On Saturday, August 10, I had the privilege of photographing the baptism of young Lucas Badeendran. Here is a slide show of the photos I took for the event.

Selected news clippings (my writings from college)

So, this past week, I have been working to put together a portfolio of my work. I wanted to come up with a way of presenting them that highlights honestly presents work I have produced in the last two years, while also being easily transportable and accessible.

Although it feels a bit cheesy, I went with a slideshow format. I am tossing around the idea of making it an audio slideshow, but then again that could turn out to be annoying/unnecessary.

One feature I added in after showing this to a couple of friends was the provision of links to full-sized images of the articles in the slideshow.

Hopefully, it will help me land a job!

In the garden, Roberta's Tiki Disco (Cinco de Mayo edition, 2013).

I wanted to share this gorgeous, lit-by-a-fire pit flower. It popped out at me the other night while catching up with old friends between battles with the smoke monster.

Hope you are all well, and that the flower speaks to you with a familiar voice.

It's saturday night :)

Last night, I spent the evening working as a private event photographer for a great dude named Greg, who also introduced me to Manuella Yushuvayeva, a 16-year-old who is studying photography. The two of us got some great shots of the kids and their parents enjoying the day together.

As a result, I had a reason to debut a new feature that will be appearing more and more frequently on my blog: The photo slide show. Since I take a lot of photographs of a lot of interesting things, I want to be able to load a ton of photos to share with you guys. I think this new SoundSlides platform will work to keep the upload time to a minimum and the ease of navigation to a maximum.

This slideshow is quite lengthy due to the nature of the assignment, but in the future, I will release photos in short bursts. I will also be back-blogging in the near future using this feature so I can post my photos from other recent adventures.

If you are interested in a copy of any photographs, or if you would like me to take some photos for you, please feel free to reach out to me and I will be in touch. loveseatchase@gmail.com

time for change

it's done. over. and the timing couldn't be any better because, frankly, i'm over it. 

it's been great, don't get me wrong. being the voice of a student population, so to speak. and though i hate to admit it, i wasn't shit when i started compared to where i am at now, even though i thought i was. not like i'm really all that far along anyways. but that's kinda necessary. isn't it? fake it til you make it, right?

well that's what i have been doing for a long time now. starting to feel like i am going to be in fake it mode for the foreseeable future. not like it stops me. from doing it. loving it. living it. all day erryday.

really though, it's time to stop the fake out. time to bring it in. get serious. put all that living to work for me and make it pay. so i am gonna start something fresh here, like i halfheartedly began to do last fall, before i let the effort fall with the leaves and hibernate. 

had to go fallow.

but i'm back. talking. writing. thinking for myself. thinking from my own perspective, unclouded by the responsibilities that go along with having to think for other people on a day-in-day-out, week-after-week basis. 

i'm not sure how this is going to go. or what i will be writing. but i am going to be out there, in the real world, living, seeing things worth seeing that you might miss. and i'm going to talk about them. how they make me feel. what they make me think. and maybe more importantly, what they say about real life from my point of view.

well, i don't want to ramble too much. so instead of doing that, i will stop now, leaving you with a poem i wrote on the train yesterday while coming home from a pleasantly short day on campus.

it's called, "the nothing"

it doesnt even matter if people

hear you here

talking to yourself

cursing the wind

howling into the nothing

because no one listens

a casual glance

inquisitively wrinkled forehead

self-righteous smirk

is all you will garner

from a crowd of selves

sifting stoically

through the rubble

and ash

and steam

of each their own

great and horrible

chaotic nothings.

radio silence

i've gotten so used to it already. this steady, non-stop flow of information. it's like a drug you don't need coming through on steady drip until you become dependent on it.

then it just stops.

weeks of explaining upside-down pyramids and information flow charts, of setting up and preparing writers for interviews, of reviewing the pieces that are brought before me and giving honest, no-holds-barred assessments of what i'm seeing.

