I've got one arm tied to the railroad tracks,
I'm taking my time and not looking back.
To condemn myself to a hard day's sweat,
In a lust for excess often fed but never met.
You know it's a struggle,
In this American Skin.

There's something to these ties that bind,
All the little things that we've left behind.
The way her hair moves when she hears the sound,
Of the last souls of freedom, long since underground.
You know it's a struggle,
In this American Skin.

I've got one last chance before the whistle blows,
To leave the shiny car and the nicest clothes.
I know that money means felicity,
But it's hard to see how the richest man is free.
You know it's a struggle,
In this American Skin.

I've got a one way ticket to the promised land,
My "American" life in the palm of my hand.
It's either end it now or be a slave,
In the land of the free and the home of the brave.
You know it's a struggle,
In this American Skin.

I don't write enough, not here anyways. Typically only when I'm inspired by some sort of political or social tragedy that happened that day, the result of which is inevitably some dimwitted comment from some "anonymous" poster who assumes that they know everything and that they are uniquely qualified to express the errors in my logic and ideas. Isn't that a condition we all share though? Isn't it a basic need for us, on some level to feel as if we are above the average? That we have assented beyond the ignorance of the general population. We hear it all the time: "Everyone else is an idiot" or "Why can't anyone else see this?". Truth be told, we are all uniquely qualified to fight for and to express what we believe. But we are also uniquely stupid, and are in no position to call out others for how they feel.
Why then, do we so often do this? Since the 1920's individualism has evolved into the greatest since of self-awareness we have ever known and yet we can't seem to grasp the importance we place on other people in our lives. Why else would we work so hard to express our ideas to each other, to support one another or lash out against one another. On one hand, our society values individualism and rewards selfish endeavors. We are taught to seek independence... but I ask, independence from what? From a relationship? From a job? From a country or from a god? And some people fight for independence from any one of these but not the others. And it seems to me that the only people who seek true independence end up in solitude.
Beyond the search for true independence, I have to look at anyone who says they want to be independent as dishonest. This must be some sort of excuse, or some confusion they've put themselves through from years of trying to justify their actions, and their desires. And that's what it really comes down to isn't it? All of us trying to figure out why what we want is also the right thing to do. And even if we know it's not the right thing, we rationalize and create pros and cons and we seek out consultation or council. All of this in the hopes that we can convince ourselves that it is the right thing to do, and that we are just in doing it. Just like Manifest Destiny or Slavery.
And so yeah, you'd say: "Here we go again, criticizing people." but remember, I'm a part of this as well. In fact, I am my greatest point of reference regarding these issues. Still, maybe something to think about.

It seems to me that most battles are neither won or lost, they are only fought.

Barack Obama is the president. Great. We have, for the first time a black president, which obviously means a lot to a lot of people, and that too is great. We also have for the first time in my life a president who has managed to energize the nation, and bring a majority of people together to believe in more than the simple ideals of their normal party allegiances. All of this is well and good, so why do I find myself worried that something bad is going to happen?
It's because I honestly don't think most of these people, who credit themselves as a part of this "movement" have really taken the time to think about what that means. The night of the election, I can't tell you how many people I heard say "We did it!" What did they do? They elected someone to be president, it happens every 4 years. Sure they elected someone they believe is going to be a significantly better leader, but so what? I wonder how many of them had a plan after he was elected? How many of them will continue to actively fight for what they believe in? And how many of them just feel proud of themselves that they made a check mark next to someone's name and expect everything to be alright?
The truth is, Barack Obama, or John McCain, or Jesus fucking Christ can't do anything to really make things significantly better, at least, not without us. WE have to do those things. Yes, voting for a president you believe in is one of them, but it's a relatively small thing in contrast to all the challenges that confront us as a society. How many of us even really know what those challenges are?
And as I watched Obama receive a welcoming the likes of which greeted MLK and JFK and many of the other heroes of our time, I also keep in mind that men like Adolf Hitler also received a similar welcoming when they came to power. The point is not that I think Obama is sinister or that I think he's come to fill the same position as a Martin Luther King. The point is that Barack Obama means nothing if we as Americans don't actively work to make this a better country. The point is we cannot rely on a president, even if it is the greatest human being who has ever walked the earth, to pull our society up and out of what we've become. We can only rely on one another.
I know I'm just a tiny voice. I know that mine is easily dismissed, easily forgotten. But I hope that perhaps someone out there will listen, and will take time out of each of their days to live the way they know they ought to live. To treat people with the dignity and respect that maybe they don't deserve, but that we should give them regardless. I hope that perhaps somewhere, there are people like me, who are not relying on the election of a president to grow as a society.
So I ask the question, now what? And I know it's likely I'll not receive a response, it's even likely that most of these people who credit themselves with fighting so hard for change haven't even thought of that question. But I hope that perhaps there is someone out there, who might read this and realize that this election, this time in history isn't about the change that Obama can bring, it's about the change each of us can make in our own lives. It's about listening to each other, and supporting each other and taking care of each other.
I have a really bad feeling that most people feel their job is done, that they "Won" on tuesday and that they're part of a movement. What is the movement? Change? That doesn't mean anything. We know what the civil rights movement was about. We know what suffrage was about. We know what the sexual revolution was about. What is this movement about? Can anyone answer that? Until most of these people can, I will be afraid.
I'm afraid that this will fail.
I'm afraid that these people are putting all of their hope into one man, and if things don't turn out the way they want, they will lose that hope for another decade or two or six. I long for the day when we don't direct all of our energy into believing in one person to lead us out of Egypt. I long for the day when the person we believe in is ourselves, and the person to the left of us, and the person to the right of us. Until that time, I will be worried, and I will be skeptical, and I will wait.
I know I'm just a tiny voice, disregarded warnings and forgotten predictions. I know that zealots cannot hear me and victims need me to share the blame. And I know I will be swept up into this, I just hope that someday someone will listen.

