Homeward Tennessee

Charlotte feels like a prison cell. I was hoping to leave tonight but I had a full set list of time to do before I was released and didn't feel much like driving afterwards. All day felt strange. It's been one of those apathetic days where all I want to do is stay away from everybody, lock myself away somewhere and not talk to anyone. I feel shy around everyone and answer questions with a timid smile and a nod. I had to play the show but I didn't feel much like performing. It went alright, I guess. It kind of felt more like an 8 hour work day than anything else. A half empty room and a cramped stage typically make for a decent show; but not tonight. Tonight felt stagnant. The room was smokey and the hipster elitists made every song feel like it was being broken down, inspected and thrown away. Nothing hit home. One couple sat, watching intently, while the rest of the room went on about their business as if I was a jukebox tucked away in a corner somewhere. I'd play my songs, they'd realize I stopped, half-way clap, and it would all start over. I wanted nothing more than for Rickey to run out of the corner, jump up on stage and play the show with me. Maybe then it wouldn't matter and we'd have fun anyway. I don't mind playing for small crowds. I love it. I'll play to a room. I'll play to anything. I'll play to nothing...just not tonight. Tonight I just want to leave. I wound up playing a short set and getting out early on good behavior. I wrapped up and left with some change from the door and a couple doughnuts from behind the bar. I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to shut everybody out. I got to some obscure place, pulled back the curtain on my truck and unpacked my guitar. My phone rang a couple times. I ignored it. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I could hear sirens in the distance; they served as the only reminder that there was anything at all beyond the black curtain that separated me from the rest of the world. Other than that it was just me. We're caught up with time now. I'm sitting here. Typing away on an out-dated cellphone and clutching this guitar like a life-ring in some kind of vast ocean of apathy. My doughnuts are gone. I can't stop coughing and eat coughdrops like candy. There are no sirens anymore. Everything is quiet. Utter silence. I'll probably be up awhile. I'm going home in the morning. Home - there's a term for you. I'm only going there so I can pack up and leave again. I'm happiest here - alone in some parking lot in some city I can't pronounce. I'm home right now. Home - I like that.

You Play the Washboard and I'll Play the Broads

New York, New York. The metropolitan mother-ship of the USA. Nothing even comes close. Screaming car horns, flashing lights, looming towers and nearly nine million sleepless residents fill the city from street to street. Existence at its finest. It was this constant display of endless motion that was still running through my head when I arrived in Purcellville, VA. There's a change. After a bit of research, I learned that more people work in the Empire State Building then reside in Purcellville. However, this is where my brother lives - so this is where I found myself. It didn't matter. It was good to see him again...it was good to sleep in a bed again. It was good to take a shower again. I think my socks were molded to my feet. I was kind of scared to take them off. I'm sure they could have stood on their own. Since Rickey was playing washboard and guitar with me that night, a bunch of Patrick Henry students came out to the DC show and created a super fun, high-energy, performance that I'll remember for awhile. Not to mention playing with Rick again was amazing. We played, and sang, and stomped, and danced to our heart's content until the whole little upstairs room had broken into a roaring, spinning, swing dance party. At one point, I was playing "Who Cries Over Dead Spiders?" when Rickey jumped out into the crowd and broke into a whole dance routine with some classmates. So Rick could leave early, we got moved from headlining to a 10pm spot. When we got done, the final act (who was supposed to play before us) made it extremely clear that they didn't even want to play because they knew they couldn't compete with our energy and performance enough to try to follow us. We were all smiles. I've had bands scheduled to follow me walk out without playing before. I'm really glad these guys still went on because they turned out to be one of the best bands I've played with this whole trip. Such a good time and such a good band. (check out Dan Wolff when you get a chance) I wish Rickey could be with me every night. We'd never have a bad show and we'd make so much money. It was good to see my parents while I was in VA as well. Mikelle finally got her dog. He's kind of invasive but seems cool enough. If you make fun of him she'll stab you in the liver. She's a liver stabber.