hours of working on a simple write up of an event with a writer because it's his or her first time. they want to really do well on their piece and i want them to not only learn how to do well on the one that's in front of them, but every one that ever comes across their desk in the future.

moments of weakness, when i think to myself that i'm not qualified for this, and that i don't know enough about the context of the situations i'm investigating, and that there's too much going on to ever capture it all with any sense of assurance that justice was done to every bit of information being presented.

mere seconds between being the one who got the story first and the one who did the follow-up piece.

these are the ways i've been learning to divide my time lately. and even considering the crazed and cutthroat nature of this business, i find the routine of it comforting.

when you're single in this city and aren't of the kind that locks yourself into a click, there's no one really checking up on you to make sure you're still around or that you haven't gotten yourself into something you can't get out of. the constant contact with a team of writers and editors that comes with being the news editor is the closest thing i really have to a safety net these days.

so when i find myself on a quiet weekend, with only a trickle of texting and emailing going on, only a 30 minute phone call here and a single planned check in tomorrow...when i'm sitting in the relative silence of 3 a.m. bushwick on the first day of fall...it leaves me anxious and itching for a spark, like an army at defcon five in the middle of a thousand year peace. all revved up with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no money to waste.

it's really quiet out there tonight. too quiet to sleep.

fucking freshmen

alright. so it's been a long ass time since i spoke to you.

did you forget about me?

yes?

good.

because I want to start fresh here. with a new little thing to say. i'm getting into a swing of things, and it hasn't knocked me off my rhythm yet. just slowed the pace a little. maybe taught me that fast and loud isn't the only thing that's important.

it ain't got a thing if it ain't got that sing. swing. everybody start to swing. lah-dee-dahhh. so on.

i'm doing new things now in a new place called new york.

i'm pretty sure last time we talked i was in seattle. then again. maybe not. i've lived through a bunch of shitty shit since then, and that's the way it is. sorry if i don't remember our last conversation.

it's just that, well, i'm pretty selfish right now. and self-centered. and self-interested. i don't feel like i have much choice in the matter, though. because really, i let myself be interested in the good of another and other anothers for so long, and right when everything was going right again, i lost it all because i believed in another and that other was something other than what i had always seen it as.

these things happen, they tell me.

but their advice is so vague i don't bother listening. i sense no revelation in their speeches. rhetoric, rhetoric, rhetoric.

that's the soft version of where i've been and why it took me so long to get back to here. this page. on a new set of keys that plays nicely but sometimes misses a beat or two leaving one wondering what that missing letter might've been intended to be.

yes, that last sentence could've been worded much clearer than it was. i write what i want here. you don't tell me what.

lol.

anyways, i'm back and i'll be posting new music and ramblings as i see fit. i'm just glad all these new freshmen came in because wouldn't you know it, these young fuckers inspired me to get off all sides of my ass and work on everything all at once again the way i do when i'm happy.

need guitar, will perform sexual favors

Man. Even though I feel pretty damn good about the way "success anxiety" turned out with nothing but the use of my netbook, I really wish I had an acoustic/electric guitar to mess around with on that track. Granted, if I had a guitar at my disposal when I recorded that song, I don't know that the rest of it would've turned out so good. I'm actually pretty impatient with recording because I feel this crazy urge to finish the project to the point that it sometimes puts me in a position where I will keep an average take rather than spending a few more days getting the perfect take.

But seriously, I can't wait til my damn financial aid comes through so I can get myself a bangin' axe to flail on. About once a week I go to the local music store and mess around on their guitars, but they're overpriced, so I won't be buying one from them. If anybody in New York wants to donate a great guitar to a lost cause, hit me up.

Look, mom...no instruments!

For a long time I have been convinced that the only way I can get my job done right is if I can make it happen acoustically without all the bells and whistles.  Purely analog.  So a couple of years ago, I made an album that I called "recycled tapes" as a statement that it doesn't  take a hundred-thousand dollar studio to make music.  I used a Tascam Portastudio and a Shure SM-58 microphone along with my trusty 1955 Harmony Acoustic guitar and my Johnson Acoustic/Electric Bass to make that one happen, and it was good for what it was.  I sometimes go back and listen through that album and am surprised by how much I like what I'm hearing, but then on a second listen I start to get critical of it and begin to hate it so I put it away for a few months.