Love,

Michael

Dear ________________,

Thank you for your time in reading this letter. I write you today not just as a constituent, but more so as an independent citizen of the United States of America. As I am well aware, you have been receiving countless letters in the past few days, which I’m sure range in scope and emotion. I wish to add my perspective, and hopefully my part of clarity to your decisions in this crucial period of our history.
I like most Americans am concerned about the economic crisis we now face, yet I can’t help but feel that this is now an opportunity for us to reclaim some of what we have lost through hasty measures such as the Patriot Act and support of wars in other lands. We now have the opportunity to show the rest of the world what it means to be American again. The opportunity to show that we rule, and are not ruled by our economy. The opportunity to show that under any circumstances, the American people are resolute in standing up for what is right and just in the lives of every man and woman in this world.
Too much of who we are has been for sale, and too often have we been subject to the demands of richer men. We’ve given up our liberties with sighs of relief and our influence over our own government with roaring applause. Under the fear of terrorism, or depression, or simply out of a lack of will we have surrendered so much of what makes us American, it’s sometimes hard to remember what made our country the envy of the world. But today was different. After the economic bailout measure, or the “Troubled Asset Relief Program” or whatever you wish to call it was defeated, I like many Americans watch the stocks plummet and felt that pang of fear which has gripped us and pushed us into so many unwise decisions over the past decade. But after that fear settled, I felt something else in New York City, something that had been brewing since before anyone can remember.
Rarely in my life have I had a day like today. For the first time I walked the streets of New York and personally saw something in the face of everyone I passed: Strength. It’s not to say that any one of us isn’t flawed, or scared of what’s to come, but this morning we all seemed to stand a little taller, and remember a little more of who and what we are in this country.
As the hours tick by, I see people on television, in the newspaper, everywhere telling me how we must “act now!” or apocalyptic things will happen. I’ve heard every kind of excuse of why we need this bailout, and every kind of explanation of what will happen without it, and I’ve got to say it just doesn’t seem to be working anymore. Sure, I don’t want to loose my job, and I don’t want my parents or grandparents to loose their retirements. I don’t want to see people have to give up their homes, nor do I wish to see people suffer on welfare or unemployment. But I’m well past the point where I’m willing to sell my freedom for that false kind of security.
I understand that it may be difficult from here on, I understand that I may loose my job and many of the comforts of my daily life. I understand that it will be harder for me to send my children to school one day, or to buy a home. But the reason I am writing you today is to tell you that I am willing to be burdened with all of that, if it means that I can be a free American once again. Over 200 years ago, patriots risked everything for the opportunity to be free. To run their own government, rather than to be governed. They marched into cannon fire and certain death, so that those who survived would no longer live as subjects to the elite of society. If they were willing to do this, I am more than willing to weather this in the name of my, and my countrymen’s freedom.
So please regard this as my declaration: No longer is my liberty for sale. There is no better statement that I can reference than that of the last line of our National Anthem: “For the land of the free, and the home of the brave.” What’s in those words, what we’ve lost sight of is that to be free, one must be brave. One must not, out of fear, relinquish their liberties, their inalienable rights to a homeland security administration. One must not, out of fear, march to war based on the lies of shallow men with not so shallow bank accounts. And one must not, out of fear, hand over their last treasure to those who have been robbing them for decades. No, yesterday we saw Americans from all across the country stand up and tell this government that we are no longer afraid. If the markets crash, they crash. If we loose our jobs, we’ll find new ones. We are the United States of America, and we are brave. We will get through this with or without your markets, with or without your banks. We are the economy. We are strong and resolute and above all free.

