing, and people immediately think there's something magic going on. Bruce says he's sitting up there singing about the ones society does not reach out to, that he is their champion. Devils and dust? Devils and Dust? Here's the thing about that one little line:
A little trick songwriters do when writing. If you hear a line, something like devils and dust, in passing conversation, you hang onto it. A hook, it is called. Aliteration helps. Now, take that one line, and construct an entire song and meaning around it, so it sounds legit and deep and meaningful. But is it really? Of course not. It's writing from the outside in, instead of the inside out. Hooks arrive in songs, at least for me and those I respect, from the songs themselves. Verses and choruses meld together from a life experience, or from a learned idea, emotion, or concept. Devils and dust, while it sounds deeper, was probably the very first thing Mr. Springsteen had when writing that song. He then had to find a way to (this is a BIG thing here) "APPLY" the meaning to that phrase through the rest of his song. Do you see what I mean? It's fake, it's meant to apply meaning to something that sounds appealing to masses; its not his life or someone else's life or experiences. I could sit here and write songs literally all day if someone kept sending me hooks.
That last bit may be hard to understand if you aren't directly associated to music, but it's crucial to my point. I think this notion makes him phony, the way pop-punk bands are, the way The Eagles are. Think about it, what is "Hotel California" really about? There is no deep meaning. I assure you, the hook, like the proverbial cart, was placed ahead of the meaning, the proverbial horse. Look at a song like "Don't Think Twice, it's Alright" by Bob Dylan. The depth, the real and raw emotion, it's all there, and everyone knows it. No one questions what Dylan writes, because he lives it. The way Johnny Cash does. The way new-folkies like M. Ward, Damien Rice, or Jewel (pre-hip hop, "Pieces of You" phase) - these are the cohorts Springsteen would like to be held in regards with (except probably Jewel, just making a non-gendered case). He cannot hold a candle to Johnny Cash. Couldn't tie his shoes. It's so clear once you listen closely.
Listen to your pop records again, and tell me you don't agree. REMEMBER: Just because you write pop music, doesn't mean you're good. And, just because you're successful, does not mean you're good.
P.S. The Boss? Of who? Not me. And hopefully, not you.
June 11, 2007
Route 17 -> Rt.86 -> Rt. 395 -> Rt. 81
A long, long road
Alone
Seeing the stars that Times Square tried
To bring to the Earth
But best kept up there
I lay in the back seat
After leaving myself up on a stage
Swelled up with emotion
And for once, not reaching for my cell phone
Complete, more like it.
I feel a part of me dying off
A wing, a familiar me
being lowered in the ground
I've grown this part
Watered it
Tilled its soil
And now, I see it wilted
Not enough sun
I will lament this part
For a few more short weeks
And kindly break it off
Bid it adieu
And begin to grow something new
Honey, you're not supposed to get off this easy
And most other nights
With the Big Sky
And the Little Dipper in plain view
I lamented you
I cried for you
I desired you above all
My eyes burning
A familiar phase
Means I spent too long awake
This time it was lack of sleep
Lack of oxygen
Breathe
Lack of night
That I needed to dip into tomorrow
To get home
I do not lament you anymore
I do not lament you
I do not lament
I do not
I do
I
Left with I
I tend the garden
Planting seeds
Mending
Where the afternoon Sun shines
Singing my Dirge
"If you get struck by lightening
Can you rise from the dead?
Is that great strike of lightening
Where the rising begins?"
Alone
Seeing the stars that Times Square tried
To bring to the Earth
But best kept up there
I lay in the back seat
After leaving myself up on a stage
Swelled up with emotion
And for once, not reaching for my cell phone
Complete, more like it.
