Playful Paradox

What I am Not Thankful For....

2010-11-30T17:52:00.000-07:00

I am participating in a bloggerstock piece and will be hosting a fellow bloggerstock bloggers blog. The bloggers blog is That Ain't Kosher. You can view her wonderful and entertaining blog at http://kosherthis.blogspot.com

Without further ado here is her posting for bloggerstock!

Hey, guys. Nugs here, and I’m still recovering from

the 900 dinners I hadthis weekend. Thanksgiving is

over, so it might seem like it’s a little late to

write a post on the holiday. Well, guess what? Too

fucking bad, because I’m doing Bloggerstock this

month, and the topic is “What Are You *Not*Thankful
For?”



If you’re unfamiliar with Bloggerstock, it’s basically

a bunch of bloggers giving a big middle finger to

Google by participating in the biggest post swap

ever. This month I’m taking over Gabriel’s site,

*PlayfulParadox.*Sorry, Gabriel. But you’re

all still here, so I must be doing something right.

Or you’re just really bored. So while you’re at it,

check out Michael Venske’s contribution over on my

page, too- it’s pretty awesome.

Anyway, there were a lot of things I was thankful

for this year, which youcan actually read about

in a post I did yesterday<

http://kosherthis.blogspot.com/2010/11/burning-down-house-thanksgiving-is-over.html

>,
but you don’t care about that.  What you really

want to hear about is whyI’m so bitter and sardonic,

yet still so damn lovable (hooray!).

So I’ve been going to my gynecologist for a few

years now.  All women think that seeing the I

Spy doctor is a major pain in the ass (pun intended),

but that’s definitely the easiest way to find out

that the random dude that you picked up at the side

of the BQE gave you crabs. What’s especially obnoxious

is when a guy asks if I’ve ever gotten turned on

during my annual jaunts to the metal torture chair.

I don’t know- let’s have a huge dude stick a cold
metal scalpel up one of your orifices and see if you

get aroused. Yay, or nay?



My gynecologist visits are especially annoying

because he always keeps mewaiting for like,

nine years, and that’s just sitting in the

waiting room. Plus his magazines suck. All he

has is *Parenting *and *Old People Weekly*.



The last time I was there, the usual shit

ensued. Height, weight, blood pressure, put

on this dashing paper smock that was last

seen on the Paris runways, etc. They had all

the usual inquiries about my (pathetically
non-existent) sex life, including whether I

was pregnant, which made me cry saline tears

because I can’t even get my mom’s cat to follow

me into the bedroom.  All the normal tests were

administered and then the nurse left me alone to

wallow in the fact that I didn’t even need to be

there because I’ve been “enjoying” the quiet,

depressing art form of masturdating for the past

year.



So I lie there uncomfortably with my feet in

the cold, hard stirrups when the nurse came back

in with my doctor, looked at me with Sadeyes and

goes,“um, are you absolutely sure you’re not pregnant?”



Um. What.



There was silence for what seemed like a full

decade (it was probably about ten seconds)

until Nurse Ratchet laughed and told me she

was trying to “lighten the mood.” Obviously my

pain is some kind of fucking endorphin
because they both started cracking up.



First of all, what kind of stealth pregnancy

test was this that I didn’t even realize it was

going on? And second, why the hell would that

“lighten the mood,” unless everyone in this office

is some sort of damn sociopath? Where did you get

your license, Dr. Harold Shipman’s Medical School For The
Criminally Insane?



So, thanks for that, Dr. Strangelove. YOU are

what I am not thankful for this year.



Oh, and I also hate the *Twilight* kids.

Someone needs to throw all of them
into a poorly-lit tunnel during rush hour.

Covenant

2010-11-10T10:54:00.000-07:00

The covenant I wish to make. Holding hands, in our grasp we hold the decision of whether to mend or to break. Looking past the color of eyes, past the flesh and skin depth, seeing what is truly left when we are open, unclothed, naked, nothing left but our spirit or soul. That vision is what I aim to hold in my sight for all eternity, beauty in truth and in light, everything that has ever been a counterbalance to what is wrong, you are all that is right. I look to every moment that is in your grace, your presence is divine, and everything is in its right place. Tears hath no place in heaven and heaven is in your eyes. For futures sake, at your feet I will forever lie, may it be my destiny or my fate, my salvation or my demise. I will bleed endlessly if it means that no pain come your way, I will fight the bright of day for an extra hour of slumber for you, I will fight the dead of night and steal away the dark to lighten your day and heart. Move mountains is the least I can try, even if I move it stone by stone, I will do the work to gain my place, I will do the work to move that mountain to lift that tear from your face, I promise to do everyday until I die. In death I remain ever so committed, all my resolve requited for all my misgivings, shortcomings, lack of being, and lack of seeing. Faultless I am not, and will never claim to be, but for each fault, each crack, each mistake, I claim a lifetime of earnest in being, earnest in giving every gift of love, from understanding, to mending, to dedicating every moment to making you smile, I would crawl every inch of every mile to lift your head up and save your spirit, these things I can promise, I can vow, I give these things to you always, even now, this be the covenant I wish to give, the life I wish to share, the life I wish to live.

Love Sick Delirium

2010-07-13T09:53:00.000-06:00

Part 3

As I lay bleeding, still and stoic, I am called out of my consciousness. Here I am defending my actions, she is pressing charges against my participation in said relationship. A trial by fire, a trial I am ill equipped for.

"Will the defendant please rise." The judge orders much more than asks.

I rise to my feet shaken and still aching in pain from the damage done by her withdrawal.

"How do you plead?" He enquires.

"Guilty, your honor." I state, without caution.

The courtroom is shocked. They collectively inhale gasping the air from without the room. I look over and she is equally shocked at my plea. The judge continues through the proceedings, going over my offenses before I am allowed to call any witnesses or simply allow for judgement to commence. The judge states that I am charged with neglect, painful withdrawal of support during states of emotional distress, quiet anger, lack of adoration, and other offenses not acceptable to this court. I have entered my plea and I am at the mercy of the courts harsh punishment. The time has come for my counsel to be allowed to call a witness or simply leave the jury to their job at judging my future. My counsel calls myself to the stand in my defense.

I rise again from my chair, which I have been dejectedly slumped over in and walk briskly over to the wooden gate, push forth and let it swing behind me with that thundering sound of it swinging behind me. That swinging sound is so damning, it brings to mind the gallows, swinging from rope, the floor opening beneath me, its terrifying, but my fate has not been decided yet. I am my last defense. I will have to state my case though I am reluctant to do so because I am guilty of all those things I am charged with and I only want justice for the heart of my love, justice and peace. Anyways I can bring her a smile, or place the hands of justice solely in her hands in my goal.

At first her counsel approaches the bench and asks me again how I plead. Once again I state guilty for the record. The accusing party points to the stenographer and asks the jury to make note of it as well. They stand down. My counsel approaches now and asks simply, "Do you have anything to state in your defense?"

I reply. "I do, and I would like to take this time to have the court and its attendants all hear my last words of apology and defense."

"Proceed" The judge beckons.

"First, I would like to apologize to the court for bringing everyone to such a place where this trial would be necessary. It would be like me to not recognize an issue before it becomes a legal liability and for that I am eternally apologetic. I did not however, come to the witness stand to apologize for that or for specific things I did throughout this relationship that I would like to make atonement for now. It is too late and I recognize that. I am sorry though for things being too late, more of an apology for myself and the one I love. So I am brought here with the charges of neglect, painful withdrawal during states of emotional distress, quiet anger and lack of adoration amongst many more other offenses. I acknowledge these all and take responsibility for this all. Be it my judgement that I should pay with my life, then so be it, that be my fate. The only thing I must say in my defense is this. Although I have failed many times over with the one I have stated to love, I know that there is nothing I can do to retract the pain I have put out. This is my fault and I will live with the guilt of knowing that no matter my sentence here I will always know the pain I have caused her and how I damaged our relationship. Now with all apologies aside I ask of you, (looking at her now as she has her head hung down), to look at me and remember some things with me. They might not be so noteworthy and you might not know about everything I am talking about, they might not even be of consequence to you but to me these things meant the world."

