Where is my place?

 

What do you do when you love the lifestyle of musicians, love musicians, love music, and are not a musician? 

I don’t think I could handle tour managing for too long because of all the math involved.

I don’t think I could handle managing in general for too long because it’s too many details.

I don’t think I could work in a PR/Promotion for music company because I become socially retarded when I have to promote stuff I don’t LOVE. 

I think in theory I’d like music supervision, but it might end up to be too much desk work 

Why oh why can’t I just have no real life worries and go along to be pure energy. 

Little Leaps with/without Faith

It’s really hard to look at pictures of me from even a few months ago. It’s also really hard to swallow the fact that despite two years of working out hard core (daily!), just a few weeks of slacking can put me in an undesirable state of fitness.

This whole death thing has hit me more than I ever expected it to. First Ed, then Grandpa, and then Auntie Miriam. It makes me so much more aware of life and what I’m doing, or not doing, or thinking of doing, or thought of doing. I feel so pressured all of a sudden to get on with it and figure out what I’m ‘doing.” I mean at all the shivas, people kept asking me that ridiculous question, and I started to feel like an overheated tape recorder trying to come up with a decent sounding answer. 

So now I’ve spent a couple of days at Mum’s house, sifting through stuff in the attic, re-acquainting myself with various generations of myself from the past. I found my old Lisa Frank stationary/sticker collection. I found my first shoe. I found lots and lots of stuffed animals. I found a great deal of stuff I am ready to call garbage. 

But best of all I found some diaries. 

It’s funny how when I was younger I would start keeping a diary when someone bought me one, but the habit only lasted for a few days. If only I had known then how much pleasure I’d get out of reading my silly little thoughts…

So now I’m not sure what I want to do next. A big part of me is toying with the idea of purchasing an open ticket to Israel for YK and then figuring it out from there…maybe some traveling to and from Israel would work out nicely.

Even in Death they Do Not Part

Rest In Peace Grandpa Sam. 1917-2009 is a blessed amount of time on this earth, but Grandma is still as in love with you as she was when she first saw you. She told me today that she was sorry that I didn’t get to say goodbye to you. And she told me that she hopes that one day when I get married I have as wonderful a marriage as she had with you. 

The cemetery is oddly beautiful and overwhelmingly full. There were even street signs in various areas of it. I was so worried while they were lowering you down that they’d mishandle the whole situation. I was holding Grandma up and my heart broke when I heard her saying “Don’t do that, don’t do that, don’t do that,” over and over in the most broken hushed voice as they lowered you into the earth. 

Grandma told me that even in your last few days when you knew nothing and noone at all, when you both lay in bed at night he still said “Debbie’la, are you doing alright? I love you. Sleep well.” This amazes me. This shows that true love can surpass any physical and mental limitations our bodies subject us to here. 

I am now learning about your life. I hope you find a way to keep Grandma at peace with the love between you. I know the phrase used in marriages is “Till death do us part,” but you and Grandma have a love that lives undeniably past just this life. And she needs to feel it for her time left remaining on this earth without you.

Dear Death,

You have overstayed your welcome.

I am definitely learning a lot of lessons from you, and in a way it’s ‘nice’ to meet you.

But seriously, this is getting a little too much, a little too fast.

I need some recess. 

Respectfully,

Max

There is Beauty in the Breakdown

It’s weird how Death has some amazing effects on people one or two or a few degrees away from It. I guess I haven’t been the same since Ed passed away, and now that Grandpa from Longbeach is probably on his deathbed Death is pushing me further. 

My night’s sleep didn’t cure me of the tears I had last night. I woke up rested but not yet at peace. The father called me and continued relaying his insights, telling me his father’s condition had seemingly turned for slightly better, and he was now breathing on his own. For now. 

The Father explained that he sees my energy and charm and knows I have the potential to do high powered jobs really well. I explained that it’s not what I want. I don’t want too much responsibility. I don’t want anxiety from my career. We spoke about Mum and how she never matched his yearning for fun and enthusiasm. What impressed me was The Father speaking her praises, saying that she is sincere, devout, and loyal. I knew all of this, but hearing it from him meant a lot. It frightened me to death to think that maybe I wrote him off as stupid too soon. We got cut off. 

I then called Mum and freaked out at her crying that she prefer’s Rivka over me, and asking her why she can’t acknowledge everything I try to accomplish and everything I do accomplish. She told me she doesn’t love one of us more, but knows that we are different, and that she would never express her anger or upset with Rivka to me. So I pleaded and cried to her about how I never hear the love, never the encouragement, never the pride in words from her. 