Now is the time for those of you in Washington to realize that it is us who govern ourselves, and to commit to representing us the way in which you’ve always been required to, but rarely ever have. With all we’ve heard about change this election, many of you seem to be glancing right over this opportunity we now have to finally reclaim our lives, and no longer live as slaves to a corporate community which has long since stripped us of virtually all dignity we have as Americans.

I have more confidence and love for this country and the people within than anyone can imagine. All that I can hope is that you feel the same way about the people you represent as I do. Please consider these words, and what it means to be free in this, the home of the brave. Please resist the urge to do what you feel is “Best for us” and trust that we are strong enough and brave enough to retain our liberty, come what may.



Love to you and love to the United States of America,



M. McGovern

Brooklyn, NY

I think this article clearly shows we have the wrong Obama up for election:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/uselection2008/barackobama/2590614/Barack-Obamas-lost-brother-found-in-Kenya.html

new York is like jazz. It's full of wrong notes. But if you play them in just the right way, they just sound right together. And it's where wrong notes like me go to be something more than just dissonance.

For a long time, I spent most of my energy with Live Journal going over my difficulties with losing someone who, in a lot of ways, had been the most important person in my life. As we all do, I moved on, found new love, learned to live with the absence of this person in my life, and so the topics of discourse gradually moved along to other subjects. Still, I would be lying if I told myself that I didn't still miss her.
It's been just about 6 years since she left and I was left to sort out what remained. In many ways I feel I've done a good job. I've learned, experienced and grown in ways which had never seemed possible at the time. But in many other ways, I feel like a failure. Perhaps I set myself up for such a feeling, rationalizing that the only reason she and I were no more was because we both had more to do with our lives. I guess the truth is, we both thought we did.
I shouldn't say that. She says she's happy, living all over the world. Diving in and out of people and situations like some freshly fallen leaf on the breeze. It's a romantic image, until we remember that when leaves fall from trees, they are dead. While they can end up on the other side of the world, there's nothing carrying them, except for a breeze.
And the alternative? To sit and squander day after day, trying to piece together some sort of plan. Like an explorer without a compass. You always hear about those people who just want to take some time away and not have to do anything. I was like that as well, and so I took the time I needed and then some, and I came out without a direction in which to go.
Perhaps this is simply what the "20's" are all about. You either whore yourself to all the world has to offer and hope to god at the end of it you can still live with yourself, or you lock yourself in a little box and hope your ass will age like wine. I have a feeling though, that either way, you end up alone.
And so in thinking of these things, I think of her. I think of all the things I've done since she's left, I think of all the things she's done, and I ask myself, are either of us better people. I don't think the answer is yes. At least, it's not on my end. Or maybe, it's just that the world is not a better place. Or maybe it's just that I don't see it like I did anymore.

Pandering,
Pandering to a voice you've never seen,
You don't know what it means,
You haven't seen what I've seen.
And in the presence of yourself alone,
You lack the will to dial a phone,
And call for some kind of help.
You don't know where it will come from.
Playing some game of cowboys and indians,
As if you were a child trying to avoid the great american sin,
You reach out for stars you cannot see,
Because the dark of night is just too thick...
I think I'll be sick.
You are not me you pathetic retch,
You lack everything I love,
Everything I believe in,
Everything I think I should be.
What makes this difference between you and me?
If you were to paint a portrait of who I am,
Then it wouldn't have anything,
Except black and white,
And it would fade in an absence of light,
Because no matter how good you pretend to be,
I know you're not alright.
What makes it so hard for you to collect your thoughts?
Like apples in barrels left to rot,
Because unlike the rest you can't get past the worst parts of you,
The worst parts of me.
Just let these be.
They bring you nothing but mediocrity.
Tear off the mantle of future accomplishments,
Rub out the lines of a person best left to imagination,
And just let yourself go.
Let yourself be.
And if this person of distilled reality,
Questionable morality,
Still breeds mediocrity,
At the very least it is of you,
At the very least it is of me.

