Some things would be so much better if they were something else. It's strange, but "Famous Monsters" would be one of my favorite albums of all time were it done by anyone other than Misfits. Danzig leaves and you keep the name? Derek Jeter wouldn't be such a horrible person were he playing for anyone other than the Yankees. Signature guitars wouldn't be so awful if they didn't have someone else's name on them. Katy Perry would be far better, were she my girlfriend. Soccer wouldn't be so crappy if it was anything else. Call it shallow, call it irrational, but some things just stand in the way of themselves.
We played some non-sensical, parking lot, olympics for hours last night. Throwing baseball bats at yield signs, from various distances, water bottle/frisbee baseball, skateboard luge, human bowling, and other such awesome things. We invented a sweet game - the name of which, can't be spoken - that used whatever we could find in our cars to blend hockey, golf, baseball, soccer and tennis. The basic premise was to get your water bottle into the drain, under par, by throwing it in the air and hitting it with a stick. The players on defense had tools to prevent success; some had frisbees, and were allowed to swat your bottle into the air, while others, with gloves, were allowed to catch the bottle. If your bottle was caught, the catcher became the batter, and the batter had to trade places with the person whose bottle was farthest from the hole. This went on for a few hours, until the police came for the 3rd time and kicked us out. Good times.
This past week has brought about a strange series of events. Nothing really too bizarre, more revealing than anything, really. It's funny how you can deny something for so long, only to find that it's been truth all along. I guess it's time to stare the wolf right in the teeth and howl...
(I Woke Up in a Van...)
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Exploding Change and Other Major Attractions
Today is the day! I'm sitting in the waiting room, trembling with anticipation. It's been an amazing 9 months; I've watched you grow larger and larger, run my hands over the flesh you were growing within, and now it's time for you to be cut free. I wonder if people will look at you and know you came from me, I wonder where the wild winds of life will blow you. Freedom. At last you'll be free. I'm going to miss you when you've gone - but I will feel so much more comfortable after this long awaited haircut...
10 inches of chestnut colored curls gone. 10 inches long forgotten. I have nothing to talk about these days. It's like all the clever, creative things sort of folded over and died abandoned. Now it's just pieces. Pieces.
Pieces. Stupid, fragile, fragments of whatever comes crashing. The whole, torn, world looks like some crazed, deranged, wrecking ball went wild and sent the whole things scrambling. Sometimes I'm brave and form mosaics make something artistic of the bastardized remains; lately I've just sort of stared at them and wondered why the world feels messy.
I started recording again this morning. Thank God. It's been 2 months since we were last in studio. The minimal amount to work we left ourselves is almost laughable. It's literally been sing a little, shake a little, clap a little, done. Send it off to mixing and call the thing art. We'll be adding a few more things in the next day or so, but apart from that, 1924 is wrapping up and heading off to sound pretty...or that's the goal, at least. For all I know we'll all sound like bleeding birds on a shocking wire to the ears of the scowling masses. No matter, I've enjoyed the journey.
I think I'm going to to something that I've never done. I can't quite explain it, but there's this change in me that's about to explode. Exploding change, that sounds like an awful experience. I'll work on my phrasing and get back to you in the future....
10 inches of chestnut colored curls gone. 10 inches long forgotten. I have nothing to talk about these days. It's like all the clever, creative things sort of folded over and died abandoned. Now it's just pieces. Pieces.
Pieces. Stupid, fragile, fragments of whatever comes crashing. The whole, torn, world looks like some crazed, deranged, wrecking ball went wild and sent the whole things scrambling. Sometimes I'm brave and form mosaics make something artistic of the bastardized remains; lately I've just sort of stared at them and wondered why the world feels messy.
I started recording again this morning. Thank God. It's been 2 months since we were last in studio. The minimal amount to work we left ourselves is almost laughable. It's literally been sing a little, shake a little, clap a little, done. Send it off to mixing and call the thing art. We'll be adding a few more things in the next day or so, but apart from that, 1924 is wrapping up and heading off to sound pretty...or that's the goal, at least. For all I know we'll all sound like bleeding birds on a shocking wire to the ears of the scowling masses. No matter, I've enjoyed the journey.
I think I'm going to to something that I've never done. I can't quite explain it, but there's this change in me that's about to explode. Exploding change, that sounds like an awful experience. I'll work on my phrasing and get back to you in the future....
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
This is My 100th Post
This is my 100th post since birthing this blog into existence. Well done Blogger, keeping track of my postings and such. Way to assign meaningless value to an otherwise meaningful post about nothing.
Oh well, here I sit; eavesdropping on the strangest of one sided conversations. It's rather wretched, really.
Regardless, I find the way this woman speaks to be intriguing. She's sitting at the table over, knitting and just rambling on about the shallowest of things to her handicapped companion. This is 100% accurate to what she is currently saying - all I am doing is listening in and typing like a God-bless-ed-maniac. I apologize in advance for anything horrific she may utter...
...and we're off...
"...skateboards; I don't know, I just like the shape of them. You can tie them on, take them off for laundry, wash the clothing out and reattach the thing - but Dan wouldn't hear of it. No, Dan has to be the man of the station. Dan has to shove his balls down and fight everything. Eventually I just gave up. We'd spent all day moving boxes around anyway. There were some that said Goodwill on them. I don't like spiders. They just sort of crawl out...you know that I don't like spiders, don't you? I find their crawling repulsive. Anyway, the doors and cabinets arrived. The man tried to tell me that he was doing me a favor by giving me some kind of b stock, recycled trash. I told him, you give me a discount and keep the hinges - they come in a pair anyway at Walmart. You just take those things and I'll do the monkey business. Does it matter? Here is an example...and this is a good example, so listen hard. Montana. Miss Montana is nothing more than a spitter; a spitter and a spinner. She doesn't write her things anymore. I doubt she does her own painting and Lord knows she doesn't crochet. She just spits and spins and twirl-biderls around like a night owl or something. The old days wouldn't hear of it. Remember when we let you in? You wouldn't even be here if not for us. Remember when we told you that you could start knitting and you said no? I'd like to see 20 minutes of knitting from you every night as a place of peace. But no, I have no opinion of you. You're loud and write loudly. You do your things on the computer loudly. If you knitted, you'd do it loudly; but I have no opinion. That is my opinion. Opinions don't have opinions. Shove off. Birds don't have debt trouble and little streams and bridges don't care anyway. Remember how we were talking about sweater weather and screening t-shirts like this? Rock and roll bands aren't going to go around wearing sweaters. Unless it were the 90's - which we all know it isn't. I don't even know these days. I feel like I've been hazy..."
at last the other woman speaks. "Hazy?" she inquires.
"You know, blurry? Hazy, that sort of thing. I walked down to the basement and did some hand things to make Jerron happy, but sort of waltzed around in a daze. I ate some cinnamon toast - because cinnamon toast always makes people feel better - but even that little brood snack didn't do much but make me yawn-y. I just yawned awhile and watched Letterman. I feel like I've been here before. All of my things are in places, but I feel like I've been in this building, in this room before. My waist just kind of tells me so. Have you ever felt that; your waist telling you something? It runs from my breast, down under here and around my back to my spine. It a corset, but one of truth. I like it. My co-workers like it. If Sheri were here, she'd - oh, I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I'm really sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I'm really sorry that I didn't say anything when she was rambling on like that. She just sits there at night, rambling on and complaining. More than a few times I've been blindsided - but I don't blindside others. You see, what does she expect? I said to her, there is no nastiness here. She's a stern father. She isn't a mother; and that doesn't bother me. A wool knife I wield! It's my temptress and my calm. Well, that, my fingers and alcohol. Stupid Dan and his alcohol. I almost feel like crumbling pastries around him. Do you know what I said? Do you? I was groaning like stomach pains and just laughed and said, 'straight away, we probably lost her anyway'. Can you believe that? He'll probably find a girlfriend in an actress or a magazine somewhere and go cry about it. I can email Janie and tell her about trying to get in town on time. She's a late bloomer. Last time we were knocking on the windows and shining our flashlights through the trees like it was just the right thing to do in that moment. Well, why not, really? There was no...there was no...no...well, we were nice about it at least. Dear GOD! This looks like a dead cat! Sweetie, I've just knitted a dead cat! God, this sweater. I've knitted a dead cat and it looks exactly like the thing. I'm going to take this thread, hold it up to the window - its beautiful - I'll let the sun shine through it and - I like the hat!
She noticed me. She's walking over here...
...five minutes passed. I just re-opened my computer and will attempt to explain what transpired.
"I like the hat" she yelled, and ran over to me. "oh, don't close your computer like a little fright, I can't see it anyway - I'm too old. Anyway, I hope we aren't being too loud. We discuss things, that's all. We like free spirits. We say what comes to mind and let the flow create itself. I didn't mean to bother - but I like the hat. Keep wearing it. A good had should be worn freely and often. I'm flying you know; well to the bathroom anyway. Then I'll be an eagle and get my dinner prey from the waiter in a moment. Nice meeting you...and keep wearing that hat."
Then she walked away. Just like that she was gone and I was left to create my own ideas, write my own stories, and come up with my own crazy lines. What a woman. What a crazy, open minded, twisted dame.
I hope to God I meet her one day. I love a good eaves dropping...