She sounded broken and replied that her mother never did either. 

I asked how come everytime I spoke of my dreams and things I wanted/want to do, her first comment was a question of “how are you planning to pay for it?” And explained how it breaks my spirit. 

But I already know the answer. She is just trying to survive. Trying to get by, and make sure we all do too. She worries that we will become too much of dreamers and lack the practicality to survive. 

But I cried to her about how I need to hear her insights. I need to hear her express what she knows, what she feels, and things that can give me motivation and guidance. She is my mother. 

She was breaking and she told me how much she adores my charm and my lust for life that I possess. She told me that when I cry and when I’m happy it’s the deepest most sincere sensations and that I can be so low and pick myself up and be happy the next day.

She said she never could do that.

I said it makes it such a roller coaster.

She said it’s better to have those highs and lows, she said she feels like her roller coaster just keeps going down. 

I told her I love her to death. I freaking love her to death.

I heard her sigh, sob in a way I guess, because I knew she was crying. 

We continued on like this trying to be open. She is pragmatic, and I’m mostly emotional and sentimental, but she told me I need to make a plan. It’s ok if I need to travel. I need to make a plan. She told me I need to make an appointment and try to sort things out. 

I felt a sudden ability in me to get up and do those things. I told her that it’s so important to express what we know and what we feel because there is no way for another to truly know otherwise. 

She said “you’re right sweetheart, I will try.” 

I felt a twinge of awful because I know all she does is try to be as good, as good as she can be. She is devout- as The Father said. And she tries so hard. We are different, but we will try to find our common ground. 

Cuz I do love her.

I freaking love her to death.

6/25/09 Thoughts to Death

Last night I cried so many tears that I think they could fill a whole set of these larger than life mugs I’m drinking green tea in today.

It started with post-shift drinks with Corie. She and I went to get “cheap” drinks and apps. We wound up at an Italian place in the village and the end of this turned into me spending double the amount that I had come into the city to make. Why? because I have no balls to admit that I didn’t want to buy her dinner. And the real reason I didn’t want to buy her dinner is because I’m broke. So there I was rushing uptown on foot hyperventilating with noisy thoughts of the hole burning in my pocket. 

Michael Jackson died earlier last night too, so everywhere on the streets of NYC I heard snip-its of conversation with his name tucked in them. I walked all the way to Port Authority tearing up every once in a while with loads of thoughts running through my head. I am constantly somehow getting slightly taken advantage of. I have energy, people feed off of it, and I do love that but there always comes a time when I will get left in the dust. I don’t think it’s malicious of anyone I know in the scene, it’s just a byproduct of reality. 

So once I got to PA and found the gate for my bus, The Father was calling on my blackberry. He told me in a poised voice that he was sorry he had to be the bearer of bad news but his father’s condition had turned for the worse and it could be any hour or any day and he thought I should know. I immediately started tearing up and crying and he told me we had to just remain cool. Somehow the conversation turned into ‘about me’ and him trying to psychoanalyze what was troubling me. He understood my traveling bug and said that only good people have that need to soul-search. He said he’d rather me travel to Ireland and Scotland than India and New Zealand. He told me about how he traveled to Scotland and loved it. And I started thinking about how frightening it is that one of the people I think I despise most is actually the blood I might share most in common with.

In the Lap of Contentment

I can close my eyes on our porch and believe I’m in some exotic rainforest with birds chirping all around me. It’s as if all the birds of the world come through here for soundcheck before flying off to their shows. Not that I feel any need to be anywhere else but here right now. This house is lovely. We could spend all day sitting on this porch, allowing whatever weather it decides to be at the time to affect us in a positive way. We can enjoy the rain without getting wet, we can sit and sip cold lemonade while the sun shines down, and we’d even dare it to snow to witness it from here too. I am very content. Today I ran around outside and saw lots of pretty houses. I am trying to break my unhealthy obsession with working out indoors on machines, and get my body moving in a natural zone. Maybe that’s why NYSC doesn’t have a branch close enough to this house to make it worth my while to attend it while living here in Montclair. Funny how things work out…

Friction

My sister forced me to pierce her ear the other night. I would never have agreed to this if I was sober, and I think that is why she strategically asked after I drank a huge alcoholic beverage. I will never really understand her and think like her.