I hit the 3500 mile mark today. 3500 miles in 15 days. I still have another 18 days and 2500+ miles to drive before the tour is over. Unless I keep going. I added some more show dates and hope to keep moving 'till I can't anymore. Maybe I'll settle in Phoenix for awhile. Maybe New Mexico...

It strange, there's something about driving all over the country that requires monstrous amounts of gasoline. I'll never understand it. See, it's about a 6 1/2 hour drive from VA to Knoxville. That's 6 1/2 hours worth of gasoline I have to posses, and so many dollars worth of money I have to have to purchase said 6 1/2 hours worth of gasoline to make the previously mentioned 6 1/2 hour drive without winding up gas-less on some God-forgotten street corner west of nowhere. I didn't think this was going to be a problem as I pretty much tour for gas money. I play shows to make enough gas money to get to the next city who can pay me enough gas money to get to the next, then the next, then the next, then the next. It's a revolving cycle. I don't need things for myself. I can live on a shoe-string; $200 is like $2500 and a cheeseburger is a New York Strip when you live in a truck-bed. Give me a box of poptarts and a Dr Pepper and I'm happy. Just keep me on the road. But sometimes the cycle stops. Sometimes things get fun and you get that awesome chance to actually live for awhile. It's usually the long-hauls that do it. You know, those trips from Cleveland to Philadelphia with nothing but a day off in between. In this case it was Manhattan to Virginia then Staunton to Knoxville that got me. It's a good 600 mile haul between each stop and I'd made enough for half of that. I had nothing left 150 miles outside of Knoxville and decided to drive until I either got there or stopped moving. Turns out it was a good idea as I ran out of gas in front of a hospital in downtown Knoxville - not far from where I needed to be. It was around 2:45am, I had a cool radio program scheduled for the next morning, and my phone said I was within 3 miles. Close enough for folk-travel. I was happy. I still can't believe I made it that far. I think I laughed for like 15 minutes straight at how well it worked out. Honestly, my gas light had come on about 35 miles prior and I expected a far heftier walk. 3 miles is nothing. I pushed my truck into the parking lot and went to bed. The next morning I walked to the station and made it in time to play an incredibly fun, on air acoustic set (in front of a live studio audience) and meet a killer bluegrass/rock band from Colorado. (you can check out our performances here: http://www.wdvx.com/programs/blueplate.html. Be sure to look up Old North State, great band and such cool guys). O.N.S. and I kept talking about how surprised we were by the number of people that came out for a 12pm show. The place was packed and everybody seemed super receptive. The show wrapped up and I still didn't have any money, so afterwards I walked downtown, played on the street a bit, sold some records and ended up hawking an old fender amp to get back on the road. Knoxville is super pretty and one of the coolest towns I've been to. Maybe I just like the excitement. 

By 3pm I was headed to Charlotte with a few hundred bucks, a cheeseburger and a sense of accomplishment. So much fun. I love this stuff. Honestly, I was bored. Things had been too smooth for a solo tour and I kept waiting for that "let's get resourceful" moment to kick in. I can't believe it took this long but I'm glad it finally happened. What a great time. Can't wait 'till it happens again. 

I pulled into Charlotte and the first thing I saw was a pink truck. What a great day. I think I'll play downtown awhile before the show. It'll be a small show tonight then I'm headed home for two days. It'll be cool to play in Nashville on Saturday and Sunday before leaving for Florida. Good crowds and good people. I can't wait to get to be back in Nashville and Florida. I think they'll be my favorite stops. My body is acting weird. I think I need to sleep or eat something decent. 

There are two fat high-school girls sitting across from me having a very intense conversation about restaurants they wish existed...oh, fat kids...