Oh well, here I sit; eavesdropping on the strangest of one sided conversations. It's rather wretched, really.
Regardless, I find the way this woman speaks to be intriguing. She's sitting at the table over, knitting and just rambling on about the shallowest of things to her handicapped companion. This is 100% accurate to what she is currently saying - all I am doing is listening in and typing like a God-bless-ed-maniac. I apologize in advance for anything horrific she may utter...
...and we're off...
"...skateboards; I don't know, I just like the shape of them. You can tie them on, take them off for laundry, wash the clothing out and reattach the thing - but Dan wouldn't hear of it. No, Dan has to be the man of the station. Dan has to shove his balls down and fight everything. Eventually I just gave up. We'd spent all day moving boxes around anyway. There were some that said Goodwill on them. I don't like spiders. They just sort of crawl out...you know that I don't like spiders, don't you? I find their crawling repulsive. Anyway, the doors and cabinets arrived. The man tried to tell me that he was doing me a favor by giving me some kind of b stock, recycled trash. I told him, you give me a discount and keep the hinges - they come in a pair anyway at Walmart. You just take those things and I'll do the monkey business. Does it matter? Here is an example...and this is a good example, so listen hard. Montana. Miss Montana is nothing more than a spitter; a spitter and a spinner. She doesn't write her things anymore. I doubt she does her own painting and Lord knows she doesn't crochet. She just spits and spins and twirl-biderls around like a night owl or something. The old days wouldn't hear of it. Remember when we let you in? You wouldn't even be here if not for us. Remember when we told you that you could start knitting and you said no? I'd like to see 20 minutes of knitting from you every night as a place of peace. But no, I have no opinion of you. You're loud and write loudly. You do your things on the computer loudly. If you knitted, you'd do it loudly; but I have no opinion. That is my opinion. Opinions don't have opinions. Shove off. Birds don't have debt trouble and little streams and bridges don't care anyway. Remember how we were talking about sweater weather and screening t-shirts like this? Rock and roll bands aren't going to go around wearing sweaters. Unless it were the 90's - which we all know it isn't. I don't even know these days. I feel like I've been hazy..."
at last the other woman speaks. "Hazy?" she inquires.
"You know, blurry? Hazy, that sort of thing. I walked down to the basement and did some hand things to make Jerron happy, but sort of waltzed around in a daze. I ate some cinnamon toast - because cinnamon toast always makes people feel better - but even that little brood snack didn't do much but make me yawn-y. I just yawned awhile and watched Letterman. I feel like I've been here before. All of my things are in places, but I feel like I've been in this building, in this room before. My waist just kind of tells me so. Have you ever felt that; your waist telling you something? It runs from my breast, down under here and around my back to my spine. It a corset, but one of truth. I like it. My co-workers like it. If Sheri were here, she'd - oh, I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I'm really sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I'm really sorry that I didn't say anything when she was rambling on like that. She just sits there at night, rambling on and complaining. More than a few times I've been blindsided - but I don't blindside others. You see, what does she expect? I said to her, there is no nastiness here. She's a stern father. She isn't a mother; and that doesn't bother me. A wool knife I wield! It's my temptress and my calm. Well, that, my fingers and alcohol. Stupid Dan and his alcohol. I almost feel like crumbling pastries around him. Do you know what I said? Do you? I was groaning like stomach pains and just laughed and said, 'straight away, we probably lost her anyway'. Can you believe that? He'll probably find a girlfriend in an actress or a magazine somewhere and go cry about it. I can email Janie and tell her about trying to get in town on time. She's a late bloomer. Last time we were knocking on the windows and shining our flashlights through the trees like it was just the right thing to do in that moment. Well, why not, really? There was no...there was no...no...well, we were nice about it at least. Dear GOD! This looks like a dead cat! Sweetie, I've just knitted a dead cat! God, this sweater. I've knitted a dead cat and it looks exactly like the thing. I'm going to take this thread, hold it up to the window - its beautiful - I'll let the sun shine through it and - I like the hat!
She noticed me. She's walking over here...
...five minutes passed. I just re-opened my computer and will attempt to explain what transpired.
"I like the hat" she yelled, and ran over to me. "oh, don't close your computer like a little fright, I can't see it anyway - I'm too old. Anyway, I hope we aren't being too loud. We discuss things, that's all. We like free spirits. We say what comes to mind and let the flow create itself. I didn't mean to bother - but I like the hat. Keep wearing it. A good had should be worn freely and often. I'm flying you know; well to the bathroom anyway. Then I'll be an eagle and get my dinner prey from the waiter in a moment. Nice meeting you...and keep wearing that hat."
Then she walked away. Just like that she was gone and I was left to create my own ideas, write my own stories, and come up with my own crazy lines. What a woman. What a crazy, open minded, twisted dame.
I hope to God I meet her one day. I love a good eaves dropping...
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
20 Things I've Discovered About the US of A
Here are a few things I've noticed in my travels. Perhaps, now, you'll begin to notice them too:
1) Target/Ross and Walmart/Lowes are almost always in the same plaza.
If they aren't, the other store will generally be at the next exit.
2) North Carolina highways are required to have at least 1 dead dog for every 3 miles traveled. If a dog is unavailable, a possum, deer or other mammal can serve as a temporary replacement; considering a dog corpse replaces it within the 3 day grace period.
3) Hurricane, Dynamite, Toad Lick, Possum-Trot, Monkey's Elbow, Nitro, Cracked Dam, Normal, Effington, Hellhole, Asbestos, Dildo, Bald Horse and Boogertown are all real US cities that I have been to...Atlanta was originally named Terminus...
4) All of Ohio sucks. End of story
5) Taos, NM is home to one of the ugliest transvestites of all time
6) There is a man in northern GA who makes and sells bacon ties at a gas station
6.2) You can't talk GA cops out of anything...
6.3) ...you can't go through GA without being pulled over
6.4) ...you will get a ticket in GA
7) Strangers who bring up politics always assume that you vote like them. Strangers don't bring up politics in the North East...but I'm sure they still assume that you vote like them...
8) Every girl on Amelia Island, FL is pregnant. Why not - there isn't much to do there.
9) "You're welcome" is a regional thing:
On the West Coast it's, "You're Welcome"...but in the south it's, "Yes, sir", the North East it's, "Uh-huh", the South East, "Of course" and in the Rough and Wild West it's just a smile and nod.
10) The Deep South is "Southern Proud" and always right. Go up to any dip-spitting, truck driving, knife wielding, son of his sister and tell him that his home state sucks or that country music is for queers and he will proceed to beat the crap out of you for "hating God and America"; regardless of how correct and/or polite you were.
11) There is a city called Riverside or Centerville in almost every state...and they probably all have an MLK drive...
12) People in Portland, OR hate when bicyclists don't have a light on their bike. Everyone is a bicyclist. Nearly everyone has a light; because they've killed everyone who didn't
13) Nobody in Austin, Nashville, or Vegas is from there.
14) You can haggle hotel prices in mountain towns during the summer. The snow has melted, so the slope seeking tourists have long departed; if you play your cards right, you may even end up with a free meal and strange conversation.
15) Cities tend to have strange, little, painted things you can find if you look hard enough. Some are easy; others, not so much. I think it started with the fiberglass cows in Chicago, IL, but now Cincinnati, OH has hundreds of painted pigs around the city, there are several Snoopy statues in St Paul, MN; giant, colorful, Swans fill Hattiesburg, MS; decorated fire-hydrants in St Louis, MO; I've found a few dressed up squirrels in Nashville, TN and seen painted fish in Fernandina Beach, FL. It seems like almost every city has something like that.
16) Dr Pepper bottles change shape depending on the region, people in the South put peanuts in their Coke, and EVERYONE from Kentucky loves AL81 (?) - I haven't found it in any other state...praise Jesus.
17) People are all about what they can't (shouldn't) have - there is an indoor rainforest in Omaha, NE, an indoor ski mountain in Orlando, FL and and indoor beach I saw somewhere in MI.
18) The Mission District in San Francisco, CA, all of Atlanta, GA, and the pits in Venice Beach, CA have some of the best graffiti I've ever seen
19) Asking for "Tea" is a pretty vague, yet regional phrase. "Tea" means "Really-Sweet-Iced-Tea" in the south & most parts of the west; unsweet-iced-tea on the west coast; where "unsweet tea" is just called "tea" - and there is no such thing as "unsweet tea" because you aren't changing anything about it. Asking for "Tea" in the North East generally results in being given "hot tea"
20) Speaking English is 100% optional.
1) Target/Ross and Walmart/Lowes are almost always in the same plaza.
If they aren't, the other store will generally be at the next exit.
2) North Carolina highways are required to have at least 1 dead dog for every 3 miles traveled. If a dog is unavailable, a possum, deer or other mammal can serve as a temporary replacement; considering a dog corpse replaces it within the 3 day grace period.
3) Hurricane, Dynamite, Toad Lick, Possum-Trot, Monkey's Elbow, Nitro, Cracked Dam, Normal, Effington, Hellhole, Asbestos, Dildo, Bald Horse and Boogertown are all real US cities that I have been to...Atlanta was originally named Terminus...
4) All of Ohio sucks. End of story
5) Taos, NM is home to one of the ugliest transvestites of all time
6) There is a man in northern GA who makes and sells bacon ties at a gas station
6.2) You can't talk GA cops out of anything...