I feel a part of me dying off
A wing, a familiar me
being lowered in the ground
I've grown this part
Watered it
Tilled its soil
And now, I see it wilted
Not enough sun
I will lament this part
For a few more short weeks
And kindly break it off
Bid it adieu
And begin to grow something new
Honey, you're not supposed to get off this easy
And most other nights
With the Big Sky
And the Little Dipper in plain view
I lamented you
I cried for you
I desired you above all
My eyes burning
A familiar phase
Means I spent too long awake
This time it was lack of sleep
Lack of oxygen
Breathe
Lack of night
That I needed to dip into tomorrow
To get home
I do not lament you anymore
I do not lament you
I do not lament
I do not
I do
I
Left with I
I tend the garden
Planting seeds
Mending
Where the afternoon Sun shines
Singing my Dirge
"If you get struck by lightening
Can you rise from the dead?
Is that great strike of lightening
Where the rising begins?"
June 7, 2007
Zen Guitar
I found a book today
Zen guitar
at work
Amongst all the journals
Very odd to find such a thing
amidst "Journal of Laparoscopic Surgery"
It is written to teach people Zen
through playing guitar
The cover is a beautiful back and grey
With a parch of red
"Zen guitar is nothing more
than playing the song
we're all born with -
the song that makes us human.
Any one of us can do it.
The music is waiting there to be unlocked."
I open the cover, and there is a paper inserted into it
A pamphlet from a memorial
It says "A Celebration of Phil Sudo's Life"
June 22, 2002
Mr. Sudo died of cancer, I infer
And he wrote this book, I found
in 1997
To teach others
A hip, new path to Zen
To that force that governs the universe
Mr. Sudo,
You died about 6 years ago, with what seems to be a multitude of love.
I am going to read your book.
I am ready am moved to tears when I think of how you must have lived.
Through your death, your book ended up on my desk
And while everyone else laughed and said "Zen Guitar!? What!?"
I opened your book
And found the insert from your family
Where they honored you
Where they cherished you
In community
Shared stories, movies, anecdotes
And ultimately
Gave your book to those in attendance.
Thank you, Phil. I can already see how beautiful a man you were
And still are.
"One Memory"
music and lyrics by Philip Toshido Sudo
Read me stories as I go to bed
Put a simple vision in my head
Take me far away and hold on tight
Listen carefully as I confide
Orange, yellow, red and lemonade
Sound of drums and trumpets in parade
You're my one memory
What I clung to when I'm lost at sea
No confusion finally
You're my one memory
Take me back to sunshine in the park
Whisper that you love me in the dark
Put your arms around me as I dream
Wake me from the nightmare when I scream
Orange, yellow, red and broken wings
Sound of grounded angels as they sing
You're my one memory
What I clung to when I'm lost at sea
No confusion finally
You're my one memory
Run your tender fingers through my hair
Let me go with you from here to there
Though my future doesn't look too bright
Keep tomrorow far away tonight
You're my one memory
What I clung to when I'm lost at sea
No confusion finally
You're my one memory
I'm lost at sea...
One Memory
Zen guitar
at work
Amongst all the journals
Very odd to find such a thing
amidst "Journal of Laparoscopic Surgery"
It is written to teach people Zen
through playing guitar
The cover is a beautiful back and grey
With a parch of red
"Zen guitar is nothing more
than playing the song
we're all born with -
the song that makes us human.
Any one of us can do it.
The music is waiting there to be unlocked."
I open the cover, and there is a paper inserted into it
A pamphlet from a memorial
It says "A Celebration of Phil Sudo's Life"
June 22, 2002
Mr. Sudo died of cancer, I infer
And he wrote this book, I found
in 1997
To teach others
A hip, new path to Zen
To that force that governs the universe
Mr. Sudo,
You died about 6 years ago, with what seems to be a multitude of love.
I am going to read your book.
I am ready am moved to tears when I think of how you must have lived.
Through your death, your book ended up on my desk
And while everyone else laughed and said "Zen Guitar!? What!?"
I opened your book
And found the insert from your family
Where they honored you
Where they cherished you
In community
Shared stories, movies, anecdotes
And ultimately
Gave your book to those in attendance.
Thank you, Phil. I can already see how beautiful a man you were
And still are.