"If you could recall the times when I lay there motionless in the middle of a dark night, sleepless and utterly tired just so that you might be comfortable with your leg wrapped around me and body close in a peaceful slumber. If you could please recall every time I literally bled for you, either after picking roses or being reckless with myself in order to protect you from the smallest of injuries. If you could recall each time I suffered through tireless toil in order to make sure you were well taken care of. If you could recall each moment that I spent thinking about you and how much I wanted for you to be comfortable. If you could recall each time I lay awake listening to you breathe when we had too much to drink just so I could make sure that you were breathing right. If you could recall the time I have invested in you and our relationship, our love, your well being, us. If you could recall the very day I set aside everything else just to be near you, with you, part of your life. Would you please remember when we first sat alone in dark summer night looking out into the stars, looking into each other, seeing past the exterior and falling in love. I would do all of this all over again, even now as we both stand here to be present at my judgement. I would do it a million times over even if it didn't change the outcome of today. I would live through the struggle, the pain, the uncertainty, the confusion, the anger, and the heartache just to have experienced those things with you. I have sinned and have not been as I should have been in our time together. The one thing I do know is that I love you endlessly, even after the flood. I love you.

"Please step down sir." The judge asks.

I look over at her and she looks away but I almost sense a bit of reluctance to throw me to the hands of those who would judge me so harshly.

The judge asks the jury to deliberate after hearing both sides of each counsel. I look over at the jury and each of the twelve jurors are her. She is there in every persona she has ever exhibited in our relationship. Sorrow, Frustration, Helplessness, Loneliness, Exhilaration, Hysteria, Fear, Unloved, Unconditional Love, Hope, Tolerant, Patient are all present and they exit the room as they get ready to cast their vote on my future.

They sit in the room mulling over all of the evidence that was presented. They each cast their vote weighing the options of what would be best for my future and the state of my heart.

I begin to go over in my mind what the outcome would be. Sorrow as I would expect would vote in favor of punishment. Frustration, another vote against me, Helplessness, another, Exhilaration marks the first vote in my favor. Hysteria, another vote against me, Fear once more a vote against me, Unloved could go either way, for fear of being unloved and feeling that way during our tumultuous relationship. Unconditional love would possibly vote in my favor. Loneliness could go either way, Hope another in my favor, Tolerant in my favor, and Patience the last one in my favor. It is desperation I cling to now.

The jury exits after hours of deliberation. Fear washes over my entire being as I see each one of them reach their seats in complete silence.

"All rise." The judge orders.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" The judge asks.

"We have your honor they echo in unison." All twelve of her says.

"The votes are as listed; Sorrow votes guilty, Frustration votes guilty, Helplessness votes guilty, Hysteria votes guilty, Fear votes guilty, Hope votes not guilty, Tolerant votes not guilty, Exhilaration votes not guilty, Unconditional Love votes not guilty, Patience votes not guilty, Loneliness votes not guilty, Unloved votes not guilty. We find the defendant after much deliberation not guilty, acquitted of all charges." She says solemnly.

I jump to my feet excited and absolutely thrilled that I am not guilty she has found it in her heart to forgive me and has erased blame from me even though I feel just as guilty as before. I walk out of the courtroom, a bittersweet victory. She has removed the noose from around my neck and as I breathe free once more with no fear of the gallows to claim my life and my neck I feel a slight reprieve. Still the endless tears of nights alone I face, still my heart torn and tattered, still my love lies bleeding, beautiful as the flower itself but my heart can barely bring itself to beat.

As I am leaving the courtroom I am sulking quietly, I feel a tap on my shoulder and quickly turn around. She finally looks at me and we both shed tears out of newfound loneliness, confusion and misery. She kisses my forehead gently we laugh nervously and kiss on the lips softly. We say to each other how much we missed each other and how much we love each other. Its nice to be in your arms again I tell her and she nods quietly in agreement. I couldn't be happier. I fall to my knees and apologize profusely. We embrace again, I am home. Still in each hearts we reside, never have we left this place, dark it was without the rays of beauty that break the coldest waves of fear. Shallow pools of tears would have claimed my life was it not for your gentle embrace and rescuing grace, left without you, memories I did hold onto, grasp, grip, and cling, you forever were and forever will be my everything. Holding hearts hand in hand, never again will this rift expand, closing wounds and sharing souls, in your hands my heart you do hold.

As we walk out of the court together, arm in arm. I am drawn out of myself and land violently on my couch awake again. It was all a dream and she is still gone. I cry again to myself. I has been 89 hours. I don't know how much more I can take.

Love Sick Delirium

2010-07-07T11:24:00.000-06:00

Part 2

Ok So I start thinking about the last few years and maybe things weren't always as easy as they could have been and I definite now that I wasn't always as good to her as I should have been. It starts to set in, the realization that this is not entirely a sudden impact but rather a building of issues that slowly eroded away at our foundations until there was nothing but a crumbling outline of what used to be a happy home. I sit here thinking about picking up my used glass of scotch and refilling it again, or maybe walking to the corner store to pick up another pack of cigarettes, but self imposed destruction isn't quite something that I feel I want to do to myself right now, I am already in so much pain it would be almost too much to bare. I decide to stew in my own misery and look blankly into the television set. Its been about 20 hours and I go from fear that she won't call to anger and now I am sitting here baffled that she hasn't contacted me, no email, no phone call, and no text. All of the world has gone silent, the chatter has ceased and I can hear my labored breathing. Solitude you are my unwelcome guest I can only hope you do not stay here long.

Over 26 hours have passed and time is non-existent here where I am. I am sitting in my space, watching as things come tumbling down in front of me. There is no meaning here and I am completely alone, even my thoughts have fled this moment. I couldn't even think of sleep as of now, it would be too comfortable, too soothing and I am not quite sure but I do think that I am not deserving of that luxury.

47 hours and now things are starting to get interesting. I start thinking of all the things I would say to her if she were here right now. I begin thinking of all the things I would do or say if she were on the phone. Not so strange in and of itself but the part that has me worried is that I start imagining all the things she would say to me if she saw me this way, what she would say if she were here or even on the phone. One second I am smiling sadly to myself imagining her voice the other I am hearing her berate me for being so depressed.

"What are you doing? Are you Crying? Or is it that you want to cry? Why don't you cry for once, be a man, do something other than sit there thinking to yourself about everything. Such a person of action, why don't you grow up? Oh wait, did I go too far? I don't think I have gone far enough. You brought this all upon yourself you know...." She says.

"I know, I know, I am sorry, stop yelling at me, stop please. I didn't mean for things to end up this way." I cry

Suddenly her voice is gone and I am looking up at an empty room that only makes me ball worse. I cherish even our arguments that I imagine. I could only dream of asking her for forgiveness and being able to look into her eyes.

Delirium has long since set in and from the lack of sleep I have become increasingly detached from reality. I am now listening to all of our albums that we purchased together. I pull a vinyl out of the sleeve with half lit cigarette dangling from my lips dangerously, as ash falls from cigarette to the album covers. I lay the vinyl down without caution let the needle drop onto the grooves and turn the volume up to unnatural levels. 73 hours now and I have been listening to music for so long I can't remember when the last time I had a drink of water was and the last time I went to the restroom. I have been imbibing spirits liberally for hours and vomiting when my body can handle no more. I still hear her and what she might say or do, especially when one of her favorite songs is played. I hear her voice singing along to the songs, I remember the first time we heard those songs. I sat on the couch watching her mouth move and we let the sounds drown out everything that was going on around us. The memories are like small earthquakes shattering my world again and again.