6.3) ...you can't go through GA without being pulled over
6.4) ...you will get a ticket in GA
7) Strangers who bring up politics always assume that you vote like them. Strangers don't bring up politics in the North East...but I'm sure they still assume that you vote like them...
8) Every girl on Amelia Island, FL is pregnant. Why not - there isn't much to do there.
9) "You're welcome" is a regional thing:
On the West Coast it's, "You're Welcome"...but in the south it's, "Yes, sir", the North East it's, "Uh-huh", the South East, "Of course" and in the Rough and Wild West it's just a smile and nod.
10) The Deep South is "Southern Proud" and always right. Go up to any dip-spitting, truck driving, knife wielding, son of his sister and tell him that his home state sucks or that country music is for queers and he will proceed to beat the crap out of you for "hating God and America"; regardless of how correct and/or polite you were.
11) There is a city called Riverside or Centerville in almost every state...and they probably all have an MLK drive...
12) People in Portland, OR hate when bicyclists don't have a light on their bike. Everyone is a bicyclist. Nearly everyone has a light; because they've killed everyone who didn't
13) Nobody in Austin, Nashville, or Vegas is from there.
14) You can haggle hotel prices in mountain towns during the summer. The snow has melted, so the slope seeking tourists have long departed; if you play your cards right, you may even end up with a free meal and strange conversation.
15) Cities tend to have strange, little, painted things you can find if you look hard enough. Some are easy; others, not so much. I think it started with the fiberglass cows in Chicago, IL, but now Cincinnati, OH has hundreds of painted pigs around the city, there are several Snoopy statues in St Paul, MN; giant, colorful, Swans fill Hattiesburg, MS; decorated fire-hydrants in St Louis, MO; I've found a few dressed up squirrels in Nashville, TN and seen painted fish in Fernandina Beach, FL. It seems like almost every city has something like that.
16) Dr Pepper bottles change shape depending on the region, people in the South put peanuts in their Coke, and EVERYONE from Kentucky loves AL81 (?) - I haven't found it in any other state...praise Jesus.
17) People are all about what they can't (shouldn't) have - there is an indoor rainforest in Omaha, NE, an indoor ski mountain in Orlando, FL and and indoor beach I saw somewhere in MI.
18) The Mission District in San Francisco, CA, all of Atlanta, GA, and the pits in Venice Beach, CA have some of the best graffiti I've ever seen
19) Asking for "Tea" is a pretty vague, yet regional phrase. "Tea" means "Really-Sweet-Iced-Tea" in the south & most parts of the west; unsweet-iced-tea on the west coast; where "unsweet tea" is just called "tea" - and there is no such thing as "unsweet tea" because you aren't changing anything about it. Asking for "Tea" in the North East generally results in being given "hot tea"
20) Speaking English is 100% optional.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
A Nasty Howl...and an Orange VW Bug on a Wire...
I drove in last evening to a troubled storm a'wailing. It beat against the walls and shook my humble home like a child with a fragile plaything. My truck and I have been through worse, but eventually things give in. Some branches and blowing debris made a hole and everything was flooded; my clothes and bedding and such. Eventually, it settled down awhile, I climbed inside a sleeping bag and managed to keep somewhat dry and sleep through the howl. However, waking up in standing water, to 30 degree, Indiana weather, with a flooded suitcase and an endless selection of wet clothes to put on, brings a whole new level of understanding to the phrase, "I hate waking up in standing water, to 30 degree, Indiana weather, with a flooded suitcase and an endless selection of wet clothes to put on." My windshild is still broken, but the living space is cleaned out and re-weatherproofed. I had to plug some violent wounds, but a quick $100 and liquid rubber go a long way. Tess took a pretty nasty beating. I love that truck.
I'm excited to play St Louis tonight. It's been 8 months since my last visit and I'm glad to be back. Besides, it'll be good to get on stage again. This tour has been amazing, but doing 2-3 radio shows a day and never setting foot on stage for a live show feels restricting. I've had a great time and the promotion is fantastic - I just love the freedom of live performance.
Here's something weird - I wanted to see my Grandpa's hometown, so was traveling through the mountains of West Virginia on my way to Indiana. Way up in the mountains of nowhereville, WV, I came across this museum. It was probably 15 miles away from anything and around 10pm. There was clearly no one there, but I stopped in anyway and found that there were no locks on the door - so I went in. What a weird little place; full of strange things and quirky little inventions. There were no lights, so I was using a flashlight, but the whole place was done in some pretty elaborate collages, glass mosaics, and strange tile jobs. I probably spent an hour or so there. What a weird little hole in the Blue Ridge Mountains...they had a car that you could lift with a pully...no joke...there was a car in there...
I'm excited to play St Louis tonight. It's been 8 months since my last visit and I'm glad to be back. Besides, it'll be good to get on stage again. This tour has been amazing, but doing 2-3 radio shows a day and never setting foot on stage for a live show feels restricting. I've had a great time and the promotion is fantastic - I just love the freedom of live performance.
Here's something weird - I wanted to see my Grandpa's hometown, so was traveling through the mountains of West Virginia on my way to Indiana. Way up in the mountains of nowhereville, WV, I came across this museum. It was probably 15 miles away from anything and around 10pm. There was clearly no one there, but I stopped in anyway and found that there were no locks on the door - so I went in. What a weird little place; full of strange things and quirky little inventions. There were no lights, so I was using a flashlight, but the whole place was done in some pretty elaborate collages, glass mosaics, and strange tile jobs. I probably spent an hour or so there. What a weird little hole in the Blue Ridge Mountains...they had a car that you could lift with a pully...no joke...there was a car in there...
Friday, May 3, 2013
In the Pines, In the Pines...
...and so it goes. What daring consistency. What unparalleled steadfastness. You're some sort of evergreen error in an e'er-changing, forest of human decency. We all change and form with the weather - yet still you stand; unfazed, unmoved, as stubborn and predictable as ever. I used to think it was a good thing - but consistency is only as good as the thing you're consistent about. It's a shame, I'm always the one watering your roots and keeping the axes at bay. I've tried - I really have. I want to believe that you've changed; that it's just your will and strength that's all-enduring - but it's not. You've clung to your flaws and dug them so deeply that it's unhealthy now. It's over, child - I'll find my comfort in some other pine...
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
"1924" - Lyrics and Such
Tracking on "1924" is almost over. A few more subtle details, then it's off for the mixing. I can't express how grateful I am for all the hard work that everyone involved has put into this project. I am truly blessed to have these cats working by my side.
Promo tracks, album art, music videos, and other cool things are one the way...so keep your eyes wide open and your waiting shoes on...
...for now, here are the lyrics to the entire album. The order may change, but for now, it's where we stand...
..."1924"...
...enjoy...
----------------
Sink! Sink!
----------------
I was lying there dying in a hospital room, in a hospital bed where I lay
Oh, just lying there dying in a hospital room
When I turned to my mother, took her hand and kind of struggled just to say:
I hope they bury me beneath the ocean
I hope they throw my body to the waves
All those fishes that I meet will have a fresh supply of meat
My body will sustain them like their flesh once sustained me
Oh, I hope they bury me beneath the sea, sea, sea
Oh, I hope they bury me beneath the sea
I hope they lay my body in an orchard
When it finally comes my time to die
All the worms can find a home digging holes into my bones
They will all live happily there somewhere deep inside of me
Oh, I hope they bury me beneath the trees, trees, trees
Oh, I hope they bury me beneath the trees
Oh, my mother I love you so
So take my hand before I go
I’ll be fine on the other side alone
I hope they freeze my body in a chamber
For research in some scientific lab
As an experimental tool to cure diseases oh, so cruel
And bring an end to the toils and their labor
Oh, I hope they freeze my body in a chamber, chamber, chamber
Oh, I hope they freeze my body in a chamber
Oh, my mother, I love you so
So take my hand before I go
I'll be fine on the other side alone
Oh, my mother, hold me close until my flesh turns into ghostI'll be fine on the other side alone
I’ll be fine on the other side alone
-------------------------------
Hold To Your Anchors
--------------------------------
Faithless promises that nothing is going to bring me down
Some things never mend - they sort of just stop being talked about
You promised me in time it would be over, over
and peace would turn all worry into light
Yet here with every hour growing older, older
I long only to feel once more alive
You said, "have a little faith - work on building hope and trust"
But it's hard to work on things that never really worked for us
You told me if I held onto my anchors, anchors
No storm this sinking ship could ever break
To die by putting faith in fallen saviors, saviors
and drown by trusting you was my mistake
You promised me the world - this bitter, cruel, and unlit place
Our heros must be fools - for who desires to hold such weight?
I once believed in love, but Dear, I'm so much older now
What's followed from afar will only leave you lost and turned around
You told me if I held onto my anchors, anchors
No storm this sinking ship could ever break
To die by putting faith in fallen saviors, saviors
and drown by trusting you was my mistake
You promised me in time it would be over, over
and peace would turn all worry into light
Yet here with every hour growing older, older
I long only to feel once more alive
-------------------------------
Holding Bloody Hands
--------------------------------
Darlin’ rest awhile for the sky seems to be storming
Won’t you anchor to me, child, for you’ve mended my torn heart
Let your problems vanish while I frighten far away the frightening things
I want you to believe that I’m not shaken by devotion
My dear, don’t be deceived to think that I’m going through the motions
I’m just trying to make sense of the unfamiliar emotions that you bring
I want to end your aimless searching
So you know you’re not alone
But one thing is still uncertain –
Is that blood on your hands? Is that blood on your hands?