Hold on,
There's something wrong with my soul.
It's missing the parts of you,
That make me whole.

Hold on,
At best you wanted half of me,
Never cared if the rest could be.
Good to you.

I hoped that all my words could find you,
Deep inside of where you run to,
I hoped my love would get through,
To the better parts of you.

What makes Kate so broken,
It's your first vain attempt at love,
And you live out your days,
As somebody else?
What makes you feel alright,
When you're so lonely late at night?
And nobody knows you quite,
The way I do?

I had hoped you'd see it my way,
See the girl beneath the screenplay,
The one that takes my breath away,
Inside of you.

It takes two to make it alright,
When you're dreaming late at night,
And nobody holds you tight,
The way I do.

What makes Kate so broken,
It's your first vain attempt at love,
That makes you live out your days,
As somebody else?
What makes you feel alright,
When you're so lonely late at night?
And nobody knows you quite,
The way I do?

Don't go living your life, under the light of someone else's moon,
We're almost there Kate, we'll be there soon.
Don't go living your life, under the light of someone else's moon,
We're almost there Kate, we'll be there soon.

It's almost been a year, since I've been there. And nothing and everything has changed. It's funny to understand that things go on without you. The lights still come on, the grills keep alit. It forces you to understand that everything is fleeting, that everything is for a time, no matter how long, and then it's over. And so of course there's urgency, and with that urgency comes disappointment and frustration. But these are all the things which make up a life.
Finding one's own skin. You have to know what it looks like before you can be comfortable in it. And that's a somewhat hard thing to do, as it's constantly changing, evolving, growing old and bleached in the sun of life. And so how are you supposed to find comfort in something that is constantly changing? I suppose the same way you find comfort in anything, because everything is constantly changing.
But let's not lie to each other, or to ourselves, we are rarely comfortable. Or if we are it is because we are ignoring much of what's around us. We are focusing on little things, and the little people we've become. We focus on that cup of coffee in the morning, or the party we went to last night and the one we will go to tonight. We play the part of the personality we have picked out for ourselves, trying desperately to believe that we are this... this thing. This person we've drawn on a million cocktail napkins and seen in every episode of our favorite television show. We have these wonderful imaginations, and we have turned them on ourselves to medicate all the wounds left from all the things we want, but do not have. Like a junkie in a crack house, a girl in a club, a boy playing army and even a kid from colorado playing songwriter.
And all the while, we can never fully grasp the beauty that's in each one of us, the things that do make us special, that make us unique. Bob Dylan, Bill Gates, Carrie Bradshaw, Jack Kerouac, Holden Caulfield, who do you want to be these days? I've wanted to be so many people over the years, but mostly I've always wanted to be the hardest personality of all, myself.
What is it that holds us back from knowing who we are? Why do we turn to all of these other characters and legends to fill in the gaps of what we feel, who we believe we are? I have to find the will to let these things go, it's the only way to free myself to be the person that I am, to say what I need to say, and to be who I need to be. Every day is another start, another opportunity to get back to the beginning of all of this.

It's not enough to live today,
To let your children out to play.
To make a smile when it rains.
It's not okay.
It's not enough to remember outright,
That this morning my not turn into night,
Our words aren't what we write.
It's not alright.

How many of us are really okay?
Do we face our fears, or lock them all away?
Do we come together to pray,
On Sunday Morning Speculation.

It's not enough to say you're doing fine,
Eager smiles and a glass of wine,
But you know this all fades with time,
And it isn't fine.
It's not enough to remember,
The feelings of December,
The ways in which you always were,
To remember her.

How many of us are really okay?
Do we face our fears, or lock them all away?
Do we come together to pray,
On Sunday Morning Speculation.
Do we want to be okay?
Or do we suffer day to day,
Do we come together to pray,
On Sunday Morning Speculation.