Fruits of Trees

I’m looking for the apple of my eye. But it won’t do unless I’m the apple of their eye too. If we go with the apple theme for a minute, I’m an apple that has fallen very far from my tree. I wish some days that I was more like my family and that I had been able to just stick with what I was spoon-fed as a child and able to digest the beliefs I was administered with. But nature versus nurture has led me to collections of people, places, ideas, and experiences which have colored and shadowed everything I think about. I’ve been wondering lately if it really matters what makes us have certain opinions about things. People love holding flags and nurturing vendettas for and against some of the funniest subjects. A lot of it is simply the rage and inertia and peer pressure of a group and a community to acquaint oneself with. Yet when someone finds an agenda they are passionate about it can drive their entire life, because it becomes a value they place at the center of their life’s purpose. Regardless of what I believe in terms of religion and God and this world, I do think religion gives people a direction and a comfort path for getting through this life. Since so much is so uncertain and endless it is helpful to have a set of beliefs and directions and people to acquaint oneself with. Organized religion is the greatest example of such a community. But in this day and age it can be anything from being a Vegan, to Human Rights, to Scientology. Just a sense of purpose so drive a group. So for now I’m just that apple rolling around, possibly getting bruised, chipped, but definitely traveling further from the tree. But the good thing about being a human fruit is that I can pick myself up at any point and direct myself back to a source if I decide. For now I’m just rolling with it, but I’m starting to think more and more that eventually people need to just commit to a set of ideals, and a lifestyle. Even if it’s just for a while.

Mournings lack Sunrises

It’s already June. This has been the hardest, most exhausting week of my life. I have had some little blessing doses intermittently but it has not been at all easy. I got to see Dave Matthews release his new CD in honor of Leroy at Beacons on Monday. This was an extraordinary show, however my emotional sentimentality definitely made appearances because of my grieving mindset. I couldn’t help thinking of my mourning sister during “Sister,” and of course “Funny the way it is,” was also a thud in my heart. DMB is not DMB for no reason though. Wow. The violinist and the drummer specifically struck me. I also think that the new saxophone player who joined them from Bela Fleck is amazing. It must be hard to take the place of someone who meant so much to every aspect of the DMB group.

It’s hard to be a caregiver to so many women grieving their father, brother, son, and husband. These Little Women are not in their right minds (understandably so) and each day the exhaustion was mounted higher and higher making me feel lower and lower. I really do get great satisfaction out of taking care of people but sometimes it’s hard. Like when I feel like people are using me to rag wash the floor of every room in every home in the world. Slight exaggeration perhaps, but seriously I feel like crap by now. I am happy for this intense grieving week to be over.

I am not really looking forward to a weekend of girls in the Hamptons; for some reason large groups of girls make me more apprehensive than most situations in the world, but I am looking forward to a weekend getaway.

I saw the house that Rosi and I will be living in this summer. It is epic, it is romantic, it is peaceful, and it is absolutely lovely. I hope it proves to be as wonderful as I know it can be. People might need to be involved to complete this equation, and I can only hope that the people I am thinking of show up and take their place.

What a Day….What a Life

What a day to be alive.

What a day to stretch out and appreciate not being confined underneath the earth without air. 

What a day to feel. 

What a beautiful Day. In fact…

What a beautiful day to face death. To have to face death. 

What a day for him to be gone with the wind.

What a day to see my big sister look like a little dolly, with her long hair clasped prettily half up in a barret, reaching her small frame up to hug my little brother. Cloaked in grief. 

What a day to finally see a little glimpse of what a man my brother in law really is.

What a day to feel such tense air all around me. 

What a day to escort a van with a casket with a body without life down a sunny road. 

What a day to waive goodbye. 

What a day to realize how little we knew about his life while he was alive. 

What a day for a Salute to a Country Parade.

What a day for a 100th year celebration for a bridge.

What a day for unstoppable tears. 

What a day for one man’s ex-wife to cling to  his new widow, both crying over his new lifelessness. 

What a day to realize that if my father was her stepfather while our mother was married to him…Well then.

What a day to realize that I had a Stepdaddy. 

What a day to realize that. On the day he is not any longer. 

What a Day. What a Life.

TReading Life

I was just thinking that I wish the Time Reality for Reading was a completely separate one from Time passing in general. I wish I could just sit and read all the brilliance in the world without it being a choice over other things that may or may not be more important throughout the rest of life’s occurrences.