All Sail Away

The past assortment of shows has been an amazing experience. Cleveland, Youngstown, Pittsburgh, Gettysburg, Adams Morgan. I played Washington, DC to a sold out house of nearly 350 in a building with a 300 person capacity. It was cool to have more than 30 something people like the last couple nights have been. It was so confined and congested that the energy between the stage and the crowd was enough to tear one's eyes out. Such a great time. I played a 2 hour set with a 30 minute encore that finished one of the best shows I've ever played in my life. I don't think I've ever felt so in tuned to an audience as I was that night. The sound guy plays saxophone for a killer blues band and, after minimal coaxing, he played the back half of the show with me. The last hour plus was filled with the grittiest, toughest blues solos ever to grace the air. At one point we rode a 6-4-1 progression for 10 minutes while I stood on tables and walked throughout the room amidst the roars of brilliance flowing from the tenor horn on stage. Everybody knew the words by that point. I stood on a chair, leading a chanting chorus as the crowd screaming along to the lines "My My My a Man Can Not Deny - Depression Will Kill You Just As Fast As Dying!" for what seemed like hours. I never wanted it to end. It was one of those shows that's since played like a movie through my mind; flickering and jumping from scene to scene, song to song, face to face. I think I'll remember it for awhile.

My truck got broken into in Baltimore while I was sleeping in the back. I woke up and managed to scare the two away with a swinging baseball bat before anything was taken or seriously damaged. It's a good city. The next day, I asked if I could see a room at a local hotel and, as I had hoped, they gave me a key and told me I could go check it out. I went in the room, took a shower and then told the front desk attendant I wasn't interested in the room and left. Hygiene: maintained.

From there I headed north - a little quicker than usual - to Philly and then Manhattan. Both shows were pretty uneventful and nothing really exciting happened. Regardless, I love Philadelphia and can't wait to go back.
I did watch a police officer get run over in Manhattan. Some lady came flying through a light, knocked him under the car, rolled over him and continued driving until she made it across the intersection. Scariest thing I've ever seen in my life. This had either happened before or he slid right between the tires because he jumped up, staggered around for a second, then sprinted after her car. He screamed at her for awhile then let her go. I'm pretty sure anywhere else that's a criminal offense. Thank God for the tender, mild mannered, loving, police of New York City. Apart from a little blood, he seemed completely fine. Weird stuff.
I did get a chance to play Arlene's Grocery that night. That was cool, despite the fact that I don't think anyone cared I was there...and if they did it's because they were upset that they had to suffer through a whole set list. I think I'm becoming the number one thing New Yorkers are giving up for Lent. At one point, three guys (out of the 5 or 6 people there) were standing in front of the stage slapping their knees and doing mocking farm dances while yelling "Yeee-Haw!!!" and other such things. Eventually they told me I sucked and left. I was jealous that they got to leave before me. At least I'm leaving tonight. Jersey likes me better.

Overall, Baltimore was classy, Philly was boring, Newark was strangely clean, Manhattan hated me and I'm having the best time of my life. In response, I booked two more weeks of shows and question whether or not I'll ever return to Nashville...
God, I love living. 

Liberty For All

I was literally the only person at the Lincoln Memorial who wasn't black. I thought that was interesting.

I want a voice that transcends race and generations like that. 

Bleed Your Throat Out

I left last week. Alone as usual; just me and my guitars. I like it that way. It's less stifling. It's amazing how difficult it is to keep someone on the road. Once the reality of sleeping in a car and living off potato chips kicks in they find some family emergency to declare and catch the first train back to nowhere. I like it better that way.

I made it to Indianapolis around 10pm in time to play for a room-full of angst filled locals. What a great city. Everybody was super col and everything was extremely frozen. There was a water fountain with a stream of ice protruding from it. It almost looked like a cartoon. I played for hours and sang until my throat was raw (vocal teachers cringe). What a great way to start off a trip. I can't wait to make it back and play the White Rabbit again.