There is a knocking outside. I am afraid to answer. I am not sure why, I have nothing illegal and nothing to hide but there is something menacing about the way they are knocking at the door. I don't like people knocking at my door this way. I haven't slept, I am far too drunk to speak and I do believe I smell badly. I will have to take a shower now before I can answer the door. I run to the restroom terrified of the person on the other end of that door. I get undressed in a paranoid state looking around everywhere. Not sure what I am looking for but it might be there just right outside my peripheral vision. I climb into the shower and douse the scent of alcohol, tobacco and fear off of me. I am feeling better, almost sleepy.

"Crrrracccckkkkkkkk" The door explodes. Sounding like one of those overdramatized action movies with wood splintering all over my apartment knocking things over as men in uniforms are running towards me. At first I think I am hallucinating, but no its real men with guns drawn, its all over now. Some rush towards me others are perusing around my apartment looking through stuff, turning down the volume on my stereo system while shouting words at me. I can hear nothing right now, everything has become a dull buzz and I cannot understand anything they are saying. They are in my face asking me things I cannot answer. My only response to everything they say and do is to shake my head from left to right. Minutes later there are EMT's poking and prodding me still asking questions I have no response for. Finally after examining me like a criminal in some interrogation room they leave me be. They write on a piece of paper that I am not allowed to play my music so loud and to quit setting off the buildings fire alarms with excessive cigarette smoke. A disaster averted, I walk naked to my couch sit down and stare into the blank television set, its been almost 88 hours now.

Its almost time I go to court.

Love Sick Delerium

2010-07-06T09:20:00.000-06:00

Part 1

The room temperature is wringing sweat from my body. I am awash in electrolytes setting comfortably on my skin. My tongue is a desert, and my chest comes up short of a full breath. Heavy humidity hangs above my skin like flannel sheets. These summer nights are cooler than the oven heat filled days that I am accustomed to, and this heat bearing down on me is a fleeting glimpse of comfort compared to the waking hours I will endure soon enough.

How anyone can concentrate, live, function, or think in this God forsaken climate is a complete mystery to me. To make matters worse, these last 87 hours, 32 minutes and 56 seconds have been pure misery. Not because of heat, sweat, humidity, or the lack of air movement, but thats when she took my apartment key from her keychain after a lengthy crying spell and placed it on my countertop and left with the door still ajar. I could hear each deliberate footstep hammering down the stairwell, hear her open her car door, hear the faulty ignition struggle to turn and lastly hear the tires move along the gravel as she drove away. A cacophonous misery that got louder as she drove further from my heart, my home and my eyes.

Her love is a searing serrated knife plunged deep into my chest and stinging, burning, cutting as it enters, its almost a soothing pain as it rests in my chest cavity and solders my capillaries and veins shut from the heat. Still and unmoving it doesn't hurt, I can function everyday with the knife of her love and no blood escapes unless I writhe in pain. Its best just to sit in that moment of stillness that is her piercing love and let her penetrate my rough exterior, seeking my heart, and seeking my soul. The problem is I fear when her love grows cold and moments have her in just a way that she might think to withdraw her love from my pitch black soul, and aching and shriveling heart. Just a single second of a thought and I can feel the blades serrated edges tear at my flesh slowly, droplets of blood form around my love wound. Then finally the day that had kept me shuttered in distress arrives knocking at my door wildly, violently and all too suddenly. The knife so quickly plunged to my heart and sinking me into a deep amorous slumber of love and pain never known is reversed this day, but not so quickly this time.

"As it went in, it shall not come out."

She says to me with her cruel but beautiful eyes. I see her grasp the handle and twist once to the left turning my body down towards the floor. I hang there limp like a rag doll slumped over to one side. I am without control, totally at the whims of my lover, my assailant. She slowly pulls one serrated edge out away from my tearing flesh with blood rushing forth soaking my clothes, I am drenched. She pulls another serrated edge out closer to her, she pulls one by one staring me in the eye as she crushes me and tears my heart in two. Then its done, suddenly she pulls the last of the knife out at once, I drop to the floor in relief and in pain. I lay on the ground silent, she has pulled her heart, her love away from me. She pockets the knife of her love, storing it away for another day when might assail me once more, I hope, or possibly use her devilish weapon against another. I lay in my own blood, loveless, lifeless, motionless, I am stained.

The first 6 hours I spent jumping down the neck of a bottle of scotch almost in pleasure but mildly afraid that I might not hear from her that night. Watching television with the air conditioner on full blast as the air blew recklessly around my single room studio apartment. The ice in my glass would not melt before my next drink, stumbling and incoherent I lay on my couch staring down onto my phone watching for the backlight on the display to come alive. I stare forever it seems but nothing comes of it. Dejected and terribly inebriated I fall into a drunken sleep that would only be interrupted by the air conditioner making some awful screeching sound before grinding to a stop and smoke rising from its burned out motor. I poured another glass of scotch downed it one fell swoop and returned to my slumber.

I wake up halfway expecting to feel her arm draped over my chest as she lay sleeping peacefully, eyes closed tight, hair resting on the soft features of her face. Instead I wake in a pool of my own sweat, I am dripping, I smell of scotch and body odor and even though I see some of her things laying around on the coffee table I can't sense her presence, her energy is gone. So now I am done hoping that my phone starts ringing begin to get a little angry. Why should I feel so guilty, I did as much as I could. I was always there, I loved unconditionally, I worked just as hard as she did in this relationship. I stay angry lighting cigarette after cigarette, drawing in the smooth layers of smoke and letting them sit in my lungs, commiserate for a while and then exhale sharply. After about 3/4 of a pack of cigarettes I resign my anger and sit there staring at her hair tie on the coffee table, longing for her to come back home.

Indio

2010-04-14T13:02:00.000-06:00

Every year as the descent into the belly of hipster heaven commences, there is one unholy gathering that people from corners of the globe flock to. The desert palms sway in the wind and the grass on the fields readies itself for the throes of thousands that will trample the soils. As beer and vodka spill from overpriced cups and aviator sunglasses abound the air will fill with sounds and the raucous rhythms of our modern muse. Anticipation growing and the cars start piling onto highways, the race has begun. The desert heat awaits hearts, and souls eager for a moment lost in the lights and speakers booming. Drunken mazes of people constantly moving like ants from hill to hill. Intoxication runs deep and as the nights come to a close people retire to little huts, their refuge from the dark and musical void that fills the night. These nights we strive for music, lights and the spirits speaking to our hearts. As the stars shine out on this empty field, I recognize my place. I am home again.

Morning

2010-04-01T08:54:00.000-06:00

Still morning air lingers around like fireflies float,
The light reaches my window pane and the blue sky rejoices again,
The day distracts the night and steals the stage for a spell,
The night acquiesces and wishes the daytime well,
Softly heads lay on feathers in linens,
The beauty radiates into each small corner of the room,
The day is only beginning,
Sweet words carried on the wings of whispers and fly swift to ears awaiting reception,
The poet sits beneath the tree scribbling as the philosopher sits atop mounts in introspection,
Each seeking a new direction and course for this day to play through,
Which way do, we all follow with guiding light, or follow faithfully,
Paths twist and turn, days drag then burn,
Steep cliffs and mountains towering,
Never a person besides do I wish,
Except you, In your eyes I do live,
In your hand does mine rest,
In our hearts with each word from within our breath.

For You

2010-02-28T13:30:00.000-07:00

What else can I do? I stand in the way of life's harshest pains for you. I look out into the open sea and I witness the pitfalls and the darkest clouds. I lay myself down in the trenches for you to cross, I will climb the highest mount, to oversee your passage in safety. I am tired, my eyes are heavy but I stay awake, to watch you safely sleep. I walk a million miles to fall at your feet, I lift my head to reach your lips. I see the fire, but walk on through, I travel through the thickets of thorns, bearing your cross, and bearing mine, I walk on coals aflame, I will be your strength, our tie that binds. I sacrifice my life for ours, for us together, for us forever. There was never a me without you, and there will never be a you without me, I dedicate each breath each ounce of strength, to your side and ever abide in the shadows or sunshine of your love. Each of these things I do, I will forever do. I do for you.