Epic

Bannaroo in the Balance

It all started when Rachel said she was going to Bonnaroo with a beer brewery in an RV. I kinda knew I wanted to go, and threw it out there to see if there was a spot for me in the RV. She said she thought there actually might be and that I would just get a ticket and catch a ride. BUT now it looks even more sunny for Tennessee, because they might have a guest pass for me. This would mean no purchasing a ticket necessary if I would just pour beer for a few hours a day. I think I can tap that. Let’s make it happen!

Dear Heart & Mind, quit playing games with each-other.

Maybe I’m not really Penny Lane. I might just be a big talker. I mean look at what’s going on right now. I have no idea where to put my foot to take a next step. I fooled myself over and over again, so by the second over I should have been onto myself, but now everything seems all twisted. I know I am restless; can’t fall into something that stays the same for too long, and I know that I love music. But I don’t love all music, and I don’t act well enough to make loving certain music my job. I don’t want to pretend I don’t play favorites. I totally play favorites, and it’s not even playing. I hate promotions. Blah Blah Blah everyone says everyone needs to stick what they’re working on down people’s throats in order to make it happen but I don’t want to be that girl.

It sucks really loving everything about musician’s and their lives, but not being one. Oh and a few words about beginnings. I think I suffer from a love of beginnings too. I romanticize what people and things and jobs might be, and then I get quickly disappointed by their reality and freak out and try to move on. 

My heart and mind are playing tag with each-other , leaving me out in confusion without plain sight. And when my thoughts are ‘it’ they  go Ring a Round the Rosi, with no resolution and come crashing down with ashes, ashes.

Points

Well at least all experiences, good and bad, can teach us more about ourselves. I know I need to travel, I know I get restless, I know I love music, and I know that I have big eyes. Unfortunately I have very little patience, both when time is passing and in dealing with people I don’t particularly like. That’s how I ended up on the street with Chris from France smoking a cigarette right outside Friday night dinner. I just think that people who don’t know what they are speaking about should not start bothering me with ignorant and offensive questions. So what if I like bands and cannot play or sing? Don’t you dare call me “just a groupie.” And yes I know it was a little extreme to run outside and make you feel like a douche in front of all those people, but that’s what you get for being a douche. Not sorry. And I am trying to find my place. I have a meeting with Dave on Tuesday. I am grateful for people in my life who can see aspects of my life clearly when I cannot. For instance, Lady asking me the reason why I like something or someone seems like a simple question, but I had never thought of it that way. This one little exercise made me realize things aren’t as they have seemed (for so very- long to me). It is ok to nod to a crush and then realize it is nothing more. It is also ok to tap into comfort, laughter, and a good time. Ok, now I need my coffee.

Late.

It was all lost on you.

Windblown

“Within this temporal body composed of a hundred bones and nine holes there resides a spirit which, for lack of an adequate name, I think of as windblown.”            -Basho

Big Sur

If the most richly pigmented faces of this planet were brought together behind a veil of darkness, they would play a role in the pacific coast at night. Quite some time after the fog following dissipates, yet long before any morning rays would dare begin to shine, or any morning dew would dare to liquify, the stars come out and pierce through the atmosphere like glistening eyes; hundreds of them, seducing the blackened hills. The road twirls around this enchanted meeting teasing anyone fortunate to grace the scene with their presence. And witness its dark stunning magic.

These Little Photographs

…The previous few posts of writing are slightly incoherent, poetic ones. I seem to think that these little photographs taken on my blackberry during the adventure compliment those posts. It is a neat way to wrap up the slightly too artsy to some way of documenting what I’ve been doing. And now I can go on to proper story telling and quality photos…

love In.

Love is pain. But the lack of it is excruciating. I am an expert in it, but have never experienced it. I am teased by tales and hand out advice and watch as love’s threads are woven in and out of all around me. This woven cloak of passion and despair is one I observe while I wait on the outskirts. Shivering and Alone.

Their Majesty

I’d love to be Alice or even one of the lost boys and get to live always in the sort of trees I saw that day. There is no kind of nature I love more, and considering the excruciating beauty I have been so lucky to behold over the past number of days…that’s quite a bold statement. Yet none the falser. There is so much mystery in the walls of the pungent bark. Nostalgia that isn’t even mine haunts me from deep within the wood and crevices. What these trees have witnessed over years and years and time is something I’d like to know. I wish I could sit and Smell and Feel it all in for longer. For then I’d be able to Listen to the whispered secrets these majestic trees might dare to share.