6am rolled around and it was northbound and west to Chicago. I love this city. It may be the windy city, but to me it's the, "city that I've never had a bad time in and is awesome enough that it doesn't matter that it's windy" city. I am yet to visit without the police stopping me for some stupid reason or another. This time was no exception. I must have been there 15 minutes before I was stopped by two near-comedic looking officers, with affinities for bad sideburns and mustaches, and told to remove the number 3 from the side of my truck. They rambled a bit about gang involvement and other things while I spray painted over the small bit of individuality I possess. Before I was let go, they made me remove the bandana from my pocket and explained to me the dangers of being alone in a big city. They then told me to try to stay with my group and pointed out all the "safe and touristy" places I should visit before I went home. Home? We're standing on my front porch, Officer; and you just made me erase my address. How will anyone ever find me now? **I would like to take this moment to congratulate the Chicago District Police Force for their ever vigil eye and thorough awareness of gang-warfare**  I paraded around the city, through both the places I'd been warned about and the brighter side of youthful tourism. Reggies was a super cool place. Smaller crowd, but the show was a good time and I met a bunch of really cool people. I think one of my favorite parts of traveling is seeing other people's apartments before they have a chance to clean them up and offer a false representation. It's like I get to see how they actually live right up front; before the plasticity and efforts to impress begin. I like being a part of their culture and lifestyle that I've never experienced before. It's always interesting to walk in the door, followed by rains of apologies at the sate of the place (like I live in a mansion or something), look around and think, "Oh, so that's what 25 year old Boston residents keep on their mantles." We sat in Chicago, in a hot-tub on the roof, while the snow surrounded, showered by the lights of the city and watching the trains pass by beneath the shadow of the former Sears Tower. It was awesome. I was in a part of the city the police had warned me about; but there was a moose head on the wall so it didn't matter. The sun came up - it didn't matter either. It had been a good night and I had 6 hours to drive. I changed and bid everyone goodbye. I rarely dislike leaving somewhere, but this time I wanted another day. Columbus felt like my mother urging me home when I wanted to stay at a friends house a bit longer. Nevertheless, you can't ignore your mother...

Drive. I don't remember much of the drive to Columbus. Everything seemed a kind of blurry daze; whether it was because I was traveling so fast that I had begun to time travel or because I hadn't slept in 36 hours, I still haven't decided. Nevertheless, all I recall is traveling through tiny cities that looked like they'd been plucked from Norman Rockwell paintings and thrust into real life. I wanted to get out and touch them to verify whether  they were real or not. I stopped at a graveyard for a bit. I felt a sort of sombre calmness; like I was coming home. The snow covered the names and I had to dig a few headstones out from the snow to read the death dates. 3 hours. Black ice, minor collision. Set back. The truck was fine so it didn't matter. 9pm and I made it to Columbus to find a basement venue stuffed full of the most backward, cousin-loving, hillbillies I'd ever encountered. It made Kentucky look like Jane Austin while Columbus resembled Deliverance. I sat in the back, swimming through smoke, indifferent to the comedians and one man acts that played before me. I think my mind was still out west. I wanted to leave. I finally walked on stage, looked over the silent crowd and put on the best show I think I've ever performed in my life. I walked off and sat back stage awhile, listening to the roar coming from the crowd out front. I smiled, "was I really getting an encore at a dingy club in God-forsaken, Ohio?" I guess I appeal to inbred illiterates. That's comforting. I went back out and played awhile. Somebody bought me a jack and coke and spilled it all over the front of the stage trying to hand it to me mid song. Everyone was crazy...but everybody bought my record. It was 3am. I went to a local punk-house and, somehow, collapsed on the couch amidst the ruckus of an insanely crazy after-party. I'm not sure what all happened, but everybody left me alone and when I woke up, everything was broken, the door was wide open and there was snow all over the living room. I was happy to find that both my guitars and my body had managed to remain untouched. I confirmed such by walking across the room and back with no difficulty. I looked around but couldn't find anyone - so I left. As it turns out, a blizzard had come through the night before and the snow had created an intricate castle around my house-truck. What a pity to destroy such the beautiful work of art nature had provided, but it had to be done. It took a bit to dig the ol' home from the snow, but eventually we were free and hit the road for Cleveland. 