Cut to about a year later, I was putting together a demo album so that some friends and I would have something to get gigs with, and I branched out to using an Alesis drum machine setup, my Dean Electric Bass, an electric guitar of unknown origins, my Harmony, and my Fender mini-amp.  That four song demo did end up getting us a couple shows, and it has it's moments.  It was definitely a step up from "recycled tapes" in that it was recorded straight to computer and with a condenser microphone, so that overall production value was better.  It still sounded pretty cheesy, though.

A couple months ago, then, I made an album of cover songs with my friend Otis, under the moniker "Stilted Wenis and the Crooked Tooth" and other than that ridiculousness of the drum machine sounds on a couple of the songs, it turned out pretty good.  Sure, there are some things that we could've taken the time on vocally to perfect if we had that time, but we kind of had to throw it together at the last minute, and even so, I am pretty happy with what came out of it.  It was a major step in the right direction.

So now, here I am in Brooklyn, and I had to sell the only guitar I took with me (my Epiphone Acoustic) just to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads (a minor sacrifice compared to some that M made to keep things going)), and I still have the burning desire to keep this music boat sailing.  Luckily, a mutual friend of Otis and I, OB, had recorded a song on acoustic guitar that I was able to record some vocals over to keep me going, but once that was done I needed more.

I decided at this point to change my philosophy.  Why  should everything have to be recorded manually in order for it to be real? It's 2011, after all.  With the capabilities that we have at our disposal, it doesn't make sense to reject them wholesale without giving them a try.  So after years of avoiding it, here I am typing this with my instrument.  My Acer netbook has become my orchestra, and with it I command a limitless potential arsenal of musical delight.

It's been years, eleven, to be precise, since I used a computer to create an entire song, with no acoustic instrumentation.  So I took a couple hours and put together a little trancey thing, but instead of just plugging bars into a piano roll, I decided to actually "play" them in.  Using my computer keyboard and a drum loop, I was able to create a song.  That's when it hit me.

The thing I've always hated about producing songs electronically is that there isn't any humanity in it.  Of course the sounds are all there, but there is no imperfection to tie it all together.  Isn't the breaking point of a perfect voice that makes you gasp?  Isn't it the moment when the angels fall that evokes the strongest emotions in you?  Of course it is.  We need that glimpse of humanity in our art in order to identify with it, otherwise it's just colors and sounds without substance.

So it's with that in mind that I have decided to move forward in a new direction musically, and I will now begin to put forth musical arrangements and such in an entirely new manner.  Of course, when I do get my instruments back, I will be using them, but not exactly in the same way.  What's the point?

I can use them in a way that's even better.  And I can't wait to show you what I mean...

New York City?

Hey, it's been a while.  Yeah I know, who the fuck am I and where the hell have I been.  Well, that's a long story and I don't care to tell it all right here.  Suffice it to say that I have left Seattle and am living in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn, NY.  I'm now going to school on Long Island at Nassau Community College (more to follow on both those points) and I have no instruments at my disposal at this time.  Without the ability to play music, I have resorted to other means of creativity, such as poetry.  I thought it would be nice to post some of that here, as I think it kind of sums up the details of where I am right now.

I stand before you today...


soaked to the bone in Pagan blood
marinated in the juices of the goat god -
musky like the dew of a thousand mornings
locked in an unplugged freezer
and buried in a swamp
by the tobacco stained hands
of a gypsy.