"One Memory"
music and lyrics by Philip Toshido Sudo
Read me stories as I go to bed
Put a simple vision in my head
Take me far away and hold on tight
Listen carefully as I confide
Orange, yellow, red and lemonade
Sound of drums and trumpets in parade
You're my one memory
What I clung to when I'm lost at sea
No confusion finally
You're my one memory
Take me back to sunshine in the park
Whisper that you love me in the dark
Put your arms around me as I dream
Wake me from the nightmare when I scream
Orange, yellow, red and broken wings
Sound of grounded angels as they sing
You're my one memory
What I clung to when I'm lost at sea
No confusion finally
You're my one memory
Run your tender fingers through my hair
Let me go with you from here to there
Though my future doesn't look too bright
Keep tomrorow far away tonight
You're my one memory
What I clung to when I'm lost at sea
No confusion finally
You're my one memory
I'm lost at sea...
One Memory
Memorare of St. Bernard
Brandon is here.
I can feel that he will be moving to New York City
For The Dream
I am here.
I can feel sometimes, sometimes I am numb
For my Dream
God is here
I can feel him in the form of cold metal and rope, placed on my neck
For my heart
"Remember oh most gratious Virgin Mary
That never was it known
That anyone who fled to your protection,
Implored your help,
Or sought your intercession
Was left unaided.
Inspired by this sacrifice
I turn to you
O Virgin of virgins, My mother
To you I come, before you I stand,
Sinful and sorrowful.
Oh, Mother of the Word Incarnate
Despise not my petitions
But in your mercy
Hear and answer me.
Amen."
I haven't prayed as hard in months.
Answer me.
More importantly, listen to me.
Send me people to gather 'round me.
Lift me on high,
And do not forsake me.
Mold me into something
I can be proud of
I have only become more hardened
More tense
More consumed
Less likely to believe
I am but clay
For You to form into a man
Protect Me
Now and Always
Because I know I cannot
Protect Myself
Stay near my heart
Stay between my skin and my shirt
Stay cold
Stay Rope
Stay Metal
And radiate to my chest
Radiate to my soul
Keep me Healthy
I command You
Love me
I Forcefully command You
Please, please Love me
Oh, Lord hear my prayer
When I call, Answer me.
I can feel that he will be moving to New York City
For The Dream
I am here.
I can feel sometimes, sometimes I am numb
For my Dream
God is here
I can feel him in the form of cold metal and rope, placed on my neck
For my heart
"Remember oh most gratious Virgin Mary
That never was it known
That anyone who fled to your protection,
Implored your help,
Or sought your intercession
Was left unaided.
Inspired by this sacrifice
I turn to you
O Virgin of virgins, My mother
To you I come, before you I stand,
Sinful and sorrowful.
Oh, Mother of the Word Incarnate
Despise not my petitions
But in your mercy
Hear and answer me.
Amen."
I haven't prayed as hard in months.
Answer me.
More importantly, listen to me.
Send me people to gather 'round me.
Lift me on high,
And do not forsake me.
Mold me into something
I can be proud of
I have only become more hardened
More tense
More consumed
Less likely to believe
I am but clay
For You to form into a man
Protect Me
Now and Always
Because I know I cannot
Protect Myself
Stay near my heart
Stay between my skin and my shirt
Stay cold
Stay Rope
Stay Metal
And radiate to my chest
Radiate to my soul
Keep me Healthy
I command You
Love me
I Forcefully command You
Please, please Love me
Oh, Lord hear my prayer
When I call, Answer me.
June 4, 2007
There's a band in me playing all these songs that remind me of you
"When two souls meet ....
"Half of the world forgets...
"When two souls meet...
"All of the traffic lights...
"And when you stand right...
"That you don't care if...
"Oh when two souls meet...
"You better be there...."
One chorus, unable to *not* be sung, and a trip to New England is worth the price of admission. You who aren't me and reading this do not get to have the other half of the words or the melody yet. I wouldn't want to grab your mind until you hear it in its entirety. But when you do hear it for the first time, then I won't care if you can't stop singing it. It is what it is. Perhaps my opus? Perhaps I'm Mr. Holland?
What a lovely experience Providence was. The train ride rode through the rough-and-tumble industrial stretches of Connecticut, and I knew it would. Rusty, more like it. Every 15 minutes or so, we'd enter some mid-level metropolis, like Stamford, with office buildings set in front of the horizon, the way a city like Binghampton or something small tries to 'pretend' it has skyscrapers. "Real" big cities cover up the horizon.