Maybe

2010-02-28T12:14:00.000-07:00

The song is on repeat, and so are these thoughts. Spinning round like a choice vinyl record, needle catching the grooves and expressing sweet melodies of misery. Each time it starts again, I relive the confusion and pain. No one has the right answers or sweet words to soothe the inner beast, congested thoughts fighting for my attention. Which way do I turn, which way do I look, is there a brighter side. "I, I think I am going to cry, I, I don't want you to see me cry......" These words linger around like adolescent children outside a gas station in rural anywhere, America. I am not sure that this is something I can change. I can think on these things as long as I'd like but what is the outcome, the needles tore through and the damage done, blood rises to the skin, and I bloodlet. There is no relief this way, there is no relief from my mind, anger, confusion, fear, hurt, most of all hurt. Maybe its me, maybe I am not so sure what really happens in these type of situations, maybe I overreact, maybe I am wrong. Maybe I have no idea. I can listen to records all day and they all say the same thing, love is lost and love is gained and no one wants to turn their back on love, but what happens to those who hurt? What happens to those who cannot be strong? Are they doomed to a shaky foundation that slowly crumbles away at simple things like laughter, holding hands, and laying next to each other comfortably? Who can build a house on shifting sands? Too many questions and not enough answers or maybe just not any answers I want to hear.

The Man Who Couldn't Cry

2010-02-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

Troubled water, and pain in my eyes. Can't seem to shake these tears from my mind, they won't come to the surface, try as I might. No water has washed away these things I can't understand. How could something so sweet, be so bitter in my own mouth. There is no comfort in this moment, only abrasive thoughts that tear into each memory uninvited, and unwanted. Maybe I need sometime to think, though these thoughts they never help, they are overcast clouds sitting there waiting to pour dismay all over my being. Listening to heartache and sorrow, although none could quite explain how I feel. There is no song that aptly describes where I am. Lost and confused, decisions not only my own, thoughts that have decided to make my mind their home. Smiles turn down at the corners of the mouth and a seriousness I do not welcome settles on my face. Million mile stares that occupy my time, as teary eyes dream of release. Morose inspiration and creative mind goes to work as my heart cries a little more. Tears escape me, by not my spirit, not my mind. Maybe finally I have found the man that couldn't cry.

Kiss

2010-02-25T07:09:00.002-07:00

My hand meeting yours midway through embrace, beautiful coveting our lips reaching face to face. I am almost there, there is only there, a solitary place. Your heart, your breath, your movement, laying but no rest. I can see you dream, I can see everything, eyes have it all, your mind it calls, I can hear your voice. Angelic tones reach my head, swoon everlasting, mesmerize, my heart capsize, overboard, in the sea, lost in peace with you. Skin so near, skin so delicate, you are the rose, bloom and blush. Lush and heavenly, divine near, divine far, divinity in my heart. I can't hold, out you pour, cup runneth over, ground you touch, ground you bless, perfect for a moment, nothing more, nothing less. Sweet taste on my lips, wait with baited breath for another kiss.

Hell

2010-02-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

My body is tired. I can barely sleep these days. When every thought is a painful return to the morose musings that maintain my misery. I remember walking down that road, beautiful in its simplicity. Walking listening to the wind, and hearing each footstep against the hardened dirt path. That ditch where there were so many other footsteps. I wondered if they were just as desperate and lost as I. When eyes meet mine, there is no sense of sanity anymore, my gaze is wild, my stare is infinite. No more soul behind these windows, no more depth. Only shallow visions, only pain. What was it that was lost, who has forsaken me that I must endure this world in solitude?

It wasn't always this way. I can take myself back through the years, through my head. In these recollections I can smile, almost entirely out of madness, I smile. I look back on the day when I sat in my garden weeding through the unwanted foliage and plant material amongst the vegetables and flowers I had sown. The sun rising as I am digging my hands into the earth. I awoke to the taste of fresh air and a promise of a great day. I would make my morning coffee, slowly dripping were grounds soaked with boiling hot water, dropping browned water into the pot of early morning libation. I imbibed each sip with patience and cigarette smoke, right up next to the window pane, looking out into the day and endlessly into the possibilities. I had companions, my books, my pets, my job, my friend. My funny friend, always there, close by. Even if I drew no pleasure from the simple life that I lived, my friend enjoyed each moment of freedom and each new experience.

When the early mornings came too quick my friend and I welcomed each ray of light from the uncovered window. I sat and read a few pages of my favorite book and would start out on my way towards work 8 miles away, a beautiful and peaceful bicycle ride. The return home was always welcomed. I would walk through my old and quirky wooden door, pour myself a glass of cold water and go outside and sit in my favorite spot in the garden. I would watch as bees buzzed around my flower garden and the birds hovered overhead. Such simplicity it could make me cry, but every single second of enjoyment seems to fade away into the dark and desperate night that quickly ensued. These moments were not protected from the harsh realities of life, the pains, and fears that substances and alcohol would bring.

Ecstatic, it was a new place, a new life, a new direction. Nevermind that I had just been released from all my legal responsibilities. No more supervised probation, no more daily tests, no more meetings to attend with the threat of jail looming. All my legal fears slowly moved away. I entered into this new apartment with the excitement of life fresh and running through my veins. I was determined to do well at work and make my way through school with purpose in my life. How quickly walls come crumbling down and foundations are shook to their core. I slowly withdrew from life, light, work, family, and friends. I moved further into my cave, this place used to be so bright with smiles and laughter echoing in the halls and rooms. Now each room with curtains drawn, paranoia hanging thick in the air, along with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and the broken walls, broken mirrors, and broken hearts. House plants withered away as did my mind. I fought back with my soul but the grips of the night and the absence of light held tightly to my spirit and stifled my being. I was being drowned in my own self-loathing. A new hope turned into an ever-present option of self termination. I survived, but what part of me survived? What escaped, because I was not unscathed. I barely remain alive in any sense of the word.

I can recall one day in particular. It was a run of the mill weekday. Nothing special or damning about it, but my how it was incredibly damned. I awoke to the annoying and painful sound of the alarm clock. A repetitive sound, not so much a buzzing but more like an emergency alert system over the radio. The sound disturbed my slumber so horribly and I jumped from my bed and hustled to get dressed and ready for work before I was counted late. As I sprung from the comfort of the sheets I found the closest clothes I could. The pain from the night before still lingered in my head, fatigue from lack of sleep and over-indulgence in alcohol. I rushed out to my car and sped to work. Countless times I would do this with no problems whatsoever. This day marked a new point in my life, a point in which I would beg for change. I paused lightly at the stop sign just down the road from my residence. As I sped from the sign blue and white lights that mark the beast flashed in my rear view mirror. Fear struck me, suddenly I was wondering if I was still too drunk to be operating a vehicle. I questioned whether or not I had anything illegal in my possession or in the car. I quickly composed myself enough to handle the traffic stop. It was a quick and simple stop. I was warned by young policeman who seemed idealistic and hopeful for his position of authority. I took heed to his warnings and stopped at every stop sign completely thereafter. Still shaken, inebriated and late for work. The day would only get more difficult. I wonder if I should have called in and stayed home, would that have changed the course of my life? I do not know, but i could only hope that events wouldn't have been so painful................................