I've been writing and rewriting this song for I don't know how long now, over a year. And for some reason it just never seems to sound right. Sure, it's a pretty lofty concept I suppose, but getting my head around how to best put it into words and melody has proved a challenge. That being said, I think I will take some time today to put down some thoughts on the subject. Maybe in this I can better flush out my ideas.
We as people are always adding to ourselves. We wear experiences like clothing, or tattoos. And we're always searching for that next little element to consume and to assimilate into the greater consciousness that is our life on earth. And so we have all of this... we'll call it baggage for lack of a better term, that we identify as making up the timber of our lives. If this were, and forgive me for using a musical analogy but it's the language I'm working in these days, If this were a symphony, these things would be the harmony, the chords, the drums. All these things which compliment the melody, and provide ambience for the piece.
At the same time, if we're not careful, and as I have seen in so many people just as they have seen it in themselves, this can also be detrimental to the work, as these elements can at times receive so much attention that the melody is all but forgotten. Decisions begin to be made which obscure or dilute the melody rather than complimenting it, and therefore bring down the integrity of the entire symphony, or the entire person. Granted, in most cases it's not as catastrophic as all that. Regardless, there is a significant focus on this baggage we all accumulate which, if not left in check will cause the qualities of ourselves which are at the heart of our souls to go forgotten, and if we're not careful, extinct. Call it any of these superficial things: a lust for money, for status, or for fame. They're all going to hurt you in the end.
So how do we prevent this? With a simple method known as Distillation. Take for example the process of dating and romantic relationships, which is the specific context of the song I'm writing. All of us... more than likely have had a romantic relationship or two in our lives with someone or other. And for about 99.999999% of us, we have had a relationship which ended for whatever reason. Exploring these reasons, and the pain and recovery they induce is something I'm supposed to do as a writer, for it's one of the only pure things left when it comes to human society. Obviously when you end the relationship with the boy/girl/tree/rock or your affection, you begin to feel a gamut of emotions which most likely include regret, insecurity, bitterness or simply longing. But why do we feel these things? What is it that we are longing for or insecure about? After all, this was just an experiment of sorts, like in science class when you'd put two elements in the same beaker to see how they react. If you get a negative reaction, you just move on to another experiment. Relationships, once we are honest with ourselves, are very much similar.
Personally I have observed that I had a lot of preconceived notions of what I wanted from a lover, from a relationship. More of those little bits of harmony I pulled from some other symphony and made into my own. And in approaching a relationship, all I could hear was the entire symphony, and not that one little violin playing the melody on which everything was based. Like seeing the galaxy whole, and never being able to find that one person, on that one little planet of that one little star, at the center of everything, yet so far away. And so, with my symphony, my galaxy in my hand and mind, I ran headfirst into my first meeting with her, ready to lay out my demands of her on the table, just as she would lay out hers, and we would engage in some sort of treaty negotiations to determine the best ways to divide up the lands of our futures, or something like that. In reality, what happened was much less climatic.
Things started well, I laid down my version of what we would be and she did hers under the "This is how I look at relationships" or "This is where I am in my life now" or some such nonsense which we all know is ridiculous but have all subconsciously accepted as a politically correct way to address these things in the early stages of love. Needless to say, these views mixed like oil and water. I was a romantic, holding onto the ideas that love prevailed over all things and that once you found love you would never let go of it. I was also somewhat conservative, feeling that the only way to show your love was through devotion, and through monotony, and through commitment. These things couldn't have been further from her mind. She was full of fire and life, and while she too believed in love, she believed these things were fleeting, that there was no point in commitment to someone you know you won't be with forever anyways, and that you could only show your love in little ways... a meal, or a gift, or pretty words.
If it were any other girl, I would have pulled any emotional investment then and there... This was clearly not a good match for us. Still, something held me to that table, and to her words, and her smile. And so I stayed and got to know more about this fire I knew I shouldn't touch, but could not help but stand close. Needless to say, that night turned into the next night, and then the next night. Despite the disparity in our views on what we were to one another, there was a common understanding as well, of what we were to one another. Thinking back, that's a really funny and interesting dynamic in itself... to know that you're so bad for each other... yet so right for each other at the same time. Those are the types of things I need to focus on in songs. See, this does work if you give it enough time.
Anyways, so why the disparity? Obviously the reason we were so wrong for each other is because of all these ideas we had about relationships clashing constantly. Her strings buzzed against my cellos, my horns squawked over her clarinets. Constantly we would chafe against one another's needs. Either I would feel hurt by what I saw as a casual affection for me, or she would feel trapped by what I imagine she felt was exaggerated affection for her. It got to the point where all she wanted to do was point out all the things she hated about me, and all I wanted to do was force her into a commitment of what we were or were not. And we fought, more than not, for a long long time. She would say things to me that no one deserves to hear, and I would consistently leave, only to return again. Again, the things that we wanted from one another had taken over and were at war. But there was something... something unexplainable which was always bringing us back together again.
After a long time, I finally had to understand that it was no longer worth fighting for all these little things which had seemed so important to me before. I didn't need us to be defined as a couple, I didn't need an everlasting commitment, I didn't need to be reassured of her love everyday just because she didn't offer it. I quieted my cellos, silenced my horns. And the more and more I let go of these things, these parts of my harmony the more I began to hear something else. It was that original melody that had started the whole thing. The commitment I made to love, unconditional love which had started the whole process. And over the years I had added so much to it, that I had forgotten that this unconditional love was the root of my entire approach to relationships. I had been letting all of these other... conditions get in the way of that, and as a result had almost denied myself and her the one true thing that actually mattered in my part of the whole equation, me.
It's only through this process that I was able to reconnect with myself, and it's only through that reconnection that I can say that I am truly free to love her. And so, like the process of distillation, I exposed myself to that fire, to that volatile element, and a negative reaction occurred, but as a result, it burned off all the impurities and left me as a pure product. No longer dulled by the traces of old ideas, no longer weakened by their imperfections. And living in this newfound state of purity, I realized what had been calling me back to her in those times when everything about her and I seemed wrong. It was that piece of me, inside, reacting to the purest part of her. Sometimes, when combining chemicals, if they are compatible, they are drawn to one another forming a new compound, like hydrogen and oxygen. Sometimes two melodies resonate with one another, and therefore need no harmony, and sometimes two people just love one another, despite all the bullshit that gets in the way.
So from a relationship standpoint, that's the idea of distillation, at least from the way I'm trying to write about it. Of course this applies to all things, not just relationships, but the point is for us to recognize that most of the things we think are important are not, and it's what we really care about, at the center of who we are, which holds the key to our prosperity and self awareness, and our connection with others. And it's also important to mix with another chemical every once in a while, to either burn away some of the crap that gets in, or to see if something new can be made. This is what it is to be a lover, this is what it is to be a writer, this is what it is to be human. Now, on to translating all of this into a song.