Relishing every detail:

• the salty tinge of the ocean air
• the thwap-thwapping of water
   against the sides of the boat
• the adolescent whine of an
   underpowered outboard motor
• the nervous sweat of a victim
   who is a virgin to pain
  

collapse


got a dollar eighty in my pocket for coffee
two bananas on top of the fridge
we'll be alright for breakfast
but that doesn't say much about the afternoon
should pro'lly start thinkin' bout the afternoon
i'm out of ideas, how bout you?

we're runnin' outta dollars
runnin' outta dollars
selling everything we own
but we still have desires
still have desires
even if we're broken and
waitin' around for government money
that is long overdue

i ain't here lookin' for handouts
i only want what's mine
so come on with it and
give me my fuckin' money

...i didn't mean to curse just then
it's just that I've been waiting
around for so long
that i've lost track of time
my hair grows longer
my time grows shorter
but i still don't have a plan
the skin of my teeth is
getting thinner
cavities are setting in

i ain't lookin' for handouts
i only want what's mine
so come on with it then
and give me mine

ran outta money
we ran outta money
sold everything we own
still have each other
but we still have each other
baby baby i'm so cold
maybe we oughtta head south for the winter
and wait it out with the crows

i ain't askin' for handouts
i only want what's mine
so come on with it
and give me mine.



-catch up with you soon.

underneath my skin

after posting and listening to comfortable skin for a few days i've got a few thoughts. first off, i've obviously waited way too long to post a new blog with a song on it because it seems that my small following has wandered off to other realms. i hope to rope one or two of you back in soon because i am prepping for a whole new round of recording as i drift into fall quarter.

 about the song though...i've been getting a lot of advice that leads me to believe that i should probably stop screaming so much in my music. what can i say? i get into it once i get going. there's this well of emotion inside of me that only gets tapped when i'm in the zone, and once it's open it turns into a geyser. it's a snakeskin firehose and sometimes i lose control of its aim. but as i become more experienced and more aware of my output, i am becoming more apt at seeing the bigger picture and less prone to losing myself in the music.

it's kind of funny but i've never really considered the fact that i may be going astray by losing myself in the music when the whole point of creating art and music is to find oneself. and that's specifically what the theme of 'comfortable skin' is. self awareness and self respect. when ever i write a song i think of it as a sort of parable, though with 'skin' i've definitely taken a turn away from the esoteric tendencies that i lean towards in most of my tunes to date.

part of the wonder of this recording for me personally is that i didn't find it necessary to use any effects on the vocals that i recorded. other than a slight envelope filter applied to two or three specific words that i blew too hard on, what you hear is exactly what i recorded while standing in the corner of my bedroom where the acoustics of the room weren't too boomy or too tinny either. i'm proud to say that i truly am content with the quality of this recording even though i still know that i have room to improve.

Comfortable Skin

Hey hey hey,

So the good news is I have finally finished recording the vocals for Comfortable Skin, a song that I finished the instrumental tracks for at least two months ago.  I've moved my studio into our bedroom here, and after a computer crash I'm lucky to have backed up the instrumental tracks on my phone.  I think that losing my hard drive made me realize that I need to push through to the end and get my music out there sooner rather than later, though it's been hard to decide the mood of my vox on this song.  I've been going through a lot of changes in life and in my views on what is important as a man and a musician, and it's probably better that I waited to record this until now, but the lesson remains the same.  Carpe Diem.

Viscious Cyclone [a.free.write]

Leaving behind the bigotry of our beloved fathers without losing that essential humanity that they seeded into our humble and patient mothers who had hatreds of their own pumping through blood vessels and into breast milk that sustained our innocence that we so readily exchanged for the moldy rye and bitter bourbons that soften the blows we will receive in our adolescence as we watch our elders die the slow and cruel death of age and its ravages on their solidarity of mind and body and of course we prefer to assume soul.  And that soul we like to imagine as an angel more because we fear our own destiny than from any sense of pity or sorrow at the loss of loved ones though that's not without merit in our mourning that is quickly back-burnered by our own successes and advances as we march heartily toward the our own five o'clock shadows, shaking the sweaty nervous palms of our offspring as they watch our parents die in horror and they weep while we stoically avoid the truth that is held in the passing over of suns and moons that we worship and idolize and build monuments to in hopes that they'll choose another as their sacrifice leaving us one more day to live.

naked kinky

What better on a Sunny Sunday afternoon than a song about self masochism?