Is that blood on your hands cause for worry or from carrying your own heart?
Trust me, I know trusting isn’t easy for our kind
But if you let me I’ll defend your heart much more than I will mine
I want to fight away the darkness ‘till your nightmares all subside and disappear
I want to end your aimless searching
So you know you’re not alone
I want to block your waves of your doubt to dry all your trembling bones
I want to hold your hand through fire
And go before you when the demons come
In the midst of all your trials, I want to be your home
Until there’s blood on my hands
If there is blood on my hands
If you see blood on my hands, never worry – it’s from fighting over you
If you see blood on my hands, never worry – it’s from fighting for your heart
----------------------------------------
You Make Me Happy Enough
-----------------------------------------
I sat behind you in your sunday school seat
You had a paper airplane and I thought it was neat
So I spilled all your cool-aid as an excuse to meet
and maybe take that plane for a spin
Soon we became friends and soon we became grown
and it wasn't long 'till we were sneaking out our windows
so we could meet by the lake and talk about plans we'd make
and school and dreams and problems and such
(I though)
You make me happy enough to want to find out what being in love feels like
You make me feel safe enough to care
I just wanted you to fall down for me
so I could fall to my knee and beg you to please
come and carry my ring so we can live happily
through life in love together awhile
So we traded circles and you stole my last name
then rode off in the sunset through a rice covered rain
The times they got hard but we never complained
We just laughed at all the bills as they piled
You make me happy enough to never wonder what being in love feels like
You make me feel brave enough to tell you all the time
I can't accurately say how much you mean to me
For every time that I try it changes, you see
to more and more and more and more and more...
We sit on the porch, staring up at the moon
You tell a stupid joke, I kind of make fun of you
I light up a smoke and you ask for one too
and say, "these things are gonna kill me"
I say, "it's probably true, but if I die next to you
then I'm fine passing through into the sky ever blue"
If they kill me they do - but it's fine because you
have been the only one who fulfills me
You make me happy enough to never wonder what being in love feels like
You make me feel brave enough to tell you all the time
I can't accurately say how much you mean to me
For every time that I try it changes, you see
to more and more and more and more and more...
Here we are now in matching hospital beds
You make me feel brave enough to tell you all the time
I can't accurately say how much you mean to me
For every time that I try it changes, you see
to more and more and more and more and more...
Here we are now in matching hospital beds
Telling jokes that simply go over the young nurses heads
I push back my tray full of yogurt and bread
to lean over and to kiss you goodnight
(and say)
I've got a young man's body and an old man's soul
and a tongue built for lying and a heart like coal
I want travel the world through the old Dustbowl
Writing songs about freedom with my storytelling soul
Until I leave this body for a heart like gold
So now you know, pretty darlin', not to lean on me
For I'll only leave you lonely when I up and leave
The only thing for certain is uncertainty
So darlin, pretty angel, don't depend on me
Unless you want to love a boy who always leaves
You say you've been looking for a man like me
Then darlin', pretty angel come and lean on me
(and say)
You make me happy enough to never wonder what being in love feels like
You make me feel brave enough that I don't mind if I go tonight
You've taken my breath away, my dear
From day one to here, through tomorrow to nowhere
I can't accurately say how much you mean to me
For every time that I try it changes, you see
to more and more and more and more and more...
-----------------------------------------------
Audrey Hepburn Would'a Loved Me
------------------------------------------------
Darlin', pretty angel - don't you lean on me
For I'll only leave you lonely when I up and leave
The only thing for certain is uncertainty
So honey, pretty child don't depend on me
Darlin', pretty angel - don't you lean on me
I want to wake up every morning in a brand new town
You shouldn't really bother looking for I won't be found
Until they lay me in a coffin or they find me drowned
I want to wake up every morning in some new town
I want to wake up every morning in a brand new town
For I'll only leave you lonely when I up and leave
The only thing for certain is uncertainty
So honey, pretty child don't depend on me
Darlin', pretty angel - don't you lean on me
I want to wake up every morning in a brand new town
You shouldn't really bother looking for I won't be found
Until they lay me in a coffin or they find me drowned
I want to wake up every morning in some new town
I want to wake up every morning in a brand new town
Some days have been better but they've sure been worse
Life is a young man's blessing and an old man's curse
I'm just trying to get wealthy if I don't die first
Wealth is an old man's blessing and a young man's curse
Ain't it weird how a blessing can become your curse?
So I'm leaving in the morning out to find my home
Between southern California or Ohio
You shouldn't really try to follow for I don't know
If I'm ever going to find a place to call my own
Between southern California and Ohio
and a tongue built for lying and a heart like coal
I want travel the world through the old Dustbowl
Writing songs about freedom with my storytelling soul
Until I leave this body for a heart like gold
So now you know, pretty darlin', not to lean on me
For I'll only leave you lonely when I up and leave
The only thing for certain is uncertainty
So darlin, pretty angel, don't depend on me
Unless you want to love a boy who always leaves
You say you've been looking for a man like me
Then darlin', pretty angel come and lean on me
--------------------------------------
Away! My Weight, Aweigh!
--------------------------------------
Let an ocean of mercy flow through my veins
and quell my contentious dissolution of faith
I want to grow ever-stronger from these burdens I face
- simply to feel they were worth it
Come peace overwhelming, possess my mind
and assure me there's ease for restlessness pure as mine
I want to know beyond doubt that if I struggle I'll find that for which I've been searching
Oh, I don't want to feel this weight holding on to me this way
I'm tired of this endless waiting for anything to keep me safe
Oh, I don't want to feel any weight anymore
So hope everlasting consume my soul...
...and carry me over...
...to where I'm told no worry surrounding can take control
- I want to feel something certain
and quell my contentious dissolution of faith
I want to grow ever-stronger from these burdens I face
- simply to feel they were worth it
Come peace overwhelming, possess my mind
and assure me there's ease for restlessness pure as mine
I want to know beyond doubt that if I struggle I'll find that for which I've been searching
Oh, I don't want to feel this weight holding on to me this way
I'm tired of this endless waiting for anything to keep me safe
Oh, I don't want to feel any weight anymore
So hope everlasting consume my soul...
...and carry me over...
...to where I'm told no worry surrounding can take control
- I want to feel something certain
-----------------------------------------
Who Cries Over Dead Spiders?
-----------------------------------------
I fell in love far too young to realize that evil lies within the silver plated tongue
It broke my heart- but brokenness repaired is often stronger than the product at the start
So I'm a better man, for I've been places that without losing you I know I never would have been
Now these broken feet can walk and not only stand
My, oh my, a man can not deny
That depression will kill you just as fast as dying
My, oh my, a heart can't ignore the signs
Sometimes it ain't even worth the crying
I found freedom in a prison cell
and sweet release within a world that only offered me hell
So now I can smile - for I've felt comfort in a world where comfort only feels denial
My life sucks but I think I'll stay awhile
It broke my heart- but brokenness repaired is often stronger than the product at the start
So I'm a better man, for I've been places that without losing you I know I never would have been
Now these broken feet can walk and not only stand
My, oh my, a man can not deny
That depression will kill you just as fast as dying
My, oh my, a heart can't ignore the signs
Sometimes it ain't even worth the crying
I found freedom in a prison cell
and sweet release within a world that only offered me hell
So now I can smile - for I've felt comfort in a world where comfort only feels denial
My life sucks but I think I'll stay awhile
----------
I'll Stay
-----------
You don't have to be so scared of me
Even though your past results have taught you you should be
I will be whatever is going to set you free
I want to mend you gracefully
You don't have to be so scared of me
You don't have to always be okay
We're all cowards sometimes - my little fearless one, so brave
There's no shame, so go on and be afraid - everybody's felt that way
You don't have to always be okay
Baby, are those dark clouds a'coming?
Darlin', do your skies look grey?
Do they leave you worrying and wondering who's gonna stay?
I'll stay
You don't have to fight all on your own
Even though it contradicts everything that you've been shown
You're not alone, you're not alone
I know your heart's hard to let go
You don't have to fight all on your own
When it's hard to tell your demons from shadows
and true danger from what's just in your mind
When every smile hides the fact you're crumbling
Who's at your side?
Even though your past results have taught you you should be
I will be whatever is going to set you free
I want to mend you gracefully
You don't have to be so scared of me
You don't have to always be okay
We're all cowards sometimes - my little fearless one, so brave
There's no shame, so go on and be afraid - everybody's felt that way
You don't have to always be okay
Baby, are those dark clouds a'coming?
Darlin', do your skies look grey?
Do they leave you worrying and wondering who's gonna stay?
I'll stay
You don't have to fight all on your own
Even though it contradicts everything that you've been shown
You're not alone, you're not alone
I know your heart's hard to let go
You don't have to fight all on your own
When it's hard to tell your demons from shadows
and true danger from what's just in your mind
When every smile hides the fact you're crumbling
Who's at your side?