This Life

2010-02-04T10:46:00.000-07:00

Pastel Skies, and baby's breath wind. Slow moving days and whirlwind nights. Struggling to keep up with your own pace, each foot goes one in front of the other yet I still can't find the right way to walk. This path it winds and twists and turns, it rises and falls, the hills and the valleys it all changes constantly. Never enough time to get comfortable. Its beautiful, it makes so much sense and none whatsoever all at once. I look up and I see the promised land, its 27 feet in front of me yet all I can do to get there is move at a snails pace. Inching my way there it seems light years away. I have to take time to enjoy the journey, the raft ride down wild rapids that shake my foundations, and loosen my leaves, break my branches and lift me from out my roots. The clouds scream of cotton candy, with pink and orange skies that drip dreamsicle drops as they weep. Going to sleep knowing that those dreams you dream are only rearranged thoughts of yesteryear, and a house of mirrors reflecting crazy thoughts and forgotten feelings. Can your fantasies come true if they are only reflecting what you do and already feel. Trying not to let these things interfere with the day to day workings that we stress, mull, and cringe over. No one wants to clean their room, and do the dishes, drive to work, or wake up too early, not on our way to the place we ought to be, wherever that might be. I can see that place for any of us, especially myself. I have seen that country, that state, that city, the town, that place. It has that perfect temperate climate that lifts your spirits as temperatures rise and cools your mind as the mercury drops. The seasons change and so does your mind, we grow and bloom in sync with the flowers and the grasses. The trees whisper secrets to us and we reciprocate by taking a nap right under its ancient knowledge. Getting there though, thats the part that I enjoy. I see it, and I can feel it. The path there is rough and rocky, its a hard road to walk. Those things that we cannot control, that are unfortunate and aren't as enjoyable as we might want them to be, they are an indefinite part of the process. The heartache and sorrow, the tears and the open wounds, the memories that never seem to let go even though you have tried to force them off your back, all these things, they can hurt and they can bring sorrow in the door like an unwanted guest. Its all part of some crazy, plan, some crazy, twisted and strange plan. Its all part of this life.

The Last Time

2010-02-01T12:27:00.000-07:00

Its six a.m.
Feeling pretty decent this morning.
Held her close and felt her chest rise and fall as we breathed together.
Touched her hair and walked out of the room.
Same thing every morning.
Leave little notes behind make her smile.
Play ridiculous amounts of music and drink until someone passes out.
Smoke the 2nd half of her cigarette.
Go out to the movies and laugh at how horrible the movie we paid to see is.
Be bored while we sit in the same space as the day before last.
Go running together.
Fall asleep together. Wake up together.
Laugh together.
Cry together. Many times cry together.
Worry together.
Get excited together.
Plan road trips and look forward to the unknown.
Get afraid of the unknown.
Get sick together and lay in bed whining.
Cook together.
The night before sitting close together watching meaningless television shows.
Sitting that close somehow anything seems a little more meaningful as long as its shared.
Listen to her voice in my head. Think about her.
Dance. Smile. Frown. Hurt. Breathe. Live. Move. Plan. Think. Everything humanly possible do together.
Turn the keys in the door, door unlocks, I walk in and look for her. Calm at first, room after room its empty. Frantic searching in and out of the house.
She is gone.
What if all those things were the last time?

Indio California

2010-01-24T08:52:00.001-07:00

Its hot, were packed in like cattle. Corrals keeping us in line, sweat is dripping from my brow down the bridge of my nose and further down my face. It took 9 hours, 2 rest stops, 3 bags of chips, 2 sodas, 8 bottles of water, a handful of cashews, 1 awesome playlist and 1 hour of straight laughter to get here. Still waiting. The car is parked the sun is bearing down with the midday heat and suddenly everything starts moving. This polo field fills with movement and life. People slowly moving forward shirts tied around their heads, cut-off pants, mini fans, parasols and lots of skin. Suddenly the lines break and we move through security as they check our bags, our pockets and our hair at times. Then you're in, part of an exclusive crowd that grows each year. Welcome to the inner fields of Coachella.
The music festival that puts all others to shame. Not only is the lineup philosophized minutes after that years festival ends but the growing chatter is deafening and the hopeful people waiting eagerly for bands to sign on for the fest, and crazily craving the tickets to go on sale. Its a frenzy of madness and indulgence and musical release that so many look forward to each year. It can turn into a madhouse selling out within two weeks. Every year so many make the trek there without even knowing how they will make it out. The stage is set, the lineup posted, and the crowds are already moving.
This year already has the making to be a crazy desert party. With the likes of deadmau5, passion pit, wale, bassnectar, beach house, camera obscura, John Waters???!!, sia, dead weather, mgmt, infected mushroom, sly and the family stone, the glitch mob, jay-z?, the gorillaz and THOM YORKE.
Its going to be a wild year, the ride up there, the camping in the field, the music, the money, the drinks and the debauchery. Madness ensues in 82 days.

Its not Fair

2010-01-18T07:34:00.000-07:00

"Change does not roll in on wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle."
Martin Luther King Jr.

These words strike deep and make me think every time that I read them. How can they be applied to the current social landscape of the United States, and even the world.
Although today is a far cry from the days of lynchings, sit-ins, marches and protests we still have the air of complacency hanging over our heads as deathly as a makeshift gallows that have stolen so many of our brethren. It is easy to be content with our current situation, our schools are integrated, our social fabric is such that all colors and creeds work side by side.

"Today they say that we are free, only to be chained in poverty..." Robert Nesta Marley

This is not enough. There are still struggles there is still fights to be fought. There are still battles to be waged. There are gender roles that need to be equalized, sexual orientation that needs to be equalized, there is poverty that needs to be eliminated and there is compassion that needs to be spread. These are battles that need to be fought.

Martin Luther King Jr. Said once "A man that won't die for something is not fit to live."

These times are the times that his words still ring true. Change does not come easy but comes after much struggle and hardship. More so than ever we need these words to be a guiding beacon for a better future.
With so many people voting for Obama we voted for change and a symbolic change has happened. A new leader arrived and yet people all across America are still destitute and hopeless in the outlook of this new decade that is upon us. They cry, wail and look for anyone to blame. Is this the way?
If Martin Luther King Jr. could see today what would be his response to our current political/social landscape?
Would he cozy up on a the couch, grab a beer and watch television knowing that his children and grandchildren can now go school with all the other kids? Would he sit back and complain that Obama is not doing enough? Would he sit on a rocking chair and tell the neighborhood children about his struggles and champion moments.
The answer is NO.
Martin Luther King jr. would not stop now and would not stop ever. There is never a a time where we must give up. We now have a nation in crisis, a world in need. The struggles in Haiti, Darfur, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Tibet, and the list goes on. Most of all the struggle where YOU live. It could be anywhere in the world, and wherever you are there are poor. There are hungry, there is economic crisis, there is social injustice.
Solomon Burke said it best, "if one us are chained then none of us are free."
So instead of simply saying thank you for the good that Martin Luther King jr. has done get up today and everyday from this moment on and be a champion for human rights, for all rights. You can lend your hand or support to causes and struggles all over the world. Instead of being complacent, or instead of waiting on the President lets take our own future into our own hands. We each have that power to make a better tomorrow. Plant a seed of hope into the earth that yields hope and progress in return.

In memory of Martin Luther King Jr. January 15th 1929-April 4th 1968
"Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can't ride your back unless your back is bent."

Children Playing

2010-01-08T09:54:00.000-07:00

Walking home from school together with her, he runs off to the side of a house and tears a yellow rose from the bushes and runs back to her, placing it in her hair.

Two children playing outside in a wooden cottage just about their size. With real wood shutters, door with lock, kitchen set in corner and a small patio. The little boy playing house with the little girl. He pretends to go to work outside the house making bricks and building walls, gathering pecans and grapes and climbing trees. She works with him plays in the mud making mud pies and throwing mud in his face. He gets upset and hides, she goes to look for him and when she finds him they scuffle and then end up playing a game of tag. Running through the yard around trees and around bushes. He falls and scrapes his knee she goes over to him and helps him clean his scrape and they sit together looking tenderly into each others eyes.
Their parents call them inside its time to go they hug and say goodbye. They will see each other again but neither of them know when.

The mornings are hard, waking suddenly from an alarm that shakes him awake. Hitting snooze at least 3 times before he finally pulls the covers from his body and gets dressed and ready. He places his hand on hers and kisses her forehead gently as he leaves the bedroom. Getting coffee, getting the car keys putting on the winter garb and rushing out the door to a iced over windshield and cold car interior. He starts the car, turns the heater on full blast as he scrapes the windshield of all the ice that has accrued. Sitting alone silent in the early morning hours he waits for the car to warm so he can speed of to work. Getting to work he settles into his cubicle and starts his work day.