Still have to record it but here's the gist. Think iggy pop.

naked kinky

smell of lemons on the fish
peelin' off a hangnail into cold soup
alphabet spelling out doom for me
smell of carrots on my plate
twisting off a toenail into the rug
it's bleeding, it's bleeding
it's bleeding all over me

one man marching to the sound of one man marching
in my head while I'm bleeding all over the rug

taste of iron on my tongue
gentle breeze rustling the leaves
blows the curtain off the rod
naked kinky and alone
hanging from the ceiling by a thread
it's bleeding, it's bleeding
it's bleeding all over me

caveaux noir and quickened breathe, groping for my soul
in my window bleeding all over the rug

naked kinky and alone, hanging by a thread
in my window trying to get my feet on the rug
in my head while I'm bleeding all over the rug
pail and flailing attempting to cut you a rug

one man marching to the sound of one man marching...

Sometimes in the morning

sometimes in the morning
when I’m getting dressed
I find the jeans I feel like wearing
dirty and rumpled on the floor.

sometimes I wear them anyways.
sometimes I choose a different pair,
but I feel awkward in them,
like I’m wearing someone else’s face
around my thighs.

Done Been Singin'

I've always wanted to write a song that tells a story encompassing the journey through the major arcana of the Tarot, and I've finally done it (I think I have, anyways). I haven't gotten this song recorded yet, and I'm still working on the structure of the accompaniment for it but lyrically it is sound at this point. If you feel like being interactive, try to find all of the different parts of the story that link to the traits of the major arcana. There are 26 in all, though most of them may be a little too subtle for you to find without knowing explicit details of my life and without you having been there for some readings I've been given.

Also, I'm not a mystic, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. I don't believe that the Tarot is a method for deciphering the future. What I do believe is that the journey through the major arcana is a very good metaphor for the turbulence and chaos that we experience in our lives. The story told there has a reflection of the universal life experience held within it, and I respect that. That said, here it is:


done been singin’

[verse]
like a fool I left my home
I left my mother all alone
cause I was tired of the same old scene
I packed my duffel bag and hailed a cab
said hey cabbie can you take my to the depot
he replied sure son with a grunt
that’ll be twelve bucks up front

I snapped back I’m not your son
but that’ll be just fine
I’ll give you thirteen
if you get me there double time
bali bali adashi

[bridge]
and just like that
I was on the road
would you look at that
readin’ on the road
and I’m sing’n
yes I’m sing’n…

[chorus]
when you go to die I won’t be there
cause I’ve gone to live
and where I’ve gone to live
there’s no looking back
so when you go to die
I hope you can forgive me cause I
I’ve only got so much time to live

[verse]
next thing I remember I’m on a Bergen pier
and to my right a trumpet gives a shout
so I take my cue and enter the gate
it was February in Haakon shall
and the stately dinner was great and all
but I’d had my share of cognac with Kings
surf slapping the seawall
while I rolled up a loosey
and tried to look dramatic to the passers by
when on my shoulder landed an albatross
he said hey there soldier I see ya lookin’ down
but you won’t find the sky
you’re lookin’ for on the ground
and I learned that from a crow
so you know it’s true
and one more thing before I take to my wings
you’ll never get anywhere
worried about everything
so why don’t you just relax

[refrain]
B C#
oooo….




[verse]
couple years later I’m taking a walk
with nothing but a cliff bar in my pack
along with the tattered memory of a notebook
pen in my pocket is running dry
then from the sky an inkblot in my eye
drops across a paper trail

[bridge]
and suddenly I feel
I’m only chasin’ my tail
like a rabid dog
howlin’ like a rabid dog
at the moon
like a rabid dog

[chorus]
where I’ve gone to live you won’t be there
cause I’m on my own
and where I’ve gone to roam
there’s no looking back
so when you go to die
I hope you can forgive me cause I
I’ve only got so much time to live

[bridge]
won’t you help me, Grady
I need a change of oil
cause I’m getting ready
to sew some southern soil
and we’ll be sing’n
while we toil…

[chorus/outtro]

Langston Hughes, anyone?