Love,
Michael

Why is it so important to women to feel like they are loved and desired by men who they are not attracted to? Furthermore, what is it that drives women to create ideas that they are sought after by every male that shows them the slightest degree of kindness or friendship? For this, I do not quite understand.
I seem to find, that in many of my female interactions, especially with white women, that any time I try to strike up some sort of conversation it is typically regarded as an attempt to initiate romantic or sexual contact of some degree or another. My only defense to this has traditionally been treating a woman like I would a man, with the whole... "Hey buddy, yeah man, yadayadayada." Perhaps women are simply looking so hard for any sign that you are head over heals enamored with them that you have to give them a direct and decisive indication that you think they have a penis or something.
Now of course this is not all women, but I've found as I'm sure you have that the definitive majority of them, especially white girls are of this temperament, and thus require the same eggshell approach when speaking to them. I've observed on more than one occasion a girl blowing something out of proportion just so they can talk about how annoying it is that this guy is pinning for them and how much they wish that all these guys would just understand they're not interested, but I'm here to tell you ladies that it's not difficult to see through that. So for those of you who don't do this, I applaud you, and for those who do, cut the bullshit, it makes you look like a fuck tard.
Now, that being said, I have also looked into my own contributions to these situations I keep finding myself in. If you have read my posts for any length of time you can probably surmise that I like to have conversations that run a little deeper than the party we threw last night or the guy that won't leave you alone or the thing about the job you don't give a fuck about which drives you nuts. Not that these don't have their time and place, but I also often strive to find something more interesting within someone. I think this may have something to do with the issue.
See, when I speak with someone, many times the conversation will fall into more of a... emotional, passionate, etc state. All emotions I would describe as more female in nature. I have no problem with this... in fact I search for it, and I also have no problem admitting that there is a part of me that longs to connect on that more feminine level. The problem with this is that: A, I am not gay, and B, when as a straight man you begin to treat a woman like a lady, and you cut all the macho Beer and pizza bullshit, it sets off some sort of "Stupid" alarm in them and they think you're trying to get in their pants. It doesn't matter what they look like, if you are involved with someone else, or if state plainly that you are in no way interested in them romantically, they have this instinctual need to be desired. And it's really fucking irritating.
Over the past 10 years I have found my pool of female friends who I could connect to on this level shrink to virtually nothing. This has left a truly cavernous void in my heart, and there is a part of me that feels completely and utterly alone as a result. And so, I've been looking for this for the better part of that time, but have found nothing which could reciprocate these feelings. I have plenty of male friends, some of the best people in the world I'm positive, but there are limits to the kinds of things two male friends can share with one another.
I've had nothing but a goddamned keyboard and verses in songs to pour these feelings into, and it's not often these things talk back to me. And so these feelings, this other part of me has been left un-nurtured, abandoned to an eternity of roaming alone a desert island, looking over oceans of memories, looking for the way to get back home.
I don't mean to sound sorry for myself, it's just that every time I write one of these, I feel as if I'm throwing out some message in a bottle, hoping someone will come and find me on this island on which this part of me has been marooned. But no one ever comes, and while I occasionally receive someone else's message in someone else's bottle, it never holds a map which shows the way home.