We exit the cities, and started traversing along the coast of Long Island Sound /Atlantic Ocean. Small fishing villages appeared, which probably do not contain fisherman anymore. Instead, snooty New Yorkers drive 4 hours each way to "get away" from whatever it is we New Yorkers get away from, to spend two days in a newly refurbished rustic mansion. I say that out of total jealousy, because the scenes were breath-taking, the homes beautiful, and the smell of the salt in the air from the ocean, intoxicating. New England, with its tremendous hype from those I know, really is something to cherish. It was above and beyond my favorite train ride ever, not just because of the scenery, but also because it was only 3.5 hours. A movie, a book, some dinner, and I'm there.
My first minute in Providence was very much like my first minute in other cities I loved. There is something great that hits you *BAM* when you step out into cities I love, and puts everything else into a wonderful perspective. In Pittsburgh, it was the way the river and cascade hit you coming up from the tunnel in West Virginia; in New York, it was stepping out of Penn Station to see activity not unlike an ant colony, frenzy at its peak; in Ediburgh, Scotland, it was the sight of the ever-looming castle that immediately drew your eyes to the one watching you from above. In Providence, it was the Rhode Island Statehouse.
What a beautiful building, made entirely of marble, rivaling and I think surpassing our Capital in Washington. Surrounded by trees, which act almost like a natural security force, it's actually quite hard to get a good glimpse of the entire establishment from where I first saw it. I was lucky to get a wonderful glance on my ride back to the train station, and that will forever be engrained in my memory. Providence is steeped in history, ancient history by our American standards, and I felt amongst some old souls when I started walking around.
My time at the coffeehouse was wonderful and parts sad, in that it was so short. Tony, the owner of Brooklyn Coffee and Tea House www.brooklyncoffeeteahouse.com was so wonderful, so accomodating, and even offered to put me up for the night. There's so much I want to say about my experience there, but I think I will devote an entire post to my short time there.
Anyways, my set went great, I snuck a song in that no one really knew, and I was on my way home before I knew it. The trip was wonderful, beautiful, soothing, therapeudic, and ultimately a great success. If for nothing more than my finishing that damn chorus, something I am excited to stand up and proclaim to people, to the masses.
I went golfing in the driving rain yesterday with two other wet warriors. We fared well, and walked miles and miles doing something we love. I felt like a million bucks when I got home, it was so rewarding and fun. Sunday ritual for sure.
Found my Kairos cross. Been wearing it since. Kairos = in Greek, "God's time." I constantly touch it under my shirt now, I think to remind me that its actually there, and to make sure I didn't lose it. It's been through hell and back, and still lives on. I don't know if I can take it off again.
"Half of the world forgets...
"When two souls meet...
"All of the traffic lights...
"And when you stand right...
"That you don't care if...
"Oh when two souls meet...
"You better be there...."
One chorus, unable to *not* be sung, and a trip to New England is worth the price of admission. You who aren't me and reading this do not get to have the other half of the words or the melody yet. I wouldn't want to grab your mind until you hear it in its entirety. But when you do hear it for the first time, then I won't care if you can't stop singing it. It is what it is. Perhaps my opus? Perhaps I'm Mr. Holland?
What a lovely experience Providence was. The train ride rode through the rough-and-tumble industrial stretches of Connecticut, and I knew it would. Rusty, more like it. Every 15 minutes or so, we'd enter some mid-level metropolis, like Stamford, with office buildings set in front of the horizon, the way a city like Binghampton or something small tries to 'pretend' it has skyscrapers. "Real" big cities cover up the horizon.
We exit the cities, and started traversing along the coast of Long Island Sound /Atlantic Ocean. Small fishing villages appeared, which probably do not contain fisherman anymore. Instead, snooty New Yorkers drive 4 hours each way to "get away" from whatever it is we New Yorkers get away from, to spend two days in a newly refurbished rustic mansion. I say that out of total jealousy, because the scenes were breath-taking, the homes beautiful, and the smell of the salt in the air from the ocean, intoxicating. New England, with its tremendous hype from those I know, really is something to cherish. It was above and beyond my favorite train ride ever, not just because of the scenery, but also because it was only 3.5 hours. A movie, a book, some dinner, and I'm there.