It had been 4 days since I'd taken a shower and, as I had two shows within an hour of each other, I decided to get a hotel outside the city. Was a horrible place Cleveland is. I felt the way Dorothy must have felt upon her return to Kansas from Oz. At one point, I even got a pamphlet of "Things to do in Cleveland". It literally said, "famous for our baseball stadium and large indoor shopping mall." Yay. I walked downtown. Nobody was on the streets and everything was closed by 6pm. Even McDonald's and Walmart weren't 24hrs. Columbus was the same way. What a crappy state. Anyway, I got to Wilbert's around 7p and met up with Jason and Polly (from the Punknecks). Mike made us the largest, most amazing burrito's I've ever had in my life. He made Chipotle look like they served fun size candy bars. Apparently nobody knew, or cared, that we were playing (they probably just assumed the venue closed at sundown like everything else). There must have been 15 people there. Maybe 25 if you count the kitchen staff and band members. Regardless, the show was lively and I got to test out a ton of new material. It was good to meet up with some of the Nashville crowd. *Be sure to check out Jason & the Punknecks and the Hillbilly Harlots when you get a chance (may be explicit). 

The venue was right beside the ballpark and I'd parked in the attached garage as instructed. However, I'd neglected to take into consideration that Cleveland runs on 1890's farmer time and goes to bed at 8p. I loaded up and drove around the garage a bit, only to find the doors pulled closed on every exit. 5 exits and no way out. What kind of parking garage locks cars in at only 1 in the morning? I looked at my ticket and it read, "NO EXIT AFTER 12AM ON WEEK DAYS. CALL 1-800-xxx-xxxx TO RETRIEVE VEHICLE AFTER HOURS. $250 CHARGE FOR AFTER HOURS VEHICLE RECOVERY." Seriously? I didn't mind sleeping in my truck, I just found it ironic that the first night I got a hotel I couldn't even stay there. I love this stuff.

The next morning I got back to my hotel, packed up my stuff and left for Pennsylvania. I might have made it 3 miles before breaking down. I guess Ohio's got a hold on me. I got the house fixed and made it to the venue on time. Hands down, flat-out, amazing show. I must have played just shy of 2 hours and had such a killer audience. It's cool to see people singing along to my songs. It's very weird to me. I wrote this song in the parking lot called "I Can Not Keep Silent" and felt like a preacher in an old-time tent revival singing it. Everybody was going crazy and kept calling me a modern Bob Dylan after the show. I've never had such a great response. One older lady claimed she was going to write an article about me, telling the greater Lake Eerie area that seeing me is the closest thing to seeing 25 year old Dylan. I don't know if she will or not, I don't really care, but just hearing her say that left me beaming...

Pittsburgh tomorrow. Then Philly and DC. I can't wait to meet up with the people there and play the North East again. It's going to be such a good time. 

"I Can Not Keep Silent"

Tell the business man religious leader who offers promises to come and rescue you

Only if you give your money to the hands of his campaign 

You'll be saved, you'll be saved, you'll be saved

Tell the ones who take your pennies just to pray...

Tell the cunning politician crocodiles 

Who say, "Your smile is quite becoming, dear, so come and stare awhile

at your beautiful reflection in this mirror called the Nile

I swear that I won't hurt you; I'll let no one ever hurt you

 I'm a man of grace and virtue and I'll never desert you

Can't you see the truth that lies behind my smile?"

Tell the cunning politician crocodiles...

That I can not keep silent. No, I can not keep silent

You can cut the tongue out of my mouth but I'll still write it down

For I can not keep silent. No, I will not keep silent

Tell the war-torn, zealous men of needless fighting

Always out looking for some new fight to fight in

Who subscribe to the belief that the world can not be free

Without the interference of some country over seas

And offer their protection to the side they want to see - win

And drop the bombs to roar like thunder and lightning 

Tell the war-torn, zealous men out always fighting...