Getting up she is playing house, get some water, clean the kitchen, cook some food. Organize the shelves, dusting, make the beds, make sure the children are off to school on time. She sips a cup of coffee and sits to the computer and checks her email. We used to play house when we were younger and now its real and we don't act any different.

We both go off and do our own things. During these times of separation they sing to themselves the beautiful words of a poet, "How soon will I be seeing you? How soon? I wish I really knew. When will I be hearing words I want to hear? Pretty little love words whispered in my ear.....". When we are together we play and chase each other, sometimes hurting the others feelings and other times just hurting. Taking turns taking care of each other. Smiling and crying with each other as days and events pass. Still the same children having to face the pains of the world. Standing together hand in hand as the world crumbles around them, skies burning, wars igniting all around them, disease and fear spreading internationally. Having only each other to lean on, they look out into the face of darkness and go calmly into the night. After all there is no fear in children playing.

They take time to remember who they are and why they play and that you are never too old to play. Every once in a while they will catch a glimpse of that past, that child, that spirit, that soul they still recognize from their childhood. They sit and stare deeply into each others eyes. They could easily forget what really matters being away from each other for too long. These times when they sit in thunderous silence and the the background seems to fade to black, hand in hand sitting near each other. Just being.

Sometimes when he is coming home from work during the warm days of spring and summer, he drives around searching for homes with rose bushes, he finds an empty yard with a rose bush by the door. Parks the car leaves the ignition running and takes his house keys and cuts a rose from the bush, running back to the car and driving home quickly. Walking in the door he sneaks up behind her and puts a yellow rose in her hair.

Midst Of Demeter's Depression

2010-01-04T06:07:00.001-07:00

When Hades kidnapped Persephone from Demeter it caused Demeter to be depressed in the months that she was away. This period would be known as Winter.

In the midst of Demeter's depression the days fell short and the nights grew long and cold. The life giving star had retreated further away from home, and light and warmth became scant. This solstice carried with it icy breath and frozen hearts. No fire could tame the winds of ice, and no man could stop the crystalline water from falling. Early morning hours most unforgivable and the joints of my own hands tremble and become stiff. This dim lit season carry unkind temperatures and with it something more. In the midst of this solstice shortening of days, elongating of nights we find ourselves hibernating, holing up in our homes, waiting for the light to emerge so we can escape our dark and bitterly cold dens. In this time there is none to keep us company but ourselves. Faced with introspection and deep thought we look at our place in life and our place in the world. When the light creeps from around that bend do we rise as new or do return to exhausted ideologies and failed starts. As the dawn awakes and crosses the horizon I choose not to fall into previous pitfalls and move forward with the dusk to my back.

Last Storm

2009-12-29T07:31:00.000-07:00

Waking up to that glowing reflection of light shining back off of the ground. Blanket of snow covering every object and making the mornings bright and cold. Its been a strange road here, with inclement weather at every turn. The storms were all metaphorical and all served their purpose. There were twists and turns, winds blowing, snow falling, and drought for days. It was a year of lessons. A year filled with questions that would come knocking on our doors, that refused to lessen their intensity until that door was answered. A year of growth, sometimes almost painful growth that forced us to look long and hard at ourselves in the mirror. There were uncertainties and times where seeing the road out was almost impossible with the flurries obstructing the view. Standing in the cold biting weather as extremities came dangerously close to submitting to the icy grips of death, we saw the storms come and go. When the storms cleared and the debris was removed from the roads we found ourselves intact with scars and memories of what pains we had endured, yet stronger and a little enlightened. It took this last layer of snow to realize everything all at once that had happened. This year was one that came and went within a blink of an eye. With every second passed it was one more chance to take a step in the direction that is needed to make ourselves happy. Did this year teach you humility, mindfulness, patience, and diligence? Did this year teach you to wake up every morning grateful for the chance to make decisions that will enrich your life? I know I walk out into a new dawn with eyes open, aware and care paid attention to where my footsteps land. I will make it to the the promised land, my dreams be realized, my desires fulfilled, my life be lived.

In the Studio With Cellar And Gustav

2009-12-27T12:34:00.000-07:00

Last time I spoke, I spoke on the up and coming artists out of the desert southwest, Cellar and Gustav. I got a chance to sit down with them this last week and speak a little about their plans. They were welcoming and very cool and calm during the whole interview process, like they had been doing this for years. Naturally comfortable I suppose so I dove right into the questions. Here they are in all honesty.

Ok first off just a little background, tell us a little about who you are and where you are from?

Gustav-
Well, we're both from Las Cruces, NM - born and raised. i guess in a lot of ways that's kind of shaped who we are musically and as people in general. James and I grew up together, and we've always been really tight - he's more of a brother to me than anything. We spent a lot of time in college partying and getting into trouble. I remember a time when it was just the two of us in a small apartment and we got tired of having to come out of our rooms so we moved our beds into the living room and set up shop there, kept the refrigerator full of beer and stumbled out of bed everyday, basically just being rowdy and drunk. Then we had a brief stint where we both quit school and drove off to Vegas and then Cali (Palmdale) just because we felt like getting away, California was nice but we didn't find what we needed there. Honestly, I have no idea what we were thinking, but in the end it turned out to be good for both of us. We learned some things and eventually I finished school and we did what we had to do. I guess when you're that young you're allowed to be a couple of stupid fucks.

Cellar-
(Laughs to himself throughout the Gustav's account of the past)
Yeah he has everything just about right. Late nights, partying and drinking way too much. Its amazing that we made it through half the stuff we did. However I took a little detour on my way back to finishing school. I enlisted in the Air Force, I spent some time in Guam, spent some time in South Korea at the DMZ, and lastly I was in Iraq for a little while. Getting to see all that I saw has definitely helped to shape who I am today. I served for a little under 6 years before I was medically retired. I am finishing up school now and working on music.

What made you get into the music business?

Gustav-
For me, I had always wanted to be a singer. I mean, I sing along to practically everything I own and I have always had fun playing with my voice. Besides that, I just love music, I mean really love it. Music just sets the tones and mood for everything in life. There are songs I listen to that take me back to specific times in my life and gives me the full experience of where I was, what I was doing, who was with me, and just how I felt. Its incredibly important to me and so I have always wanted to be part of the creative process and music and singing were just such good outlets for me. I write all my lyrics, and a lot of it was really taken and inspired from a lot of my earlier blogs and poems from when I first moved out to L.A. When i had first gotten out there, it was a really hard time for me, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and I had so much to say. I mean the experiences you have in L.A. stick with you, its not some place where you go and forget the things you did, and saw. It isn't one of those places where you sit idly by and let your life play out before you and when you look back and reminisce you can't really remember what exactly it is that you did. So a lot of my lyrics reflect that and kind of hearken back to this time that is really such a huge part of me.

Cellar-
I have always been involved in music in one form or another. In high school I was the drummer in a few bands. Playing punk shows at houses and out all over Las Cruces, just trying to find some real music to hold onto and have fun with. When I was stationed overseas I was constantly getting together with other musicians and jamming. I didn't start writing my own music until i was stationed in Ohio. It was my foray into what music you hear today. I bought my first music program and midi controller and that was the start of J Cellar. From there I started working on more and more music. I had one of my songs played at a show here in Las Cruces while I was still in Ohio. It turns out my cousin who was producing some music for a few people here really thought people should hear my song so he took it to this crazy live show where a bunch of experimental electronica, trip-hop, down-tempo, and hip-hop groups were playing and played it live there. According to him people really took to it.

How would you best describe the style of music you play/sing?

Gustav-
I think we've been saying that it's post-modern/down-tempo/trip-hop. whatever that means (laughs). Honestly I don't know, it's really just a mixture of styles and influences. Portishead, Mazzy Star, CocoRosie, David Sylvian, Flunk, Halou - those are big influences for us and so i guess it's really this amalgamation of craziness. I think its best to describe us as something different and something that people haven't heard before.
Cellar-
I like chill out down-tempo. I try a lot of things, some of them work, some don't.