My first minute in Providence was very much like my first minute in other cities I loved. There is something great that hits you *BAM* when you step out into cities I love, and puts everything else into a wonderful perspective. In Pittsburgh, it was the way the river and cascade hit you coming up from the tunnel in West Virginia; in New York, it was stepping out of Penn Station to see activity not unlike an ant colony, frenzy at its peak; in Ediburgh, Scotland, it was the sight of the ever-looming castle that immediately drew your eyes to the one watching you from above. In Providence, it was the Rhode Island Statehouse.
What a beautiful building, made entirely of marble, rivaling and I think surpassing our Capital in Washington. Surrounded by trees, which act almost like a natural security force, it's actually quite hard to get a good glimpse of the entire establishment from where I first saw it. I was lucky to get a wonderful glance on my ride back to the train station, and that will forever be engrained in my memory. Providence is steeped in history, ancient history by our American standards, and I felt amongst some old souls when I started walking around.
My time at the coffeehouse was wonderful and parts sad, in that it was so short. Tony, the owner of Brooklyn Coffee and Tea House www.brooklyncoffeeteahouse.com was so wonderful, so accomodating, and even offered to put me up for the night. There's so much I want to say about my experience there, but I think I will devote an entire post to my short time there.
Anyways, my set went great, I snuck a song in that no one really knew, and I was on my way home before I knew it. The trip was wonderful, beautiful, soothing, therapeudic, and ultimately a great success. If for nothing more than my finishing that damn chorus, something I am excited to stand up and proclaim to people, to the masses.
I went golfing in the driving rain yesterday with two other wet warriors. We fared well, and walked miles and miles doing something we love. I felt like a million bucks when I got home, it was so rewarding and fun. Sunday ritual for sure.
Found my Kairos cross. Been wearing it since. Kairos = in Greek, "God's time." I constantly touch it under my shirt now, I think to remind me that its actually there, and to make sure I didn't lose it. It's been through hell and back, and still lives on. I don't know if I can take it off again.
June 3, 2007
My Away Message 06/03/07
ASCAP inc: the devil wears prada
EverythingTABOOO: nacho libre
ASCAP inc: legally blonde 2
EverythingTABOOO: the fluffer
ASCAP inc: mean girls
EverythingTABOOO: the village
ASCAP inc: stomp the yard
EverythingTABOOO: finding nemo
ASCAP inc: coach carter
EverythingTABOOO: stuck on you
ASCAP inc: weeds: season 2
EverythingTABOOO: team america
ASCAP inc: hannibal: rising
EverythingTABOOO: fat actress
ASCAP inc: dude, where's my car?
EverythingTABOOO: cum fiesta
ASCAP inc: bring it on
EverythingTABOOO: in the bedroom
ASCAP inc: snakes on a plane
EverythingTABOOO: freedomland
ASCAP inc: gigli
EverythingTABOOO: bowling for columbine
ASCAP inc: an inconvenient truth
EverythingTABOOO: a league of their won
ASCAP inc: romy and michelle's high school reunion
EverythingTABOOO: lost in translation
ASCAP inc: shrek
EverythingTABOOO: chocolat
ASCAP inc: to wong foo: thanks for everything! -julie newmar
EverythingTABOOO: chitty chitty bang bang
ASCAP inc: die hard: with a vengence
EverythingTABOOO: liza with a z
ASCAP inc: never been kissed
EverythingTABOOO: 10 things i hate about you
ASCAP inc: die another day
EverythingTABOOO: mrs. doubtfire
ASCAP inc: the talented mr. ripley
EverythingTABOOO: the stepford wives
EverythingTABOOO: goodnight
ASCAP inc: goodnight, and good luck
EverythingTABOOO: tomorrow never dies
ASCAP inc: the butcher's wife
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