That I can not keep silent. No, I can not keep silent

You can cut the tongue out of my mouth but I'll still write it down

For I can not keep silent. No, I will not keep silent

Tell the woman, men and children like you and me

Who stare each day in horror and disbelief

At everything that they despise happening right before their eyes

When will we start to realize that it's time to stand as one and rise

and recognize that we were born free

Tell the women, men and children like you and me...

That we can not keep silent. No, we can not keep silent

You can cut the tongues out of our mouths but we'll still write it down

For we will not keep silent. No we will not keep silent.

We can not keep silent. No, we will not keep silent

Upcoming Tour Dates

Here is a list of my upcoming tour dates. Sorry for the delay.

Thanks, and can't wait to see you there! 

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February

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Sat 2/11 - Indianapolis, IN

The White Rabbit

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Sunday 2/12 - Chicago, IL 

Reggie's Music Joint, doors @ 8pm

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Monday, 2/13 - Columbus, OH

The Distillery, doors @ 7pm 

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Tuesday, 2/14 - Cleveland, OH

Wilbert's, doors @ 7pm

With: Jason & the Punknecks

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Wednesday, 2/15 - Youngstown, OH
The Red Roof, doors @ 8pm
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Thursday, 2/16 - Pittsburgh, PA

Private Event

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Friday, 2/17 - Washington, DC

Madam's Organ, doors @ 6pm

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2/18 - Newark, NJ
Shuttle, doors @ 8pm

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Sunday, 2/19 - Manhattan, NY

Arlene's Grocery, doors @ 8pm

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Monday 2/20 - Philadelphia, PA

Private Radio Event

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Tuesday 2/21 - Washington, DC

The Velvet Lounge, 8pm

With: The Elephant's Gerald and Daniel Wolff

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Thursday 2/23 - Knoxville, TN

Blue Plate Special, 102.9fm WDVX, 12pm

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Friday 2/24 - Charlotte, NC

The Evening Muse, doors @ 8pm

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Saturday 2/25 - Antioch, TN
The Hall, Doors @ 8pm
Private Show

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Sunday 2/26 - Nashville, TN

The End, doors @ 8pm

With: Nicole Boggs, The Golden Spurs & Zach White

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Tuesday 2/28 - Jacksonville, FL

Green Room Performance

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Wednesday 2/29 - Daytona, FL

The Disaster Show, 99.1fm WIKD, 6pm

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March:

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Thursday 3/1 - Orlando, FL

The Haven, doors @ 7pm

With: Jaron Clark, Susana Cole, Chiaz Stone, & Nelson Vincent

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Friday 3/2 - Ybor City, FL

The Collage, doors @ 8pm

With Special Guests: Zanesville & Brahm Bones

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Wednesday 3/7 - Atlanta, GA
The Variety Theatre, doors @ 6:30pm
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Friday 3/9 - San Antonio, TX
The White Rabbit, doors 8pm
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Saturday 3/10 - Austin Texas
The Green Room, doors @ 9pm

The Renegade Marie

 

10 days. 10 days until I'm back to the abnormality I consider normal. Back to the stages and the footlights and the nights spent alone in a frozen truckbed some place west of nowhere. Back to bleeding throats and microphones and staying as connected with disconnection as possible. Back to making friends I'll never remember and cities I'll pray to forget. Back to that strange place where nobody really knows me and the lines between fact and fiction become tainted, blurred and pixilated. Back to ambiguous relevance. Back to normal.
Normal? Normal is the most broken thing I've ever encountered. I'm ecstatic.
              I wrote this story last night. One of those random tales full of piracy, scorn and sorrow. It's all about this child who, upon his mother's death, finds himself aboard a war-vessel named the Marie. Over time, it's proven that the boy is a talented warrior and passionate leader. As the ship seeks to purge the seas of villainy, the boy's confidence grows to pride and his arrogance leads to the brutal slaughter of those he's sent to capture. The furious Brigadier locks the boy away, in hope that by punishing his waywardness, he can build him into a man of character to one day take his place.