Why do people need to hear your music?

Gustav- I think people should hear our music because it's a unique style, and we've definitely got something to say. not just with our lyrics, but with the music that Cellar writes. He really puts a lot of thought and emotion behind it, so the music by itself really has a lot behind it on its own. That, and we need to get paid, son!

Cellar- I think people need to hear our music to open their minds to everything that is out there. I like to write music that hits you emotionally and mentally. It might not hit everyone the same, but some might feel what we are trying to say musically, and lyrically Gustav's lyrics have a lot of passion and soul behind them.

What inspires you?

Gustav-
Hmm......honestly, and this is going to sound EXTREMELY trite and cliche, but pain and heartache are HUGE inspirations for me. Besides that, life in general, you know? The paths that we all choose to take. You never know where you might end up, and although that's scary, it's exciting too.

Cellar- Everything inspires me.

When can we expect the first full length album to come out?

Gustav-
Jesus..............we're hoping to get it out by February. I mean, that's the plan, but we've been saying that for a while now. Seriously though - soon!

Cellar-
Hopefully February, if not February then later 2010.

When can fans expect to see you play live?

Gustav-
We're planning on throwing album release parties at a couple venues in the Albuquerque, Las Cruces, and El Paso when we finally do release the album, so that's when.

Cellar-
It wont be until after the full length is released.

Would you rather do house shows or bars/clubs?

Gustav-
I don't know. i think i would personally rather do clubs because you can get really creative with lighting and things, but house shows would be great to for the intimacy.

Cellar-
Anything and everything. For our style of music it is important that we have the right type of atmosphere and vibe.

What kind of music are you listening to right now?

Gustav-
Right now, I have Paloma Faith, Lady GaGa, David Bowie, and Blonde Redhead on constant rotation.

Cellar-M83, Explosions in the sky, Jesu,Enigma, Sleepercar, Son Volt.

Where can regular folks expect to find you on a Friday night at midnight?

Gustav-
Right now.......at home probably. I don't get out much lately, and i guess that's a good thing. But seriously, i love hanging at home. It always changing, I can be out and all over town for a month and then nothing but hiding out working on music for a few months.

Cellar-
Same, I am home most of the time. Once in a while I can be found at the few bars around town enjoying a nice cold beer.

If a fan sees you out what kind of drink should they buy you?

Gustav-
Club soda please.

Cellar-
Anything but piss beer. Unless its the wood.(Coors light)

Last question, what would be the perfect show experience?

Gustav-
Thousands of paying, adoring fans (laughs).

Cellar- He would love that. I would like a dimly light place, with people enjoying a few drinks, and getting inspired by our music. Small enough for people to make requests.

Hey well I would like to thank you guys for taking some time out of your busy schedule to sit down and talk with me. I appreciate your time and best of luck. We will be looking forward to the full length and the first live show.

Cellar and Gustav-
Thanks!

Once again that was Cellar and Gustav. Right now we are awaiting with baited breath the release of their first full length album. They do have some music all over the internet for you to hear and enjoy. Please show your support by visiting them at one of many pages that you can find them below. You can also find their music at amazon.com and in the Itunes store, search for Cellar and Gustav.

http://www.emusic.com/artist/Cellar-Gustav-MP3-Download/12238692.html

http://www.reverbnation.com/cellargustav

http://home.napster.com/ns/music/artist.html?artist_id=12787000

http://apps.bebo.com/my-band/artist/cellargustav

Cellar and Gustav

2009-12-21T07:44:00.003-07:00

Its eleven o'clock an hour away from midnight. Darkness coats the skies and the air is still warm outside. We run up the hill laughing, get to the door and playfully ring the doorbell. Inside its quiet, no one is in the entry room. We walk a little bit further inside and hear the sound of music coming from the garage. Open the door and a warm reception as always from the two individuals that comprise Cellar and Gustav. Cellar is at the soundboard mixing, editing and going over previous recordings. Gustav is at the microphone waiting to start recording again. Cigarette smoke creeps out of the garage door slowly, the drum kit is unmanned. They both have cheap beer right in front of them, with headphones on, working diligently. Beer bottles litter the floor and cigarettes fill the bottles. I get the sense that they have been here for a few days, working, thinking, recording, mulling over written melodies and vocals to be recorded. The drums look weathered and beat, the two look inebriated but focused. They have been working apparently for weeks on their EP Sometimes It Bleeds. The music is ethereal, you can hear the emotion in the lyrics and the vocals breathing truths in labyrinths and metaphor. This is the start.

Something Magical

2009-12-15T19:59:00.003-07:00

There is something magical. I can't describe it exactly. Especially this time of year. I look out driving around town and the lights they shine, the street lights, the Christmas lights, they all shimmer, glimmer, twinkle and shine. I get home, unwind for the day, let the sun set on my transgressions, my mistakes, my shortcomings, and I look out the window and smile. There it is, simple and beautiful, lights being put up by overzealous neighbors in order to bring in the holiday cheer. I dislike the season, but am grateful for each person that puts up those little light bulbs every year without fail. Every year when I drink one glass of wine too many, one beer too many, one gin and tonic too many they put up their lights and do all the holiday things that make them smile and make others hope. Every year there are white Christmas lights and wreaths upon doors, I sit looking outside the window and smile knowing there is something magical about those lights, something more, they bring me hope, they bring me joy, they bring me a sense of comfort, they bring back memories of being a child, they bring back sorrow and smiles, tears and joys. Every year those diligent people do something for everyone, even though they don't have to.

Don't Forget

2009-12-07T08:43:00.008-07:00

Don't forget this day, the wind whispered in my ear.

Bloodshot eyes and bloodshot lives, rivers dry and time passes by. I felt a tear, a tear in the seams, a tear in my soul, a rift in my being. I felt a tear, a lonely tear, bitter with saline dripping from my eye to my cheek. I could barely speak, my lips were quivering and my knees were weak.

This day more important than any other, the sun arose today, shining anew but a little stronger than the others. It made it through another rotation, another placement, another ellipse and you lay quietly still in motion waiting for the new day to eclipse.

A new dawn arose and we were almost slow to catch it and bring it in with its reins. Heavy as it went and steady ever flowing. I saw the sun shoot up so fast, I almost missed it but sprung from my slumber at seconds last. Ran to the door and out went chasing the beams, the light, the rays, leaving behind all darkness of dusk, previous days I did leave. I shall not look behind lest I be turned to a pillar of salt, I shall not regret the elapsed, for the prior is no persons fault. This horizon I set sail towards, fulfill my soul and give sight to my hope, my goals.

Each day that had passed is immaculate, that amassed to this day, where I am at. I cannot find fault or failings in each experience but remember them and reminisce on each painful blow and each blessed kiss. Each sting and cut, each broken bone, bruise and sorrow, each leaves a trail to follow. I reached the peak of foresight and now I see the sea where the sun shall set. I run and appreciate each step, one more experience, breath, moment in my life that I accept.

We Must Cultivate Our Garden

2009-12-06T12:31:00.003-07:00

I wrote this a while back thinking about life changes and leaving Las Cruces. It was a thought on how beautiful leaving the city I grew up in would be. It is about new places, and new people and living somewhere that feels more like home. I began writing this stream of thoughts on my drive back from Santa Fe. Please leave comments or questions.

The odyssey, or excursion was molasses, and came from a dead stop, to a slow crawl. There was a sense of gloom in the air that the people of this sleepy town breathed in and out until they were intoxicated with complacency. The local population ate hardily of the fruits of quiescence. I could not mirror my soul in the hollow shells of existence that shuffled around like the undead. Unaffected by the beauties of the natural world, and ignorant to the ways of the nature of humanity. Culture made no stop here, and art had withdrawn its presence from this unholy city, and the music had not died yet, but it was on life support, its cordate vessel barely beating.