Hippietized

I get teased regularly for being overly esoteric, a helpless romantic, free loving, and free flowing with optimism. I wear Jesus sandals and I have curly hair. I like the feeling of warm winds billowing against me, wrapping me in natures most intense hugs. I keep losing my breath on these delicious winding roads up the coasts surrounded by hills. I get surges of happiness from what I see and smell. And yes these surges of happiness are sidestepped by actual aches deep inside me because of how utterly striking it all is. These past few days and maybe even a week has made me wish more than ever never to fall into a routine in one place. I yearn to see more beauty. I cannot settle.

Side Folk

Someone’s AIM profile quote in the good old junior high a/s/l days said something about how not everyone can be stars- someone needs to be at the side of the road and clap as they walk by. Honestly I never wanted to be famousI never wanted to be an actress. However, my life amongst constant talent has often placed me near the limelight. People notice me and people take to me. This is not narcissistic, ok? I’m just wondering with visible proof. There is a reason that these industries end up in my life and I end up surrounded by these folk on all sides. But what happens to the sideman when he gets fed up with feeding the cake to the people who want to eat their cake and have it too? He seemed rather bitter and dark and quite frankly even angry last time I spoke with him. The glint in his eyes and the jokes he harmonized to are fading. Everyone needs to be a star in their own show. And so I would call a successful sort of me, the one who manages to serve the cake while I eat my own too. And call me naive, but with this awareness I do believe I can.

Eerie-tales

My life is an open book, and I did make that decision to fill it up with tales of wonderful life experience. However, sometimes I wonder how the plot lines turn up three degrees away from the foreshadowed themes. I am also very susceptible to the the power of suggestion; even and especially it’s self imposed. I can convince myself of almost anything and sometimes that means opinion-whiplash in hindsight. All of a sudden I see how those compliments were really not just comfort compliments. There is a lot more to them, and that makes me Bug. She thought I was her because I really like him.

Twisted & Twister

I don’t like thinking that everything happens for a reason. The neatly tied up box with a ribbon at the top form of life events is not something that makes a lot of cameos in my life. I asked one hundred times when the last night I could be here was, and I had a clean response of Saturday night. But then she decided to move the break the wall and take out the furniture day to 7 a.m. on Friday. 7 a.m. might have been forgivable somehow if I had not already nodded to houseguests. More people have air mattresses than I would have thought. And I lugged them in the monsoon downpours to the winery for them. (people are sometimes awesome- I’m starting to think these sort of people are what the word friend was intended for). 

The assholes decided to book hotel rooms instead. Rosi and I headed to a diner for an all american grilled cheese sandwich cut in triangles and all just like middle school. This was after she recorded in an all american superstar studio. ‘”I went down on him,” she said.’ and “Let’s go find some assholes.” were just two of the funny things she came up with that evening. 

See, assholes or not we both had anxiety at the same time for our boys in the sky. Our fears and mindsets are constantly colliding. It’s great stuff. 

So we went to find the boys in the west village for some drinks. Because no-one really is sober. And we got to laugh and try on different hats for a while. She kissed him and he kissed me and geometrical shapes are starting to encroach on our lives in the oddest forms.

Clear Channel

The weather refused to predict nothing but rain. However, the Billboard shoot took a few hours of sunshine. Literally and figuratively. I’m not just talking about the abundance of pizza and cupcakes. I am speaking of the absolute thrill I had watching the five cameras collaborating to shoot Rosi with the most beautiful direction. He was definitely insane and a mad scientist of sorts, but it was amazing to watch him at work and I understood what it was all about. The light, the shadows, the swooping, the timing with the music and the unexpected angles had me completely mesmerized. I practically skipped to work (an hour late) like a five year old little boy who had gotten to see the inside of a fire truck. And it turns out the producer was a lady named Chris and she tour managed a bunch of bands like The Strokes and I think even Bright Eyes, and I need to talk to her about it.

 

Walking the Miles in Bits and Pieces

Mum is an under-expresser. So is Charlie. The Father is an over-expresser. And so am I. Rivka is somewhere in between. She bottles things up and way too quiet for most of the time and then goes off like a pistol if she is triggered and over-expresses in the most extreme way. But going back to Mum…Today I was able to lure some of her under expressed insights out of her. Amidst sobs and tears after being violently ill at Home, I begged her with bloodshot eyes to explain what she was thinking. They have been known to say that mothers know everything. And even if getting older sheds cynicism on that statement, mothers definitely know more about their children than they’d care to consider. So Mum explained that it’s ok that I am wary of relationships and commitment. However it is not ok for me to sabatage my future by just following a lull of actions and bits of jobs with the mindset that I am just a figure blowing in the wind with no goals.