The plans are foiled, however, when the crew, impressed with the boy's brutal tendencies, free the lad and plot mutiny against their leader. Forcing the Brigadier into a chest, they feed him to the sea and turn the ship toward land in hope to gain the wealth they've long desired. Weeks pass and the boy turns the ship into a callous ruckus and the crew to a viscous band of marauding outsiders. Meanwhile, a chest - full of lifelessness - lies still, cold and soaked on a beach somewhere. It's morning there and a young child chases his dog down the shoreline and sees the discarded wreckage. Assuming the treasures it contains, the child rushes home and drags his father back to the coast. Breaking it open they find, not the jewels they expected, but the Brigadier - dripping and still - but, somehow, clinging desperately to life; praying only to stop the now Renegade Marie. Days pass and the captain recovers. Assembling a vagabond crew of tired vigilantes, he makes haste to stop the plight of his former assemblage.

                  Sails are seen on the horizon...

...Cannons are prepared....  

                               ...a malignant smile crosses the young captain's face...

       ....a prayer of vengeance falls through the Brigadier's lips...
 
...seconds feel like hours as generations                            prepare for the                                       long awaited final conflict...
         ...Silence...

            ...10-9-8...                             
                             ...7-6-5-4...
                                             ...3-2-1...                                                              

Everything goes hazy among the gunfire and blinding billows of  blackened smoke. Men flood the decks as blood runs like rivers through the cracks and dents in the wood. It's a bloodbath of murderous extravagance. Through the swords and the mire, the captains strain their eyes in search of one another. Swords crash and the cannons roar as the sky opens up and sends its own flurry of ammunition upon the scuffle. At last they meet, the old, tired captain and his his youthful mutineer. No words are spoken, but the beat of their pounding hearts strike envy to the soul of thunder. There is no fight; just a smile as the lad effortlessly strikes the old mariner to his knees and stands above him. A single blow and it's over. No climax. No over-drawn plea for life. Just mercilessness. The lad stares awhile then, leaving the body, returns to his room. The fighting stops - what's the purpose now? Silence. Everyone watches as the door to the captain's quarters closes and the blinds are drawn tightly shut. what happens now?  Eventually the crews separate and depart; gathering their dead as they sort through the senseless chaos.
Eventually, someone finds the courage to enter the young captain's room, only to see him there, silently sitting behind his desk - back to the door - facing the ocean beyond the window. "Should we throw him to the sea?" the man inquires. Silence. A nod. The door closes. Footsteps can be heard above. A brief pause, followed by the once fearless Brigadier dropping quickly past his murderer's window and into the ever grateful arms of the welcoming sea. What irony. The storm has calmed and the wind plays with the body a moment; sending papers from his pockets flying through the air before the waves at last consume him. Down the body sinks. Lifelessness to the abyss. The captain watches in fulfillment as the papers rise in the salty air and rest, sticking against his window. Small words here, a picture there. A picture? What familiar faces smile through his window? The boy leaps from his seat and rushes closer to confirm the horror he witnessed. What truth arrived un-welcomed - for staring through the window was the face he'd loved forever - the face of the mother he'd lost in youth. A rushing flood of tears fill his eyes as he clutches hopelessly at the glass in vain attempt to grab hold of the picture. He beats the panes and the room shakes with biting torment. He screams as a convicting flow of contrasting emotion engulfs him and collapses, crumbling in a heap upon the floor in exhausted misery; weeping at the awareness that by his arrogance he'd slain the very one who gave him life. From father to son, captain to captain, a ship passed through bloodlines and inherited by lines of blood upon the ocean floor. The reality overcomes him. Hours pass.
The picture leaves the window and the boy is left with nothing. A mere lad, dressed in the stolen garments of a murdered ship's captain, orphaned by his own resentment and left only with the riches of the sorrow he'd scornfully sewn...