That is the desolate mental landscape we have endured for so long. We come out of our caves and have seen the blinding light. Ignorance is suffocating here, its fingers wrapping tightly around my neck and the presence of death constantly looming. Apathy so thick you could swim in it. We moved out towards the light, and witnessed a brave new world, filled with hope and promise. Evergreen zeal, and flowing ecstasy, sweeping our minds and spirits away to a expanse of surreal reality. There was beauty in the movements of the people there, there was life and wisdom in the trees. There was no stale breath, no sigh of exhaustion, but brisk winds.

Leaving was a sense of freedom that was never known to either of us. We have always longed for this liberty but could never quite find it. This freedom we had never been able to replicate, or even witness. It was shocking those first few turns of the wheels and how even the smell of the cigarette smoke that rose from out my tired lungs seemed more sweet. The cosmos smiled upon our travels and there seemed to be a return to the universal equilibrium.

We had decided one fateful day that we shall trade our shallow comfort for adventure and uncertainty, to be shared in the embrace of each others hearts and in the cold mountain air. What could be more beautiful than opening up our wooden door in the midst of winter only to be pushed back into our humble abode by the bitter cold and warm ourselves at the base of the fire and the linens of our bed. We had dreams before but none like these, none that weren't so much dreams but goals and realistic musings that had not been acted upon just yet. She focused her fancy on the capture of human emotion through moving imagery. I were to focus on waking at any moment of any day, office or home, computer or steno pad, and grab the deliberations, intuition, inferences, ideations, and seeings from the collective consciousness and put them into the flowery but meaningful constructs of language. I was to write and describe human experience in such a way that would bring people together and make them understand each other in a much deeper sense. Our lofty and utopian desires be realized, and realized in the clouds of our heaven, our land of purpose.

Easily this could all be the end of our passage through life, but never would our path be ordinary. In most unordinary fashion a metal was hammered, from the daughter of an artistic mastermind came the shape and the style of what was to be a band. This band carefully designed with tender thoughts and amorous purpose. Destined for the digit of promise and engagement. Struck until the everlasting stone could be placed into the center of its heart, was a band of such meaning that none other could possibly hold. No not ordinary at all, but most extraordinary this would continue to be our destiny, our fate.

With love this piercing what could escape the effects of its reach. Not I, so as it were, I fell and most dangerously I fell. There would be no end to the depths of this emotion, no cessation of affection only growth. There came a time where an observance and a rite were to take place. In the pines there was a clearing, a circle. This would be where a heart would lose its place, where the loss of blood would be devastating. Torn from its place amongst the ribs and lungs, blood loss in a most dramatic sense. There would be two who would die here today in an eternal ritual. The two would die and out of the dust, ash and blood would rise one united in friendship and flame. The covenant sealed into hearts and hands here would forever seal adoration between the two, two stares locked into each others eyes, two lives became one. What more could have been promised but eternity between the two, separated at creation, reunited and never splitting. Two flames dancing in the wind burning higher into the heavens warming and glowing. Even this could never end, never ordinary.

San Francisco

2009-12-02T07:30:00.003-07:00

I recently visited San Francisco during that Thanksgiving holiday and this is a basic rundown of the feeling, the mood and the experience.

Feel free to leave comments!

Two birds flew west, two birds flew east, far from home, atypical feast. Trying
times, and pricey wines. Ocean mist, and comfort missed. Privileged ice cream and
homeless kids. The playful paradox begins with this.

Two thousand two hundred and eighty four miles and twelve bottles of wine later our
weary feet land on solid ground. Not the same as other trips, none could be similar
to this. A new day arose and off we shot to ports and planes, interchange and
delays, for a different set of scenes for a few days. From lonely desert to culture
confluence, intoxicated on rolling hills, under some type of influence. The days
started slow, waking up with the cool ocean mist coming in from the open window.
Overlooking the backyard gardens and wet stone tiles, a spider web carefully
building in the right corner of the whitewashed window sill. Each strand of the web
glistens with the morning dew collecting on the vegetation and our arid lungs. This
is how each day begun. Victorian homes and quaint, comfortable streets marked our
waking and something extraordinary each day we did meet. What place was this that
quietly whispered change? This was not our backyard, not our comfort zone, not our
home. We stood atop twin peaks looking out in an endless gaze, a maze of city
streets, bays and bridges, and camera clicks. Traditional holiday with unorthodox
cuisine. Carrot shavings in kitchen sink, cut onions and garlic pressed. Cornbread
and biscuits for homemade dressing, evergreen celery stalks chopped in cubes.
Sauteed chard, garlic, and onions with sea salt tossed with tempeh. Organic green
bean casserole and mashed potatoes with fresh ground peppercorn, chips and guacamole
while we cooked, along with a few bottles of Literai imbibed. Slightly spinning and
wine induced grinning a San Franciscan toast to food, to friends, to family, to
hosts. Off we travel to new sights, new scenes and to do new things. Ice skating in
the middle of downtown with towers of glass, concrete and steel, with shoppers on
the darkest friday of the year abound. Masses huddled and bundled warm as an unusual
bout of rain finishes its storm. Trolley cars circling around and voices, footsteps,
shopping bags, create a melodic cacophony. Stop and walk, dodging oncoming
pedestrians and wayward cars. Lights blinking red, yellow and green, shoppers from
the tall and slender to the short and obese and everything in between. Parallel
parking schemes and large computer screens, decanting wine and hearing children
scream. Parks with blankets, pie, hippies, dogs, and tight rope walkers. Watchers,
talkers, doers, thinkers, smokers, drinkers, and eaters. This was it, where we were,
the lasting memories endure. Etched into our seeing eyes, desire to see more and
realize the culture, the heart, the soul, for what we witnessed could not be
everything. This could not be the bay area with millions of homes, and endless
roads, that so many talk so much about, this was only the first taste, the first
drink of this quite different place. I must say in all its madness on a certain
street corner some sense made its way to the surface. A corner near a store that
would symbolize something about Haight maybe decades earlier, a store that once was
owned by two hippies who would make ice cream that was filled with fruit and real
ingredients, with names that came right from the pages of counter-culture. Outside
this bustling store were two very memorable things a homeless man with a hand that
looked to be burned from some type of horrific accident, and a starving young man
sitting at a typewriter. The typewriter was vintage and had a single sheet of blank
white paper dangling dangerously loose from its grip. Just beneath the makeshift
table that held the typewriter was a sign that read, “pick a price, then a topic,
get a poem.” As soon as I walked by this corner, this man I knew that I would have
to purchase a poem, a real authentic piece of culture, art, memorabilia that
represented the people and the city. As the corner continued to fill and empty of
people, I walked briskly over the young gentleman and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have
much money, but I would like a poem, I have this dollar.”
He asked “ What is the topic?”
I replied “Writing.”
We spoke about the book he was reading, a biography of John Coltrane, I told him I
had seen his son in concert a few years back. He and I spoke about how living in the
shadows of a legend can be daunting. We fell silent, and the keys started to tap,
lightly and slow at first then suddenly increasing in speed and rhythm. After a few
moments others passed laughing at the idea of a poet at a typewriter, others
photographing this moment in history. This time was sacred enough to some to capture
it and store it, to others it was worthless and was thrown away before they could
even understand the gravity of the moment. Either way he paused and thought to
himself and finished his poem quickly. Pulled the poem out and made some quick
adjustments to spelling errors with the pen he held. Afterwards he handed me the
poem and I shook his hand and thanked him for my gift and piece of San Francisco. I
held up the piece of paper and stood there reading each word of contemporary
literature for the first time it had ever been read by eyes other then its author.
It read;

See the image and feel it till it hurts,
In knowing that life is given and it must be let go,
See the eyes that look at you and see yourself still sitting,
and watch the duration of a lifetime,
and tell yourself honestly where you stood,
and if they were with you give them there portion of the dream,
and wake up when it is finished,
only to fall back into a dream.

On Writing
Haight & Ashbury
November 28th 2009