Short term or Long term….goals are important just to take any size steps with conviction. I realize now that she means to retire to the homeland and I had never seen her so open to that before. 

So purchasing an open ticket for the globe for the fall is not a bad idea Mumsey. India is not just a dream…and neither is my will to leave this city of love/hate for traveling and self exploration…

Bon Iver

Seasons are becoming inconsequential and irrelevant. I definitely got intense thrills from the few absolutely beautiful days we have had our way lately, but going from snow flurries to 90 degrees and then back to 45 degrees and cloudy all in the matter of a week in April is not what you would consider a typical Spring Season. Other things on a more theoretical season changing front are more consistent. People come and go and old tunes resurface to their place as favorites on an eye level shelf. She is dating him?! And he has put down the bottle. I finally got settled and now I have to move again. This is life…if things remained stable for too long I suppose it wouldn’t be nearly as exciting. So even in the blossoming of Spring, whether it’s a season of theoretical or practical proportions, in this day and age, it can still be appropriate to wish you a ‘Good Winter.’

Kitsch

It is definitely not October anymore. People always say that time passes faster and faster as you get older, and I believe whoever those people are. If you’re one of those people that has ever said that- I believe you.

Point is the holiday is over now, and leavened bread is once more the friend of all those who shunned it for eight days. I spent happy days reading nonstop. See, now instead of searching ways to escape the time I spend at home on holidays, I embrace it and do what I never allow myself to do in the normal crazy days of life. I read The Unbearable Lightness of Being and Middlesex. Both books were amazing just as she said they would be. I think it’s interesting that both books managed to speak of psychology, history, and politics all using a novel as the foundation. I also find it interesting that the word Kitsch made cameos more than once in each book. So here’s to Kitsch!

So yea…There is nothing wrong with just sitting and reading. And drinking lots of wine. Of course there is something off about drinking lots of wine if it’s to soothe the anger I felt a few moments for Mumsey. I am amused though by the way she sat not looking upset at all while I downed like 3 glasses in row, without stopping. (It’s definitely wrong to just drink wine down like that without even stopping to  pay the slightest bit of attention to the tastes). I’m officially moving (back) into the apartment with loads of stuff. But not loads and loads. I’ve already learned the lesson of bringing too much there, and I don’t need to learn it again. I can be mindful of what I really think I’ll want there. And I’ll draw the line there for now.

Deep Breaths

I feel every fiber in me wanting to complain often which is very contradictory to the way I perceive myself. I don’t perceive myself as a whiny complaining haggard female. I picture myself bright and happy with a sly smile and wandering through life making the best of it, and living fully. But working hard dulls the sparkly edges, and that’s why I’ve been feeling myself ready to complain so. However, tonight was another night for me to start breathing again. Patti Smith came to play with Philip Glass, and from the moment she walked into soundcheck I felt like some of my worlds; past and present were colliding pleasantly. I know I’ve been told I’m an old soul. And I know I believe it very deeply. Seeing Patti walk into the place where I work made me feel like things were finally connecting and times and experiences I feel like I’ve had in the 60’s and 70’s long before I was born, were calmed. I felt calm knowing that in this day and age I still get to reach out and feel part of the better life it was then. I confess to have teared up while she read bits of Allen Ginsberg’s poetry and told tales of his deathbead. The way the words flowed off her tongue with the piano playing in the background made the words live. Someone wrote those words (whether it be Blake, Ginsberg, a songwriter…) People write words, in the most sincere passionate way- directly from their heart. And hearing it tonight made those words live. And let me Breathe.

Considering Cleansing

• Lemons (60-100)
• Maple Syrup (grade B)
• Cayenne Pepper
• Herbal Laxatives
• Sea Salt

Take herbal laxative the night before you start. (tablet or tea). Must be taken every night (or the saltwater rinse) of the cleanse. Morning of Day 1 either take the herbal laxative again or use salt water bath. (2 teaspoons of non-iodized sea salt to one quart of warm water). Drink 6-12 glasses of Lemonade a day. 