I recently completed a creative writing course at South Seattle Community College.  As one of our assignments, we were to recite a poem from memory.  In the packet of poems we were given I came across a Langston Hughes poem entitle "Genius Child" and something about the poem spoke to me in such a way that I felt compelled to put it to music.

Here is the scratch track I laid down a couple days after I performed it in class:



Genius Child

This is the song
of the genius child
sing it softly
for the song is wild

Sing it softly
ever as you can
lest the song get out of hand

No-body loves the genius child


Can you love an eagle
tame or wild?

Wild or tame
can you love a monster
of a frightening name?

No-body loves the genius child


Kill Him!
Lest his soul
run wild

as an afterthought to the fourth of july

God bless America, dudes.  And you know why?  Because when America was formed as a Nation, the world needed an America.  Once the world had an America, it could never be the same.  By 'the world' I mean humanity, of course.  What did we have before America?  A bunch of feudal lords squabbling over property rights?  Yeah, that was awesome for the free thinking majority. 

But before you get out your confederate flags and start talking about ammurrica, though, I want you tho think about something.  It's not 'America' that the world needed.  It's an America.  The outcasts and lumpen-proletariat needed a place to stand on their own two feet for long enough to show the royal families that their bloodlines weren't so unique and spectacular after all.  Humanity needed an America so that it could evolve away from the selective imbreeding that was sure to eventually be its ruin.  The human race needed some breathing room.

Where are we now?  Just a couple hundred years later, we inheritants of the land of milk and honey have the gall to instate laws that make it possible for us to once again freely judge a man by the color of his skin.  A half a century has passed since the civil rights movements that we look back on so nostalgically, and just because our President is kind of black we think we're open minded now?  I say that until our open-mindedness becomes systemic - until we are truly willing to let every man and woman wear their skin comfortably - we will continue to suffer as a species and in particular, as a country. 

With the help of an America, Europe was able to right itself.  Europeans left Europe in the first place because there weren't enough opportunities in their home towns and countries for them to thrive in.  They were persecuted for their beliefs, and they were sick and tired of living in a place where they had to worship haughty monarchs and bishops that spoke of piety through lips of luxury.  To the descendants of those people, I say this: Your kings are dead and the Holocaust is over; go back home, or stop bitching about the constant influx of people from the rest of the world. 

Europe had it's turn.  Now it's Africa's turn to become a good place to live and raise your kids.  Now it's Asia's turn.  Now it's South America's turn.  Let these people come here freely.  It will do us all a lot of good in the long run.  We've spent too much of our time and energy - not to mention money - on patriotism and anti-communist sentiments while at the same time shunning those people from other parts of the world that share our views when they try to emigrate here to share our vistas.  Whatever happened to open arms? 

Now that you and your family has had your turn at this freedom thing, it's time to understand that there are many families in the world who haven't gotten that chance.  Instead of telling people they need to go back to the Middle East, or Africa, or Asia out of pure intolerance and selfish desire, consider this:  They are here because they didn't fit in where they're from.  They lived in a place that is chalk full of ancient regimes and strict cultures with swift corporeal and capital punishments and they wanted out.  They wanted to live in a place where they can freely give their own way of thinking and living a chance.  They wanted to be like you, and instead of being repelled and disgusted at this, you should feel even more proud of your country.  Instead of playing the part of America's jealously monogamous boyfriend, try being its Dionysian priestess.  Love the fact that others love your country.  Love the fact that they would rather live here with you than blow you up. 

Think of America as a p-patch rather than a production farm and I think you'll see things the way I do.  It's a community garden.  The more exotic fruits and vivid vegetable in this garden, the better.  After a while, even sweet corn on the cob gets old and eventually one is forced to realize that white bread has no flavor. 

