Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Most Likely the Last Entry of 2006

It was the best year and worst year of my life in 2006. My son was born 2 or so weeks after my sister was diagnosed with cancer. Both of these happenings have changed me for good. I'm emotionally spent half of the time and feel like I'm reverting to someone I left behind years ago.I climbed out of one hole so I could dig another. As a grown man in his now late thirties, I often felt like I was 26 again and this was a Groundhog day "year" where I woke up and kept repeating bad habits, cursing my past and wondering why bad things kept happening to me. Yet I don't believe I'm cursed. I just feel like I'm treading water in the dark. I felt trapped in a city I have no real connection to for the second year in a row. The scenery is stellar but I've had my fill.It has not helped my fight against being born again motivated.And I feel tired every day.I felt helpless in my sister's fight and near a million miles away. I felt displaced and detached. But I sometimes don't think it would make a difference what city I was in. The masks I wear fit nicely anywhere. I'm a father now and I love the feeling of having had a part in creating another human being who can learn from me and exceed all expectations that I ever had for myself. My son brings me such joy. I learn from him as well. He has taught me to smile every day for no particular reason...My sister has taught me to take second looks, appreciate beyond my own ideals, and look for answers. My wife has been a constant giver, a patient partner and a great mother. Its almost as if she was born to do this. Always the multitasker, she has now taken it to levels beyond comprehension. I do not have her patience, I hope someday to reach her level. I'm bored with my baby steps, and ready for Hudson's.I'm ready to lay down my old tools for new ones that do not require hands to use. I'm ready for change in 2007. I really am.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

And Rock On is a Virtue

poetry from 2001

And rock on is a virtue
as the warm gibson sings
bat in the belfry
bird on a wing
and the soul is a chord structure
as the pain echoes in amps
some of us preach of riches
as if gypsies, tramps.
And rock on is a virtue
as if a song in my head
I'm better off singing
fits better than dead
I'm off and better singing
so the denim angel says
as the iron gods rehearse
the stoner devil slays.
And rock on is my mantra
it is a bitter badge
so called call to glory
its everything I have.
Everything I'm made of
and most of what you're not
you can't kill rock and roll
on days when time forgot.

what in the year 2000 wuz I thinking

I found this tonite...haven't seen it in 6 years...don't know "where " i was then besides residing in NYC..I thought I would post it to practice typing and induce head scratching everywhere else...I'm positive it was about a cornucopia of fabricated creations, since it makes fifteen percent sense.


I methodically think back to an hour or two ago walking behind a thousand sweetnesses in a cradle of satin the crease of your jeans and the mad wet mystery inbetween. A fashion week ass and that above the bra line boob surge like an inner tube gone awry. All day long so lonely. tongue in a groove in a dream how electricity comes and goes from mad wattage to outage within ten city blocks. Anxiety wardrobes and dead calms. Mornings vs. friday nights in an amateur extreme fighting championship. Ken Shamrock of the AM vs. Mr. Gracie of the PM. Tao of the tai chi vs. brute force blood drain teeth flared ears hot ignite mans head is made of thunderstorm to drown the fire in the heart. And I don't walk as aimless anymore. I head for the early train catch a flick in my cube read some scribe in the dark fall under when the body tells me to. Ahh sleep so safe. No scab left to scrape. Phone numbers dwindle down to simple math. 2 plus 2. So simple and new. If I don't stay busy. The vultures pass on my open wounds, but on their way away, they let the robins know of the rich grey worm within the helmet of my head. It is only guarded when I'm switched on. Auto pilot makes me fair game for the scavengers. The driven. The winners. The gene pool lottery sinners...bitches click their heels.. witches make the deals, give you half a pass and show you how it feels..your'e just a human....victim of the InSane...isolation.....the sun may never disappear ...but the world may not have many years...isolation.


Bonham was 32 when he passed, vodker did him in, it was total rock and roll, one tired and deadly sin from within...I sometimes hear his bass drum godly triplets as I high step the sidewalks stroller free, I know Bonham reincarnated could never be me......Have you ever listened to Kashmir in Yer headphones for the trillionth time? Its childish, epic and sublime. And when I drink I lean towards rhyme..classic rock crutches help me walk proud and distorted every time. Blog Captain Blog, on your mystery trip...riff equals gallop, beat equals skip. And Classic rock is my badge of courage, its my invisibility cloak, its my godsended weapon mjolnir, its everyone else's long running joke. We need arenas and religious parking lots where we begged forgiveness and rocked till we drop, we live vicarious legends via VH1, we windmilled and headbanged and plugged into fun..now all of this past tense is poison to those who live so pure....it makes sense to me to retrace my steps to this simple sonic cure......

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Hermit the Blog

Couch surf comic awareness one headphone off baby coughs thom yorke soundtrack import hardcore stuporstar blog non bountiful since everything I say turns to gold when you're deaf....you can feel like this too and accomplish everything you've been told to do...fitter, happier golden hues of decadense...the year of living dangerously..living in cold code..pummeling fun into dust..here comes the son...love the son. struggle through barre chords and stumble through space..save white albums save face...you are my sunshine reflecting the puddles running out of my garage..life on the third floor first six months of a life laid out here framed in here unwound and wrapped in love and patience love and patience love and patience..on/off switch..love and sleep and lifting smiles from frantic teething...barely breathing to quiet yourself to hear his...rituals patience and love shape a life rituals patience and love shape a life. breathing life into yours is mine, your mothers and mine.