I am
-------
1924
------
Momma, the radio is playing all the sad songs
The kind that make a grown man like me want to cry
Sometimes I take my heart and tear it off my sleeve
To wash it down and ring it out and hang it up to dry
oh oh, oh oh
Oh no, Darlin' don't you know?
You could have my heart forever if you never let me go
No, no, no, no - Darlin' don't you know?
Please, don't ever let me go
Some pray for blessings while others simply steal
All the sinners, slowly dying, hope to God that he isn't real
But me, I only hope and me, I only pray
That you and I will be together on my dying day
But what about my heart?
Was it ever mine at all?
But if you give a reason then you know that I can fall - I can fall for you
What about my heart?
Was it ever really mine?
If you have the answer then you know I have the time
But if you fear the answers then, baby, I can lie
But if you just need confessions, pretty girl, I've got the lines for you
Sometimes I take my heart and tear it off my sleeve
To wash it down and ring it out and hang it up to dry
oh oh, oh oh
Oh no, Darlin' don't you know?
You could have my heart forever if you never let me go
No, no, no, no - Darlin' don't you know?
Please, don't ever let me go
Some pray for blessings while others simply steal
All the sinners, slowly dying, hope to God that he isn't real
But me, I only hope and me, I only pray
That you and I will be together on my dying day
But what about my heart?
Was it ever mine at all?
But if you give a reason then you know that I can fall - I can fall for you
What about my heart?
Was it ever really mine?
If you have the answer then you know I have the time
But if you fear the answers then, baby, I can lie
But if you just need confessions, pretty girl, I've got the lines for you
---------------
The Wolves
----------------
Sometimes I hide behind my blankets
wishing you'd come and lay your body next to mine
A subtle fortress I create to keep me safe from all the wolves waiting outside
They've been howling and prowling and scouring the room for fools like me
If cloth and wool keep me protected, then imagine in your arms how safe I'd be?
Won't you lift me to my feet and keep me from crawling
on my hands and bleeding knees like I've been for so long?
My father always taught me, "boy, you've got to build some castles in your heart."
So I did, but now I feel like they've been under siege and burned and torn apart
If my faith made up the mortar and my confidence was in each brick that I laid
Then perhaps I tore down my own walls to find a good stone for my grave
wishing you'd come and lay your body next to mine
A subtle fortress I create to keep me safe from all the wolves waiting outside
They've been howling and prowling and scouring the room for fools like me
If cloth and wool keep me protected, then imagine in your arms how safe I'd be?
Won't you lift me to my feet and keep me from crawling
on my hands and bleeding knees like I've been for so long?
My father always taught me, "boy, you've got to build some castles in your heart."
So I did, but now I feel like they've been under siege and burned and torn apart
If my faith made up the mortar and my confidence was in each brick that I laid
Then perhaps I tore down my own walls to find a good stone for my grave
Won't you lift me to my feet and keep me from crawling
on my hands and bleeding knees like I've been for so long?
Won't you take this weight from me? for I've been desperately calling
Show me how to be a better man in spite of all the things that I've done wrong
Won't you repair me? - for I've grown tired of mending myself
What peace can you bring to nullify how much I've failed?
What peace can you bring to nullify how much I've failed?
---------------------------
Overwhelming Sense
----------------------------
I fear I'm far less fearless than I claim
Still I face the shame and I keep striving to be great
Come rain, through mountain storms and flooding
I once would stand in olden days - now I feel I'll simply break
Lately down is the one direction I've been running
Like I'm stuck inside a wheel where forward I can not progress
I hear the sound of a saviour a' coming
So I guess that I'll keep stumbling on until face to face we've met
I've got an overwhelming sense of falling down again
Like I'm falling down again
I've got an overwhelming sense of falling down again
Like I'm falling to my calloused knees again
A mighty presence of really anything sweep over
and assure me there's consistency in grace's eternal love
Because from here in this hell it seems like heaven must be vacant
For all the sinners and the vagrants and the crawling ones like us
Still I face the shame and I keep striving to be great
Come rain, through mountain storms and flooding
I once would stand in olden days - now I feel I'll simply break
Lately down is the one direction I've been running
Like I'm stuck inside a wheel where forward I can not progress
I hear the sound of a saviour a' coming
So I guess that I'll keep stumbling on until face to face we've met
I've got an overwhelming sense of falling down again
Like I'm falling down again
I've got an overwhelming sense of falling down again
Like I'm falling to my calloused knees again
A mighty presence of really anything sweep over
and assure me there's consistency in grace's eternal love
Because from here in this hell it seems like heaven must be vacant
For all the sinners and the vagrants and the crawling ones like us
---------------------
Southern Angel
---------------------
I'm not going to feel - not going to feel anymore
For my old, torn, fighter's heart has grown tired of blood soaked floors
Oh, is there no reward in fighting?
Do I wrap my hands just to be brought to my knees?
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh - I'm not scared of dying - just of going o'er alone
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh - won't my own, sweet, southern angel take me home
I hear that nothing is free but dying and the hope of finding grace
So take this penny for your old smile and my heart for ne'er to change
Oh, I'll set your memories all to burning
with an ember from our once exquisite flame
Out here the good men get forgotten - left holding someone else's chains
While the ever-haunting angels over memory's kingdom reignOh, what happened to you savior that made it so I don't feel safe with you?
For my old, torn, fighter's heart has grown tired of blood soaked floors
Oh, is there no reward in fighting?
Do I wrap my hands just to be brought to my knees?
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh - I'm not scared of dying - just of going o'er alone
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh - won't my own, sweet, southern angel take me home
I hear that nothing is free but dying and the hope of finding grace
So take this penny for your old smile and my heart for ne'er to change
Oh, I'll set your memories all to burning
with an ember from our once exquisite flame
Out here the good men get forgotten - left holding someone else's chains
While the ever-haunting angels over memory's kingdom reignOh, what happened to you savior that made it so I don't feel safe with you?
----------------------------------
Forever Shine Your Light
----------------------------------
Until I find my way back home, forever shine your light
Through the vast, into the tempest - glow
Pierce the deep, aphotic night
Until the oceans cease their tormenting flow
and the wavess decrease their height
Leave a pillow by the fire, dear
Forever shine your light
Oh, forever shine your light
I've searched through the howl and the all consuming waves
to find shelter upon your shore
So emit through these lightless, disheartening days
until my shadow I cast over your beckoning door
Oh, forever shine your light
Through the vast, into the tempest - glow
Pierce the deep, aphotic night
Until the oceans cease their tormenting flow
and the wavess decrease their height
Leave a pillow by the fire, dear
Forever shine your light
Oh, forever shine your light
I've searched through the howl and the all consuming waves
to find shelter upon your shore
So emit through these lightless, disheartening days
until my shadow I cast over your beckoning door
Oh, forever shine your light
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Baby, Are Those Dark Clouds A'Coming?
Whatever happened to decency? I heard she took ill and moved south for fairer weather. Everybody questions. Everybody wonders; and the bombs keep rumbling and fear survives. I once heard this rumor of rumors of war, where nothing felt honest and safety seemed a tale of ancient wonder. Rumor has it that the rumors aren't just rumors anymore. I guess we aren't safe really anywhere, these days. I think we feel safe. As Americans, we aren't used to someone infringing on our security - when they do, the harsh reality that most countries face each day takes hold. No one expects the bus to bring home one less child because the battlefield playground traded twigs and fingers for real guns today. No one predicts street corner explosions will leave you with one less limb tomorrow. These are things we read about in magazines, or see on TV between Sportscenter and "reality" shows; only to duck back within our shells when the truth gets far too dark. Then suddenly it's here and everyone feels mortal. You see through the makeup to the swollen eyes on Liberty and notice the age spots and frail bones of Uncle Sam. For the first time, you feel honest. Everybody calls their loved ones, holds their family close, and feels things a little deeper for a while. We all speak of unity, resilience, and setting aside differences to walk tall through adversity - and that's all perfect - until the weeks go by and we never truly address the problem.
We claim we're this great country, with total liberty - the envy of the world. Perhaps we are. Perhaps we should be - but when the doors are closed and the lights come up, everybody's searching. We've spent so many years breeding an ambiguous culture of total acceptance and selfish independence, that roots are long forgotten and identities have vanished. What's left to hold onto when your anchors have gone? When religion, and family, and gender, and heritage are blurred into an all-consuming, mesh of "be what you want and call bigotry on those with spoken conviction" - where does personal recognition play in? Where are beliefs centered and truths grounded? From where does integrity rise, and what sparks hope when the dark comes creeping in? Hearts are void meaning, the world is Godless and the effects of such vacancies result in desperate attempts for self-fulfillment. The un-grounded long for structure, and the frightened seek control - and so we turn to things to make ourselves feel less powerless. Whether through the numbing calm of illicit sex or drugs, or by harming ourselves or those around simply for spite, attention, or unaddressed, social aggression, those void of sure identity lack the foundational stability and self-security to address the confusions of the present world in a positive and non-harmful way - desperate pleas for self-fulfillment will ultimately result in physical or emotional harm to either one's self or those surrounding - and we wonder why bombs go off?
