Sunday, July 3, 2011

I Don't Want to Be Your Friend::I Just Want to Have a Conversation

I've done something horrible. With a single, Thor-like swing, I shattered the very essence of my being and tore my integrity to shreds by finally breaking down and getting an apartment. No longer am I a lonesome wanderer, treading the dusty roads, sleeping beneath bridges and amongst the graves while living off my toils and labor. Gone are the days of climbing atop trains and waking up to the smell of unshowered flesh and the sight of muskrat infested creeks. I've changed, nay, transformed from a homeless, nomadic troubadour to a civilized and en-homed, upstanding citizen. What's happening to me? What have I become? I need to figure this out. I've been playing so much lately that it's reached that thrilling point where people have started singing along or will tell me they really like the line "_____" from one song or another and quote it perfectly. It's good to know people are listening. They might listen too much; I was walking down broadway the other night and passed a street duo just as they were singing the lines //some say the devil wears a smile and pointed horns but I can see/that the devil is a woman and that woman's got ahold of me//. I sat there kind of shocked by the fact that they were playing my song but sang along awhile before the guy stopped suddenly and yelled, "Oh my god! This is the kid who wrote this song!" He then introduced me to his girlfriend and we talked for awhile. As it turns out he's seen me play several times and after he showed the song to his girlfriend they learned it and have been doing it together since he saw me play all the way back in May. That's cool, I guess. Other than the fact that the chords were wrong and some of the words were off. One thing's for sure, he definitely made me realize the importance of having things copyrighted. Glad I cover myself before playing out. I want to get out of this town. I think I want to get out of anywhere. I got my hair cut today by the first person in the world who understands how I want my haircut. That's why she's a barber...or barberette, rather. I don't think that's right. Regardless, the sailor language, touring discussions and killer music only added to the experience. The cops stopped me and made me take my bandanas off at the theatre last night. That was weird. That should be my next band name; the Band Anna...

Oh yeah, and I met Ben Folds in the bathroom and ended up eating turkey sandwiches at Panera with him. Not in the bathroom.

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