An opinion about The Life Narcotic

A maddening sickness lies at the heart of my condition. 

I'm poisoned by the nature of blindness.

I take no satisfaction in "Progress" or material gain. 

I'm too broken tired and justified to lust for money.

I will not work for rest.

I want to be overwhelmed by my misfortunes; to toil endlessly in the fields of my own excrement. 

It never happens. 

I'm too aware of the simple truth of it all… I earn it. 

Day by day, hour to hour, second to every second as I lazily play a part in a broken narrative that our fair author has no intention of finishing. 

Were this a film we'd not rent it again. 

I don't want to be impressed by your wit or charm or even conciseness.

You don't have to tolerate mine… that much is clear. 

I'm watching an Ant crawl on coco brown skin. 

He is not planing for the day he has done enough.

To actually be in love with your survival, what a thing.

A voice coming from the walls shouts hard and direct… something about fairness and how entirely possible it could be. Give up the bag, the hang, the ammunition, the loaded gun. Find a heart inside your mind and fall in love with stillness.

I want to see you at the ocean 

smile instead of saying words

drippy

sap

words.

What's my opinion?

The atom bomb is the word

the truth is caked in vomit

uncontrolled 

on the walls 

under your fingernails.

How do you know if something's truly bad? You smell it. 

It would be rotten to blame people.

To blame decisions. 

Who in their right mind would ever decide against cold beer and BBQ? 

The sun is hot and trying to tell us something.

Stand still in the sand and burn

Burn fast and bright as hell

Talk less

say more.

I am looking long and hard for the American Dream.

An open letter to all of us

You do not understand the world around you... 

neither do I. 

This is not the byproduct of a lack of care, will or understanding… 

it is simply unattainable under our current conditions.

This culture of ours makes it impossible to feel comfortable with certainty…

deny your thoughts, for they simply raise too many questions.

A window becomes poetry when the other side is unattainable 

Forgo these notions of comfort, a cold shower on a hot day…

mistakes are made to be learned from.

Light a candle for it's convenience…

be aware of the fire it starts.

A liberated thinker is far from isolation…

but far too inconvenient.

Family becomes apathetic in the face of dishonesty

Nurture the uncomfortable mind for it has far more to draw from than ghosts and insecurity.

Tell yourself you are more than the product of your experiences…

you are their offspring.

The future remains unwritten yet it keeps us all in mind. 

Remember your love and ask it for forgiveness when you stray…

we are all in this together

and I miss you most of all.

Love

I don't dig on doubt or pity

I don't mind getting caught in the rain

I won't lie for anybody

But when I do

It's for your love

I don't have to work at four thirty in the morning 

I don't have to go outside if I don't want

to run into anybody

But when I do 

It's for your love

I stay up way too late far to often

I don't call my mom often enough 

I said I don't dig on doubt or pity

But I do it all 

for your love

Astral Lives

The world is round, my peg is square. 

I can readily admit that in most situations I feel uneasy, like that one guy in the room who doesn't get the joke. It's a party of one where ever I go and I carefully observe the herd. I don't quite know why but for some reason the majority of my thoughts tend to focus on my idea of who i'm supposed to be and the crippling realization that I don't quite measure up. The spiritualist in me would say I am too attached to my ego. The artist, that I'm yearning. The 12 year old still thinks he's ugly and that no one really likes him. I'm proud to say that I've mastered the art of balancing out these and the many other characters that exist in my head. Listening to the voices that guide and taking the rest with a grain of salt. 

Part of the reason I love music so much is because of those small moments, when the right song hits at the right time. When solitude or a room full of interaction makes no difference. A calm level of focus and understanding washes over me and the very last thing on my mind is myself. The miracle is cast and the sea parts. Zen, at peace, calm, centered and focused on only the moment. Perfection in an imperfect world. More than any other record, Astral Weeks provides me this feeling. 

Lester Bangs once said "What Astral Weeks deals in are not facts but truths. Astral Weeks, insofar as it can be pinned down, is a record about people stunned by life, completely overwhelmed, stalled in their skins, their ages and selves, paralyzed by the enormity of what in one moment of vision they can comprehend." and to his credit this says more about the etherial beauty of this album than I ever could. 

Funny thing is, I can't remember anything about how the album came into my possession. I don't remember who gave it to me, or how I'd come to hear of it. Maybe the reason is that in the grand scheme of things that is trivial information. What I do remember is hearing Astral Weeks for the first time. Going in, my previous Van Morrison experience consisted of Moondance and Brown Eyed Girl, staples on Q104 New York's Classic Rock! I was not prepared. The first listen confused me. I didn't know what i was hearing. The music was tight, for sure and the voice was full of passion, but none of the lyrics made any sense to me and whats worse he seemed to be singing haphazardly, with little to no attention paid to forming verses or choruses. The songs just seemed to float in and out of each other, running for what seemed like forever or stopping just as things were getting interesting. 

I didn't get it.

So... Very... Embarrassing. 

I wanted more.

For years I'd listen alone, not knowing why, but knowing that I HAD to. The songs became a security blanket for me. Every time life got too hard and I didn't want to think... Astral Weeks. I'd spend hours focusing on every detail trying to find what it was that kept  drawing me back. I'd cry without being sad, laugh out loud for no reason at all. In time the experience became pure catharsis. It didn't matter that I had Cerebral Palsy, or that i was short, awkward and afraid. Something about the feel of the music gave me courage, sometimes even hope. It took everything that had ever happened to me, everything i'd seen or felt and put it in a picture frame for me to view from a distance.

I get it now.

Understanding in the form of a perfect moment.

Off to find more.

The Kurt Cobain Effect (talkin' about my generation)

I was 11 years old when I heard the news

Such a let down, the sad ending of a Japanese film

I came as I was and the promise was a lie.

Where were all the buzzards?

No one wants to gather amongst flies.

Hype, expectation, 

capitalism exploited the prophet

A grand "I told you so" and a cocky smile 

that's what you get for having faith 

he's a junky

with a junky wife

and a junky kid

he's money

with Beatles style

and a killer smile

In truth he was a blueprint

how much privacy can we take away?

if we print enough will opinions sway?

don't let facts get in the way of a good story

bury the past in all it's forgotten glory

sadly we've learned nothing

we give ourselves away for free

running from boredom 

trying our hardest not to believe in anything at all

all we know is the build up

and we enjoy it as we wait for the fall

my generation is full of anti climax 

buildings fall, people die and we all float

fuck it

what's on tv?

Few Things Are What My Hoodie is.

Few Things Are What My Hoodie is.

Confidence 

Such comfort. 

Boundless separation from myself or whomever I choose

Art, Pot, your journey in headphones. 

life enjoyed

hoodie on.

Songs in dugouts 

food

stains

Brooklyn

Through the hole in my hood.