When families are non-existent, churches are spiritless, values are belittled, and morality is deemed "closed-mindedness," where then does humanity come from? The "Great Melting Pot" of America has lost it's cultural relevance and become nothing more than a cluttered pool of all-accepting weakness. We've become the middle-school, bully's parents - too afraid to say no; so terrified of being disliked, that we allow all, ignore misconduct and step around words that may bring conflict like "wrong", "sin", or "guilty." We're too afraid of tantrums to stop socially harmful practices, we're too worried about public opinion to oppose immorality, and too arrogant to accept the fact that our criminals are criminals and more than simply "socially handicapped" or "mentally unstable." We've become a society where misconduct is no longer punished, but rewarded with an acronym'd disease, a bottle of pills, and an easier alternative. You never have to mend your flaws, you simply come up with a name, a vague reason you have it, and ride the excuse until a child is found dead in your closet.
Just as children are raised by parents, countries are raised by leaders; politicians, pastors, teachers, common souls. Weak children are nursed, bad children are punished, and all children are taught proper social behavior and expected to carry such into adulthood - those who aren't are considered, "sickly", "spoiled", and "abnormal". By accepting this, "hands off", "cool parent" approach to society, we've created a sickly, spoiled, abnormal social environment, that breeds contempt for authority, longs for self-gratification and feels so superior to everyone else, that we're unable to see our own world-shattering, abnormality. We've allowed the misbehaving 6th grader to become a delinquent teen - only to turn from his problems, ignore his endless questions, smile through his pleas for help, and then scratch our heads in wonder when his face and list of victims makes the front page. We don't have a problem with society - we have a problem with the roots of society;
A tree with rotting roots can stand - for years, sometimes. It often looks fine despite its dying interior. Those expected to nurture and maintain the tree may not even recognize or chose to regard the state of its decay - until it dies. Yet even in death the tree may stand. Leaves may fade and its limbs become brittle, but still it stands. It will stand until pushed or pulled by storm or tempest - perhaps those far weaker than ones it once stood through in times before - yet its lack of rooted security caused a body wide decay that resulted in the crumbling of a once great thing. Had the problem been addressed, perhaps its life could have been saved. Perhaps its roots would burrow deeper and its strength would be increased. Instead it was left alone, standing with the appearance of greatness while lifeless deep within. The ungrounded are easily broken, and those without roots collapse.
I fear that answers will never truly come; and questions will arise to the answers that we now possess. The world is a darkened place, and some things can never be explained. Nevertheless, within confusion, internal peace must be the rock that brings us hope. Without identity, we are nothing more than aimless faces, searching to find a purpose. Become yourself; know your convictions and why you have them, defend your beliefs and the proven truths you've built them on, speak out against wrong doing, and develop those still left unsure. Society is broken, but not deceased, and its roots can still be restored. Rebuilding requires secure foundation; find those roots and find repair. Change starts from within...
...I have nothing further but to wait...
We claim we're this great country, with total liberty - the envy of the world. Perhaps we are. Perhaps we should be - but when the doors are closed and the lights come up, everybody's searching. We've spent so many years breeding an ambiguous culture of total acceptance and selfish independence, that roots are long forgotten and identities have vanished. What's left to hold onto when your anchors have gone? When religion, and family, and gender, and heritage are blurred into an all-consuming, mesh of "be what you want and call bigotry on those with spoken conviction" - where does personal recognition play in? Where are beliefs centered and truths grounded? From where does integrity rise, and what sparks hope when the dark comes creeping in? Hearts are void meaning, the world is Godless and the effects of such vacancies result in desperate attempts for self-fulfillment. The un-grounded long for structure, and the frightened seek control - and so we turn to things to make ourselves feel less powerless. Whether through the numbing calm of illicit sex or drugs, or by harming ourselves or those around simply for spite, attention, or unaddressed, social aggression, those void of sure identity lack the foundational stability and self-security to address the confusions of the present world in a positive and non-harmful way - desperate pleas for self-fulfillment will ultimately result in physical or emotional harm to either one's self or those surrounding - and we wonder why bombs go off?
When families are non-existent, churches are spiritless, values are belittled, and morality is deemed "closed-mindedness," where then does humanity come from? The "Great Melting Pot" of America has lost it's cultural relevance and become nothing more than a cluttered pool of all-accepting weakness. We've become the middle-school, bully's parents - too afraid to say no; so terrified of being disliked, that we allow all, ignore misconduct and step around words that may bring conflict like "wrong", "sin", or "guilty." We're too afraid of tantrums to stop socially harmful practices, we're too worried about public opinion to oppose immorality, and too arrogant to accept the fact that our criminals are criminals and more than simply "socially handicapped" or "mentally unstable." We've become a society where misconduct is no longer punished, but rewarded with an acronym'd disease, a bottle of pills, and an easier alternative. You never have to mend your flaws, you simply come up with a name, a vague reason you have it, and ride the excuse until a child is found dead in your closet.
Just as children are raised by parents, countries are raised by leaders; politicians, pastors, teachers, common souls. Weak children are nursed, bad children are punished, and all children are taught proper social behavior and expected to carry such into adulthood - those who aren't are considered, "sickly", "spoiled", and "abnormal". By accepting this, "hands off", "cool parent" approach to society, we've created a sickly, spoiled, abnormal social environment, that breeds contempt for authority, longs for self-gratification and feels so superior to everyone else, that we're unable to see our own world-shattering, abnormality. We've allowed the misbehaving 6th grader to become a delinquent teen - only to turn from his problems, ignore his endless questions, smile through his pleas for help, and then scratch our heads in wonder when his face and list of victims makes the front page. We don't have a problem with society - we have a problem with the roots of society;
A tree with rotting roots can stand - for years, sometimes. It often looks fine despite its dying interior. Those expected to nurture and maintain the tree may not even recognize or chose to regard the state of its decay - until it dies. Yet even in death the tree may stand. Leaves may fade and its limbs become brittle, but still it stands. It will stand until pushed or pulled by storm or tempest - perhaps those far weaker than ones it once stood through in times before - yet its lack of rooted security caused a body wide decay that resulted in the crumbling of a once great thing. Had the problem been addressed, perhaps its life could have been saved. Perhaps its roots would burrow deeper and its strength would be increased. Instead it was left alone, standing with the appearance of greatness while lifeless deep within. The ungrounded are easily broken, and those without roots collapse.
I fear that answers will never truly come; and questions will arise to the answers that we now possess. The world is a darkened place, and some things can never be explained. Nevertheless, within confusion, internal peace must be the rock that brings us hope. Without identity, we are nothing more than aimless faces, searching to find a purpose. Become yourself; know your convictions and why you have them, defend your beliefs and the proven truths you've built them on, speak out against wrong doing, and develop those still left unsure. Society is broken, but not deceased, and its roots can still be restored. Rebuilding requires secure foundation; find those roots and find repair. Change starts from within...
...I have nothing further but to wait...
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Keep Your Trousers on and Your Head Held High...
Today was a weird day; things go down and problems arise - yet still we stumble on; and so we did. 10 hours of recording and more accomplished than humanly possible. After today, we have officially tracked all 13 songs for the album. We went in heads down and knuckles whitened; it's mind-blowing how much you can get done when you don't stop for anything. It's all the little stuff now; only two more sessions and it all wraps down. It's been amazing to watch these things grow from little, acoustic ditties, into full grown, big boy songs with heart and toughness. We've tracked washboard through Metallica wah pedals, spinning wind tubes, synced alarm clocks, cannons shooting bells, kicking boxes, breaking bottles, and shaking anything and everything that makes a sound - and, by the grace of God alone, managed to do it all (rather) tastefully...I'm really excited about the way things have panned out. It's been a lot of fun and I hope you think the finished product is as good as I think it will be...
...on a strangely horrifyingly awesome note, I stopped at the gas station on my way to the studio today. It was my sole and pure intention to pick up Dr Pepper, pay the gnarled hag, and be on my merry way - all whilst all parties remained fully clothed. Easy enough, eh? - Debatable. Continue.
As I approached the counter to pay said, aforementioned hag, a conversation began regarding the lighthouse on my forearm. This crazy dame just kept rambling on and on and wouldn't shut up about how bright and precise it was. I kept trying to pay her, but before I knew what was happening, she un-tucked her shirt, dropped her pants to her knees, pointed to her butt and shouted, "I got this here phoenix on my thigh six months ago and it already looks faded."
Now, I have never stumbled upon this scenario before; and am not sure if I was more in awe of the fact that the 40 year old cashier was no longer wearing pants, or at how horribly mangled the softball sized, awkward shaped, "phoenix?" tattoo was - but it didn't matter - for even my quick wit and cunning sarcasm were no match for machine gun talking, speedy-McYapYap...
...and the wench spoke on....
"I don't know how you get yours to look so good. You must go to somebody. I done mine in the kitchen with a sewing needle and some ink I got from the internet." - Huh - because that doesn't answer your question entirely.
The only thing I could think to say (well besides "...and you were last diagnosed with gangrene when?") was,
"That reminds me, do you sell needles here? I'm trying to contract hepatitis A through E in a single outing and may have found the answer."
Without hesitation, miss wonder-broad turned around, pulled a stitch-kit from the wall, handed me the needles and said, "if it's for a school science thing you can just take 'em, honey."
True fact. She missed the joke and gave me needles. She gave me needles.
My mind exploded, my heart burst with rapture, and the world was complete. Look out perfect ending, for you've been outdone...