Another day, another post, another bottle in the sea, another day sitting on the sand for me.

Dear Lisa,

Read your blog today for the first time in quite a while. While it's ironic that you will never read this as you do not know it exists, it brought up a subject which I felt compelled to write to you about. First let me say that I am extremely happy for you and for the life you have created for yourself. As I've said before, you seem as though you have found a good place for yourself in this world, one that many would not have expected, and this is something to be thankful for.
This being said, reading your posts makes me realize more and more the degree to which I am thankful I do not have children. Please understand that I love the idea of children and respect parents for what they attempt to do, the very thought of not being able to say... type on the computer when I like is almost nauseating to me. It's bad enough that I have to tip toe around other peoples kids so that I don't end up in prison for looking at some kid the wrong way or something, but if I were to be responsible for some tiny, helpless little pre-human which I'm not able to reason with, yet not able to smack when it does something wrong... I don't know how I would do it to be honest. And that's just the selfish part of the equation. I can't imagine how terrified I would feel about bringing a child into the type of future I see unfolding for us as a species. Not to sound like some pessimistic nut job, but truly there is a lot of evil out there that can surround and consume someone, or even worse, render them obsolete. I see it all around me and in fact it is a constant struggle not to subcome to this myself. How in the name of god do you find peace with that? I can't imagine.
Still, there needs to be a new generation, a new revolution of ideas and culture, and perhaps against all odds your children will be a part of that. I suppose like anything it is a proposition of faith, that things will come out against even, and that our children will push things forward, in their own way. In this, and only in this can I find hope, and what's better than hope when deciding where to invest your faith?

Regards,

Michael

I don't wish to trivialize these things, as they mean so much to so many people. So please forgive me if I come across as ungrateful. Truly I have many riches in life, many such things which dazzle my senses and fill my days with content, but understand that without you they don't mean as much as they should. It's this, my personal disease, which keeps me tied underneath the man I am, and holds me away from the man I want to be. You make me want to be a better man, and without you I am resigned to wander blindly, striking my arms in an attempt to find a direction back to you, and back to myself.
And when what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger,
I come to feel a little weaker.
And when I tell myself today's the day I'll feel a little stronger,
Tomorrow becomes a little bleaker.
I don't need the money,
I don't need the fame,
I need an answer.
I need sea shells in her hair,
I need angels in the air,
And a cure for my cancer.
And when I realize she still loves me,
Will there be enough left of me to care?
When I realize she still loves me,
Will I still be here?
I don't need the money,
I don't need the fame,
I need an answer.
I need sea shells in her hair,
I need angels in the air,
And a cure for my cancer.
We all wash away like castles on the beach,
And it's in the moments before the tide we try to escape the reach,
Of crashing waves and painful choice,
Bucket fulls of sand cannot replace her voice.

When you know it's over,
The sun doesn't shine as bright,
And the birds can't sing in tune,
Struggle as they might.
When you know it's over,
You want to hold on so tight,
But you know she's not going to wake up next to you,
When you go to bed that night.
When you know it's over,
The ground beneath you shifts,
And you feel yourself trip and fall,
Between these rifts.
When you know it's over.


