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.

Sinewy Sensation

I took a piping hot shower today.
It was so amazing.
Made my neck and hands almost feel numb with relaxation.
Amazing what my body longs for
And what my mind longs for
My body - particularly my legs
Would love nothing more than lay
In my oh-so-comfortable bed
Until it just isn't that comfortable
I feel the chilly cover,
With an air conditioned fan blowing on it
And it makes the sticky, stuffy, balmy air
In my hallways, kitchen, and bathroom
Seem that much more oppressive.
Yet, with a 4-inch barrier of brick and concrete
My room stays dark, cool, and perfect.
When I lay down, I feel my legs sigh in relief
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
My calves relax
My calused feet flip upwards
And my head feels heavy.
I use one of the two mental devices I employ
To fall asleep.

The first, I am on a golf course
Cazenovia in South Buffalo, almost always
And there is no one ahead of us, or behind us.
And I stand on the first tee
Leaning on a driver
And I picture the perfect shot I am about to hit.
(Picture-in-picture, because I am trying to dream.)
I address the ball
Sitting atop a beaten up white tee
And have my white Wilson glove on
And my old Lancer driver.
I'm wearing Khakis and a baby blue polo.
I then I rear back
And let all my might go into the white ball
BOOM
As I recoil, I feel the rush that comes
When releasing that much energy
And the sinew in my shoulders
It stretches, aches, and tingles
All at once.
I had been holding my breath
And so I almost gasp out
And immediately hear my heart catch up.
My knuckles feel like rusty hinges
From gripping the club so tightly.
And then I raise my head skyward
Trying not to miss a minute
And there, as if by cannon,
Goes my little white ball,
Straight as straight can be
Perfectly lost in the twilight sun.
I watch the entire shot frozen
Loosening my grip ever so slightly,
And then begin the leisurely walk to hit my approach.
(I then fall asleep.)

Second, I am standing on a pitcher's mound
I am almost always about 15 years old.
A young man steps into the batter's box
He is no match for me, but about my age.
My eyes turn black
My pupils widen drastically
I stare into the catcher's mitt
No, I stare through it.
My glove
My Easton yellow-leather glove
Is perched in the perfect position
Right in front of my face
And I give my best Andy Pettitte impression.
The look I give is truly one of undaunted determination
Of sheer "I will fucking destroy you."
Of cool rage, or controlled anger
All in one.
I am skilled, powerful, and intimidating.
I will throw this ball so hard
That you couldn't even hit it with your metal stick.
That's what this is about.
I will dominate you, young man.
And I will win.
So, I stand there, and see a hand pop down
In between the catcher's legs
A number two
I nod my head no.
I want number one.
He instinctually knows what I want
A single finger is shown.
I nod yes
And the dance begins
Left foot back
As both hands come over my head
Gripping the ball in my glove
My eyes, not even for an instant
Do not leave the steel gaze
of that catcher's mitt.
Weight shifts to left foot
So I can rotate the right on the rubber
And then
Forward motion
Time for BOOM
Left leg snaps up from behind
Knee is raised
Arms come to my chest
And then the hands "break":
Left one reach towards home plate
Right one reaches out to second base
As my right leg bends slightly
Starting my decent
And ensuring that the explosion will occur.
This is the no-turning-back point.
My head tilts up and to the left
To get out of the way of my right arm
Which is about to hurl something fierce.
Then, with a drastic stomping of my left leg forward
And half a second of my right arm barreling through,
I feel that same sinewy sensation
Ache, tingling, and rush
The heart catches up
And there disappears my white ball again
Except this one
I can hear hisssssssss with spin
The young man on the receiving end
Takes a half-hearted swing
And misses by a mile.
Strike one.
Two more to go.
I fall asleep.

Sophomore English class

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang:

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by-and-by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest:

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by:

—This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.