Two is twice as nice. There is a giant sign outside of Clarksville that says, "We have 50,000 tulips - because two lips are twice as nice" All I think of every time I se it is,
"That's 100,000 lips...is that 100,000 times as nice? What if one of them sells? Do they change the sign, or do they have backstock that is not included in their advertised inventory? Why advertise so specifically? Many sports arenas couldn't hold 100,000 lips. But 50,000 tulips? - that's like an anthophobic's personal haunted mansion. Anthophobia is a weird word. I can't imagine 50,000 of anything I'm afraid of - who would deal with such an astronomical horror? What's the fear of astronomy called? I wonder what Galileo was afraid of? I should buy a telescope..."
....It never truly stops, really; just an endless connection of ideas and thoughts, one to another. Similarities and counterpoints, and things that vaguely attach one to another, to another, and on again. Analyzing, questioning, and breaking it all apart until it's something so far from the original that it's original and something. I guess that's creation...I guess that's how it goes...
Thursday, April 11, 2013
C'est La Vie, Mon Amour...
Today I learned about half-birthdays. I'm not sure that I believe in them. The midway point between one birthday and the next? It works, I guess. Nonetheless, we celebrated it a bit more than half-heartedly. I want a half funeral. Gather 'round for the mid-way point to dying; the halfway mark to life. There's a party for you. Hell, we could serve fruit and ginger-ale; what a great night we'd enjoy.
Tonight would be perfect; it's beautiful, with tinges of a storm a'brewin'. A good night for minds to wander; a good night to reminisce. There are so many places we could go and so many holes we've been to...
...I've decided that I want a coon-skin cap. No reason, really - I just feel like one per household should be required by law. Kind of the same way dogs should be allowed in bars; it's strange, but in a way it all makes sense.
...memory is a weird thing, it'll eat you alive or set you free...
...it's funny, there's this black and turquoise flower peering out from behind my sleeve and stretching its scaring leaves about my wrist. It goes up awhile, through waves and words o'er a storm covered beacon. I guess I look different now - even my hair is longer and I'm told I smile more often. It hit me oddly; you knew the dark in me, and witnessed the light out shining. But to think you know so little of me now - even of my outsides. How much has changed with you? What intriguing thoughts a'birthing. Here today, far gone tomorrow. Be gone worry, be gone woe, these beds hold no rest for you now...
...wander on, for peace now here abides...
....what a comfort that though brings...
...what strangely peaceful voids...
...it's funny, time is...
....it's timeless, you know...
Tonight would be perfect; it's beautiful, with tinges of a storm a'brewin'. A good night for minds to wander; a good night to reminisce. There are so many places we could go and so many holes we've been to...
...I've decided that I want a coon-skin cap. No reason, really - I just feel like one per household should be required by law. Kind of the same way dogs should be allowed in bars; it's strange, but in a way it all makes sense.
...memory is a weird thing, it'll eat you alive or set you free...
...it's funny, there's this black and turquoise flower peering out from behind my sleeve and stretching its scaring leaves about my wrist. It goes up awhile, through waves and words o'er a storm covered beacon. I guess I look different now - even my hair is longer and I'm told I smile more often. It hit me oddly; you knew the dark in me, and witnessed the light out shining. But to think you know so little of me now - even of my outsides. How much has changed with you? What intriguing thoughts a'birthing. Here today, far gone tomorrow. Be gone worry, be gone woe, these beds hold no rest for you now...
...wander on, for peace now here abides...
....what a comfort that though brings...
...what strangely peaceful voids...
...it's funny, time is...
....it's timeless, you know...
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
"1924" - A Tiny Hint of Progress
I am glad to announce that production on my upcoming record "1924" is coming along flawlessly. I have never been so pleased and excited about a project that I've created as I am with this one. From the upbeat, front-porch hymns, to the brooding slow songs, and dark, 4-on-the-floor, angsty, folk tunes I've become good at, every song has grown and developed into something I'm thrilled to show off. I wish I could just post everything now and get it over with. Much thanks to everyone involved; Drew and Allen have worked their ears off making me sound stellar, John made us all giggle like coquettish school-girls with his stupidly-haunting steel lines, and the amazing, miss Lauren Strahm blows me away more and more each time she sings beside me. I am truly bless beyond measure to be working with such incredible, professional, and overall great people. I can't wait to have this record on a shelf, hear it on the radio and grow from your reactions - both good and bad. I'm working to meet all of the love and support I've received in the past few years with an album that is 100% honest, real and the best product I can humanly produce at this point in my career. I want to offer only my greatest effort to give back a project that not only makes me proud, but brings joy, truth, and reflection to those who care enough to listen.
Ah, screw it - here's a video of me laying down the ground-work track for "Southern Angel". Enjoy
Ah, screw it - here's a video of me laying down the ground-work track for "Southern Angel". Enjoy
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
The Life and Times of Joel Prush
Someone asked me if I'd ever truly known who I was. I've felt for years, confused, misled and uncertain. These days, I'm more confident than ever in who I am. No facades, no attempts to please or satisfy another - I'm Jordan Eastman, and don't really care what you think of it. I'm 24 years old. I'm a runaway musician with giant dreams, stubborn determination, and a will stronger than all creation. Despite doubts, fears, and cynicism - I am a Christian. I'm flawed, restless, analytical and hesitant to believe without proof. I love music. I'm a writer. I am an artist. I have 12 tattoos, like Katy Perry, Audrey Hepburn, and smoke a pipe on the regular. I'm dark - but not hopeless. I cry. I make people cry. I break things that were perfect, to build something else less flawless with the pieces and hang them up somewhere. I want things. I feel tense with too much structure. I can sew, cook, and touch my head to the ground by doing a back bend. My brothers call me Joel Prush. I hate arrogance nearly as much as poor songwriting and want to defend people I trust. I drink 4-5 litres of Dr Pepper a day and used to feel afraid of everything. It's hard for me to let things go. Nothing really scares me, anymore. There are sides of me I've never shown and things I've never spoken of. I live in Nashville, TN. I can't say, "I love you" - but deeply love things - just not very many; and only the well deserved. I have the greatest family in existence. I have incredible friends and support beyond measure. I'm not good at trusting. My Dad is the strongest man alive. I am blessed. I'm over critical, but feel like perfection is faux reality. I hate good singers, climb everything, and, chances are, if you give me something, I'm going to make something else out of it. I'm direct to a point of offensiveness. I will talk about anything and few things make me uncomfortable. I am happy. My favorite song in the whole dark, world is "If I Had a Boat" by Lyle Lovett. Tomorrow makes me smile and yesterday is a bit exaggerated. Don't ask me what my songs are about. I kick boxes and shake everything in stores to see what kind of sound they make. I'm colorblind. I can convince you of anything. I want to help people and have caused more hurt than imaginable. There are still two songs that bring back things I don't want to visit. I'll leave the room when they begin. I live on $7 a day. I am far from innocent. I'm forgiven and some people still won't talk to me. I've been in love twice. I'm not in love now. I have scars on my knuckles. Most of my friends are girls. I hate co-writing because I feel like I'm better at it than you. I play 26 instruments. I've read 6 dictionaries, 3 thesauruses, and 2 encyclopedia sets cover to cover. I use words people don't know and make jokes that no-one understands. I don't shut up sometimes. I'm a performer, I'm a realist, and tell stories about the un-reality I desire. I lied to everyone for years. I'm finally honest. I don't need anyone else. I want to know things and am way older than my age. I'm better now...or at least working on it...
Thursday, March 28, 2013
This Post Has a Title. This is it.
There seems this endless desire to know me. To talk of repercussions and consequences like past mistakes set fire to future destinations. Like old haunts black tomorrow and days past can't be escaped. From what I've learned, the past is nothing more than fragments to collect and stare back on whenever some new being gets close enough to force you to dig them up. Selfish taker, what gives you the right to search through me like an old, found, journal; learn my lines to tuck me safely away, beneath your bed - forgotten, but a comfort knowing I'm nearby? Selfish taker, I'll Bogart shove you on a plane and urge you to forget me, while you swear you care and fly away - I'll be your fragment soon; whenever some foul, wretch encroaches on your troubled past. You'll find me. Haunts roam like that. So crush them smaller, Darling, stomp through the shards and shattered glass until they're more like salt and pure like sand. Light the drifters and burn the pages and maybe soon, we'll all be free. Perhaps we already are. Hold fast, for here exists by time old somewheres; but sometimes somewhere is someplace someone shouldn't speak of. It makes us human - it makes us, us - isn't that good enough without revelation? Leave me silent and love the truths you earn. Who cares what the legos are made of, just build something timeless and enjoy the standing castle...
Portuguese Starfish and a Pale, British Jesus
Everything was beautiful and senseless and dark - until you came around, spreading your hope and light like some kind of all-entrenching plague. I don't want your clarity - who feels with clarity and sense? Clock ticking echos and you were gone - like air beneath waves - dispersed. All things end and all things vanish; I just didn't see it folding out this way. I doubt the Heat did either - 27 games is a strong run to shatter. No matter, they'll win the title and move on to better things.
Speaking of better things, I compiled a list of "Better Things to do Than Post Your Uninformed Political Opinion on Facebook".