Lemonade: 

• Place 2 tablespoons of freshly squeezed lemon juice into a glass
• Add 2 tablespoons of maple syrup
• Add 1/8 teaspoon of cayenne powder
• Fill the glass with 8 ounces of water

About them Apples

I’m forcing myself to get up and be better. I’m shaking off the evil un-pixie dust, I’m going back to square healthy. I will not eat crap late at night anymore just to make myself feel like I’m rewarding my victory for getting through a long hard day. I will not drink soda. (I mean like seriously what the hell could have started this?) I will go back to drinking amounts of water daily which get quizzical looks mixed with admiration from people who ‘don’t drink water.’ I will try and drink at least two cups of green tea a day, because last night I went to bed feeling much better about myself after having done so. And to start this new page off write, I’m headlining it with a calligraphy move of sorts. I read about detox diets and the easiest one is the apple cleansing diet. For three days, apples will become my main food of consumption. Along with green tea and water. Lots of all of the above. Here’s to that, you big old Funk- I’m tossing you out of here with both arms and possibly even three kicks with both feet….Cuz I’m ready to restart on a good Foot. and good Food.

1st Aid

Drama Drama Drama.

It follows me everywhere, though when I step back and sip tea I realize I’m decidedly alone as soon as I walk away from all the action in the Drama I encounter outside. The winery is only three months old, and the crew of employees are even younger in the sense of our knowing each-other, and yet people have already left, people have already been fired, and more than one pair have slept together. So it seems that wine and cheese or wine and music are not the only thing fated to be drawn together inside the 25,000 square feet one block north of Soho. I work hard in general in life. I am aware of problems in situations and with people, and rush to their Aid First. But in romance I think of, but don’t Act. And I think too late, at that. But maybe it’s my blessing in disguise. Instead of getting wrapped up in situations, I get to marvel at everyone else’s, be their conscious, be their guide, help write the Script, play a supporting Role. And walk home alone, out of the Scene before some haunted Director shouts out ‘Cut!’ But right here in this moment of reflection of past and present, I wish I was the one walking the tightrope, even with the fear of the fall, because then at least my aches and pains would be for me, myself, and I. And perhaps someone would even come to my aid.

Pitifully Absent. Here is too Pitiful.

My lack of energy is really a symptom of too much energy. I work myself thin but still I need to run and sweat and feel endorphins. So these past few weeks of commuting after working doubles has created lots of trouble. Back and forth and Forth and back. And I’m scaring myself. I mix up reality and dreams, I half read messages and forget to respond, and my real life has gotten shelved for barrels. Today is mostly passed. And tomorrow needs to happen, but I need to provoke it so. My self pity and tired spirit needs to be recognized as merely the absence of possibilities grabbed with the energy boiling in between hidden creases.

Spring Cleaning

Good. How about you? 

This is what we have devolved to. Ha. I am in good enough spirits to laugh this off.

I ran into Mr. Benjamin on Hope Street where we all used to frolic and he gave me a pink pill that makes food taste extraordinary for ten minutes after. I am saving it for when I can appreciate that. Walter’s had an awesome vibe and I let my giddy postworkday ness squirt off in the dim lit friendly atmosphere with Amber, Joey, and Luke. She and some Others off to SXSW while I remain in NXNE…

Last week was a whirl of Lucky Ones and their art that makes them lucky. He did come back and drink some  during Ingrid’s brilliant captivating set. She puts on funky glasses and flirts with a whole room of people who want to hold her hand and run around and be her best friend forever. Because she’s funny and cute and knows how to tell stories and sing songs that make you feel like you’re the only one hearing the secret. Miss Moss is no side-woman, she is the star of her own show and must know it and be known for it. Bess and Chris are cute as buttons with the most solid talent holding their incredible personalities and musical abilities in place. What a show, what a show. I made sure to run about and create connections to further the negative degree of separation between all in the music world. Rosie and Glen and Allie and Bess and Chris and Ingrid and Regina. Oh my. Whatever the stars have done to align themselves so I am aligned with such amazing figures, it’s beautiful.

There was a newborn perfect baby and a beautiful old dog at the Living Room, and the Beautiful One and I got to talking finally. Walls come crashing down doesn’t always mean destruction. Sometimes it’s a catharsis, and getting over it.  Sometimes removing part of the equation which unites people in the scene creates a possibility for friendship. I see so much of myself in her, and I hope I can hold on to it and grow with the same genre of the Tale. Oh and Mr. First, Thanks for putting in a good word with the Boss. Things happen for a reason and just the thought of it made me feel so honored.

Here is my shout-out to the perfect tour…come find me, please.