In closing, I have this simple request to make of you.  While the joys of blowing shit up and barbecues are still fresh in your mind, remember why America is here in the first place.  Oh, and stop being assholes to all the people who need it.

A diary of random thoughts

There's so much that I see in this world
that seems like a patchwork quilt
that was built to cover
the raw reality that we live in.

I can't stand the way it hides
how beautiful it can be to be raw.
Raw like skin that's freshly shaved and washed
Raw like random droplets of liquid rock
going the way of hardened ancestors
Raw like fields of grass allowed to grow;
like organic life in its fully natural environment.
Like us in our fully natural environment.

But then, what is our fully natural environment?
What kind of structures would we have
if we only used products and materials
that lasted as long as we do?
or as long as we need them to?

Could we synthesize chemical separation
and dispersal that is modeled directly after
nature's example?

Is it crazy for this to be what I think about?

Creative Writing

I'm in a creative writing class right now.  I write poems in the class.  Here are some of mine so far.

Color #7F00FF

is violet in a mood?

violet has a way

and violet is a way

violet is away on vacation

but violet always comes home

does violet even know

that violet is only a color?

violet tries to be blue sometimes

sometimes orange, but it is fruitless for violet

fruitless for violet? no.

violet shines on masculinity

but beneath the façade, violet femmes

if they only knew what violet knows

that swampy green would envy violet

red would blush in shame at violet’s tongue

rays of yellow would try to stain violet

but violet is stubborn and hard to get out

indigo parades as violet from time to time

but only violet is what it is

and only violet knows what mood

violet is in.

violet would never presume

to step in for

black.

pity for god

No one’s from Seattle anymore

disagree with me if you will

as long as you will

look me in the eye:

look me in my crooked

leather eye.

Talk to me in person

and when you’re with me

could you just be with me

or is that a little too

difficult for you?

Are you

like a god –

incapable of changing your ways?

You sure act like it:

like you think you are.

Why try to hide it now?

Just go with it now.

We all know

where you’re from

anyway.

You’re my Seattle

and I’m not just saying

whatever anymore,

hoping I’ll get your attention

hoping you’ll want my words

like I want your stare:

like I want your crooked

iron stare.

hoping the music will move you

hoping I’m spilling out some

social imperative

hoping it’s never been spilled like

this before

hoping Apophis never causes

the oceans to spill:

hoping there is no tsunami

bigger than all my hoping:

none to wash me far

away from the sound:

of evergreen trees snapping out

the rhythm of Ray Charles…

…and yet here I am

digressing and drenched in hopes –

and hoping:

hoping this isn’t another case

of being less important

than a god that is incapable of

changing his mind.

God?  Are you incapable

of changing your mind?

God? GOD? God?

Are you?

How are you?

Home, for now

The front lawn

a graveyard

for refrigerators and

conventional ovens,

speaks to its lack

of conventional curb appeal.

The large yellow moving van

in the driveway has a smiley face

painted on its side wall that

tries to fool the passers by

into thinking that all is well

but I think they’ve got an idea.

Inside, the smell of spores

in hibernation for the winter

and an odd odor from dewy piles of

unchecked clutter accentuate

the chill that feathers your spine

while the nape of your neck realizes that

someone has died here.

The mirror on the far wall mocks us

as we trade melodic thoughts

and contemplate the small statue of Buddha

under the tilted chandelier

that has in its web  a

wayward plastic coat hanger.

The smoke of our breath commingles

with that of the fireplace,

our only source of heat and light

and the only thing that’s stirring until suddenly

some hellish spirit hurls a glass vase

against the wall mere inches from my face.

The back yard is silent but for the din of Aurora

with her pushers and walkers out In
full battle rattle making their statements

and staking their claims and vampires.

When the ground thaws out in a few months,

I’ll dig your fire pit right over there

and we’ll finally relax.

Yup.  So there that is.  I swear I'll post some music soon.  I'm working on it...