The list is as follows:
"Better Things to do Than Post Your Uninformed Political Opinion on Facebook"
1) Anything
There is this show on TV called "The Bible". I attempted watching it and, despite the gaping holes in story-line, pale skin and over-dramatic acting, what amazed me most was the incredibly spot on, british accents EVERYONE had. I understand that the most predominant translation of the Bible is the King James - but just because it was translated into olde English, doesn't mean that they really spoke that way. It astounds me that they seemed to overlook the fact that they were all Jewish...exceptionally Jewish, for that matter.
Follow:
I am a 24 year old, caucasian, American, male. I dress like a punk rock cowboy and my life is a story. I've traveled, played tours, wrestled bears, jumped trains, slept places, seen things and ate stuff most people wouldn't. Now, imagine a Portuguese starfish finds my story in some unwritten journal somewhere...or even this blog, for that matter. He is intrigued, "what a fascinating and assumably charming individual this Jordan was". He thinks to himself. "I've never heard of a stronger, wiser, more sensually desirable man than he. Women swoon in his presence and Clark Gable wished to be him - I must tell the world of this glorious legend!" Excited, he leaps from his coral bed and awakens his servants. Being the Monarch he is, he hires a half dozen hundred starfish, slave, monks - commonly referred to as Starmonks - to translate the tale into 12th Century, Old Gutnish - the most commonly shared dialect within the Portuguese starfish community.
Alright, let's skip ahead awhile - maybe, 26-800 years from now, give or take a few weeks - my story is internationally renowned, it's been translated into nearly every language in the world, every hotel room has a copy and my name is banned in schools...but encouraged in prisons...but walked around in politics...but sworn by in court...but debated by scholars...but used as an excuse for insurance companies to avoid responsibility...There are myriad tellings of my life - but, the MSV (Monarch Starfish Version) is the most famous, as it was the first and most accurate translation. Someone decides to make a film of my life, based of the MSV. It will be perfect, the whole journey, beginning to end, a telling of my entire story. Millions of dollars are poured into this project; the costumes must be perfect, the story must be accurate, the scenes, setting and names must be in order. Research is researched, reading is read and studies are studied - this is going to be 100% accurate and every detail will be just as it really happened. The flick is released, the lights go down, the scenes play out and the story is debatably close - I am portrayed as a young American, I dress like a punk rock cowboy, I sing, dance, play and travel, I am exceptionally suave and women adore me - but - despite all attempts at perfection, I am played by a Portuguese Starfish and speak a Nordic language that I've never heard and has been dead for centuries. Accuracy - shattered.
Say what you want, I understand doing "The Bible" in English - it's relatable and far more watchable.
I'm fine with that - but still, why have British accents and cast the wrong race entirely?
I don't care what tradition tells you, I'll never be a Portuguese Starfish with a Viking accent...
Speaking of better things, I compiled a list of "Better Things to do Than Post Your Uninformed Political Opinion on Facebook".
The list is as follows:
"Better Things to do Than Post Your Uninformed Political Opinion on Facebook"
1) Anything
There is this show on TV called "The Bible". I attempted watching it and, despite the gaping holes in story-line, pale skin and over-dramatic acting, what amazed me most was the incredibly spot on, british accents EVERYONE had. I understand that the most predominant translation of the Bible is the King James - but just because it was translated into olde English, doesn't mean that they really spoke that way. It astounds me that they seemed to overlook the fact that they were all Jewish...exceptionally Jewish, for that matter.
Follow:
I am a 24 year old, caucasian, American, male. I dress like a punk rock cowboy and my life is a story. I've traveled, played tours, wrestled bears, jumped trains, slept places, seen things and ate stuff most people wouldn't. Now, imagine a Portuguese starfish finds my story in some unwritten journal somewhere...or even this blog, for that matter. He is intrigued, "what a fascinating and assumably charming individual this Jordan was". He thinks to himself. "I've never heard of a stronger, wiser, more sensually desirable man than he. Women swoon in his presence and Clark Gable wished to be him - I must tell the world of this glorious legend!" Excited, he leaps from his coral bed and awakens his servants. Being the Monarch he is, he hires a half dozen hundred starfish, slave, monks - commonly referred to as Starmonks - to translate the tale into 12th Century, Old Gutnish - the most commonly shared dialect within the Portuguese starfish community.
Alright, let's skip ahead awhile - maybe, 26-800 years from now, give or take a few weeks - my story is internationally renowned, it's been translated into nearly every language in the world, every hotel room has a copy and my name is banned in schools...but encouraged in prisons...but walked around in politics...but sworn by in court...but debated by scholars...but used as an excuse for insurance companies to avoid responsibility...There are myriad tellings of my life - but, the MSV (Monarch Starfish Version) is the most famous, as it was the first and most accurate translation. Someone decides to make a film of my life, based of the MSV. It will be perfect, the whole journey, beginning to end, a telling of my entire story. Millions of dollars are poured into this project; the costumes must be perfect, the story must be accurate, the scenes, setting and names must be in order. Research is researched, reading is read and studies are studied - this is going to be 100% accurate and every detail will be just as it really happened. The flick is released, the lights go down, the scenes play out and the story is debatably close - I am portrayed as a young American, I dress like a punk rock cowboy, I sing, dance, play and travel, I am exceptionally suave and women adore me - but - despite all attempts at perfection, I am played by a Portuguese Starfish and speak a Nordic language that I've never heard and has been dead for centuries. Accuracy - shattered.
Say what you want, I understand doing "The Bible" in English - it's relatable and far more watchable.
I'm fine with that - but still, why have British accents and cast the wrong race entirely?
I don't care what tradition tells you, I'll never be a Portuguese Starfish with a Viking accent...
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
But Who Will Save the Savior?
I once had these dreams and aspirations that were crushed and stomped out by new dreams and aspirations.
All I could think was, "What's the point of dreaming if I'm only to out-dream myself?"
But before I finished dreaming, I dreamed some bigger thing and forgot those tired, old dreams all together.
But before I finished dreaming, I dreamed some bigger thing and forgot those tired, old dreams all together.
Then time went on and dreams turned to calloused stones and birthed the doubt that living wasn’t worth the endless effort. But despite my growing faithlessness, I still have hope in saviors. I’ve been haunted by these demons and graceless fallen angels - but there’s an antonym for everything, so there must be something beautiful reaching down to drag me out while all these terrors fight to claim my longing soul - at least I think so. My knees are bleeding from the rocks and falls and there’s dirt beneath my fingernails from how I’ve crawled and clawed through the soil to dig my own deep and early grave. But Hell still hasn’t claimed me yet and I’m nobody’s slave. So I stick my hands inside of my chest and tear out my crying heart and try to nurse it back to life and wash away the filth to no avail. I can’t save my falling self - I can’t do it; I just fail.
Still I beat against the rocks to try to break the calloused shell; but nothing works.
Instead my hands just start bleeding. I'm in need of something because right now I feel defeated.
So I stumble to this churchyard, but find it’s been set fire by the raging flame of apathy.
No one cares to rescue me - for the congregation is too preoccupied with some new social gathering to realize that they’re all just dying together - unaware that their shelter is burning down. I stagger in with my bloody clothes and my iron heart but no one seems to see a problem.
I scream, “I’ve got these dire needs and I need somebody to solve them!”
But no one has an answer or solution to absolve them - they just hug me and say, “We’re praying for you, son. It’s going to be okay.” Then, instead of washing off my wounds, they condemn my injured faith and whisper of how far I’ve fallen and sad it is that it’s now a mystery if I’ll be saved.
I scream, “I’ve got these dire needs and I need somebody to solve them!”
But no one has an answer or solution to absolve them - they just hug me and say, “We’re praying for you, son. It’s going to be okay.” Then, instead of washing off my wounds, they condemn my injured faith and whisper of how far I’ve fallen and sad it is that it’s now a mystery if I’ll be saved.
But I know that answers can be found and heard that mercy never falters.
So I take what pieces I could salvage from the walls of the church’s ashes and neglected altars and tie them together with rope from the flagpole; and use what’s left of the tattered banner as a sail atop the fragile ship that I created. Church and state are integrated as I cast my timid vessel to the arms of the raging sea.
For the first time in awhile I believe that I’ll be free again - or that I’ll at least die trying to find what my father told me comforts him. Waves beat hard and the wind batters my tiny ship to pieces. I scream for help - I scream for Jesus! Then, out of nowhere, this hand grabs firmly to mine and drags me onto this rock in the middle of the ocean somewhere. There’s still endless commotion everywhere, but I feel at peace despite the violent, vicious storm. You throw my iron heart to the ocean floor. I watch it sink and break apart and float back up as something pure and innocent. You act as if I’ve never let you down before - and I swear I never will again. Now, when I look back on the shipwrecks, I don’t see hurt - I see survival
I feared damnation, but revival sparks a flame that recreates the burned down churches and builds walls stronger than the tempest’s spiral. Healing comes in stages. Pain hurts and scars can change us. My haunts are all on burning pages, but they brought me to whatever shore I’m found today. I’m stronger for the fractures and no shattered legs can keep me from climbing all these mountains that I’ll claim. Still, my past is full of sinners and my future’s filled with error, I’m afraid. But if cells can re-create themselves and forests grow from fallen seeds that should have withered - then I have faith in a forgiver.
Even Jesus Christ himself once prayed for saving - but no one saved the savior so the world could one day feel the grace of changing. Falls are part of living and everyone needs saving.
We're all in need of saving
We're all in need of saving
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