Once…Stars & Stipe…REM with very little Sleep

I can’t believe I gave him my clock in/clock out time stub instead of the piece of yellow notebook paper torn out with Max the Girl and my phone number scribbled on it. I realized so this morning when I found my own number in my pocket. Jeez. Of course. I always get it 3/4 percent. But he did say we had an instant attraction and that he wants to see me again…so after Jimmy Fallon today maybe he’ll show up. Because after all, our tidbits of drunken chatting were really intriguing and fun even amongst the drunk after party with all the Stars. And Stipe. Haha. I think I’m funny. Bess and Allie and Chris were there and it was so nice to have a bit of Home at Work. Ingrid thinks I’m tiny and I saved her jacket from the barrel room so maybe tonight she will remember me. Josh showed up for Rachel and it was awesome to see him but it was like a pleasant ghost from my past that I wish would become part of my friendly present. Who knows maybe with the teasing blasts of spring air, all those folks will come back into my life for another summer fling? But I’m happy to say I’m happy right now. I told Michael that it made moments like that worth bringing up the Baby. The winery is just 2.5 months old, and already kinks are being worked out, and he is getting thank you’d by the Lucky Ones. Mim & Jakey are married for 2 months. We shared orgasmic wine and chocolate and spoke to Frank about his roasted pumpkin seeds. I love them. They are family. Today I’m grateful for last night, I’m hanging on hungover with ten fingers and ten toes to all the faces and all the fun. And I hope four o clock a.m. shuteye didn’t close the book on the poor fellow left with my hostess hours.

Still friends…of a different Genre

When I met you on the ancient city wall steps I’d never have imagined I’d actually catch you. Your smile made my heart do flip flops. We exchanged numbers and you were in my phone as Hot Matt. A few months later we slow danced to no music in the hotel lobby at the conference when everyone else was long asleep.  A few more months later, I got on that train to Syosset to see you just because I knew you were in the same state as me; it was one of the most spontaneous daring things I could have done that day. You picked me up in the pouring rain and the ride to the house was full of noisy questioning thoughts rattling my mind. And then we walked inside and within three minutes there was a loud boom and all the electricity for miles went out. It was like a message from fate telling us to do something. We experienced what should have been a scene out of a movie, and I will always have it in my favorites collection. We met again when you came on a business meeting and we spent another cinematic number of hours in that hotel. And that was all. We have a magnetic connection, and now you’re moving on and have chosen to make her your wife. I admire you for being able to put your foot down and do this with your life. Thanks for showing me all that. And you’re definitely welcome for memories you’ve now told me you’ll never forget. The end.

C’est La Tour, C’est L’avie.

I learned some lessons on tour. About taking things in stride, and I felt myself getting stronger from it. First of all, in the airport I totally had forgotten that my pocket-knife necklace which I had created from an antique pocket-knife I had fallen in love with in Williamsburg, was in fact a weapon. It was so early in the morning after no sleep and I thought my world would spontaneously combust when the lady told me there was nothing I could do. My luggage was already on the plane, there was noone who would take pity on me and keep it, and I had to just let it go. I DON’T just let go. Ever. I fight. But I had no choice, so I put it outside in a whole in the pavement and I know I will never see it again. 

Then, in St. Louis, I lost my wallet. Besides for losing my card for my identity: my license was also the primary asset I held for tour and it was gone with 100 bucks in cash and all my credit cards. (And the Pigs game notecard from Londonderry when I had gone with Amber and played with her and Austin for the first time and won). I panicked for about 5 minutes which is an age and a half shorter than the normal panic time I’d estimate if the same scenario had occurred while I was in normal un-tour life.  

C’est La Tour. C’est L’avie.

My Tale

I worked for 7 days in a row plus two nights during that time. And that was after 8 days of sleep deprived, long drives, and a musical tour. I felt fatigued, and now I finally slept until I woke up instead of when an artificial annoying sound startled me into morning (or lack there of) consciousness. Tour feels like ages ago, but I am still thriving on its memory and how much fun it was. I keep telling people that I will make my life as interesting and full of experiences as possible. I think I need to start making a list and attach it to my resume; of things that I have just done for the hell of it. Maybe the reason why people think I’m such an old soul with wise insights and advice is because I am so open to doing things and jumping on opportunities and putting myself out there. Most people my age just follow a route set out by the general public in society. That is why I get along so well with musicians and artists. Because they see the greatness of the world and the urgency of doing something they love. And they struggle for it, but they are truly living instead of following a strand of counted days being startled awake by artificial sound, dressing in clothes presenting an artificial image for ‘the man’, and slaving over the same pointless labor day after day. I am thankful for my life and the way it keeps tossing me curve balls of opportunities which I can catch and use to write my own tale and illustrate my own evolvement.