When you know it's over,
You pick your lies up off the ground,
Wear the clothes you put away the day you met her,
And wait for her to come around.
When you know it's over,
Time moves so slow,
You wish you didn't know,
That everything which felt so real,
Was all an illusion.
When you know it's over,
You put this in a bottle,
In a box, in a chest, in the corner of your heart.
And you'll keep it for all time, or until the next part comes along.
Life can be so fleeting,
Relationships so meaningless,
When you know it's over.


When you know it's over,
It's only time to move on, or some other silly statement.
But it does mean something,
These years spent,
The way it went,
When you were here,
And the way it goes,
When you're gone.
When I knew it was over.

I find that a lot of my thoughts lately have been on authenticity. Living in a city like New York is much different I imagine than living in a city like Los Angeles. Now, I've never lived in Los Angeles however from what I've heard overwhelmingly it is a city of people trying to change the perception of whom they truly are. If I am to be completely honest, I moved to New York in part because I believed that there would be less of that here. What I've come to find is this is not the case. Where as in Las Angeles it may be expected and perhaps as a result more out in the open, in New York it is much less identifiable.
From the moment I first arrived in the city, there was a wonderful honesty to the grime on the streets, the madness of the city blocks. The quirks of each subway station, designed for a time long past and considerably outdated for today's hustling New York. I loved the abruptness, the beautiful directness, the boldness that many would describe as a lack of courtesy but which for me herald such a refreshing openness and truth that I've never felt in a city before. For a time, I had come to a place where I finally felt free to take people as they acted, as I believed it a place where people were not afraid to be who they are.
But alas, I should have understood how naive those ideas would become. What I've found since is that much like the rest of our society, New Yorkers aren't always honest, authentic people, they're just better at hiding their bullshit. For example:
I've always dressed differently from others. Nothing extreme, I'm not wearing the whole D&D getup or drag, nor do I look like Syd Vicious or Steve Erkel. But to give you an idea without too much detail, I like wearing button down shirts, some slacks, and tennis shoes. I also like contrast. Black and white, solid colors, etc. Now, when I moved to Brooklyn it was to a section outside of Williamsburg called Bushwick. Bushwick was originally a Polish/Puerto Rican neighborhood, until artists who were priced out of Williamsburg due to gentrification, just as they were priced out of the East Villiage and Soho before moved there. So here is the point of this example... Here I am, walking to my building from the subway as I come back from work. At the time I am wearing a pair of black slacks, a white button down shirt, a black vest and my customary black tennis shoes, hardly formal attire but attire that could pass in a business setting more than the really "Bitchin" clothes of all the trendy young hipsters and artists in my neighborhood.
So I'm walking by the natural food store in my normal attire, when I overhear "Look at this guy (me), Bushwick is becoming gentrified already!"
I didn't say anything. In fact I kept walking, not because I didn't want to confront him, but because it really didn't bother me, at least not personally. But it did make me think, and in a way it brought about something that does bother me about our society, and that is authenticity.
You see, this kid wasn't Polish or Puerto Rican. Fuck, he probably isn't even an artist. To be honest, most of these kids you see in my neighborhood who wear the torn jeans and have the shaggy hair and walk in Sandals even in the winter, they are afforded those liberties because they have the benefit of trust funds and money from home, which allows them to live in New York city and work at a coffee shop or intern at a theatre or go to school or whatever. However, because I don't have a constant flow of financial support, or even a trickle from home, and because I have to get a day job where I have to wear somewhat business like attire and wake up to get there at 9 in the morning, all the while coming home every night to playing guitar and trying in vain to record songs while balancing sleeping and not pissing off my neighbors too much, I am considered a perfect example of gentrification. Of the death of art in New York. And so here I am, trying to make this work while I have to do all these things that I wished I didn't like work all day when these children sit around drinking chai and act as if the world should be handed to them on a silver platter because they have a degree from some shit college where they fucked around on the internet more than anything else. But, this is the new millennium, and in this brave new world I am the MAN. A force to be battled by counter culture purists everywhere.
But here's the problem: I don't fit in with the business, capitalist, popular culture crowd either. So where does that put me and people like me? Ironically, the counter culture of the past 30 or 40 years has become the popular culture, as evident by the example above of my neighbor's judgments of me. And so I don't belong in popular culture, and I don't belong in the counter culture, then what am I?
I've been loaned a book called Culture Wars. Mostly it's about all these artists arguing with all these senators and people on the right about the NEA. You would not believe the amount of venom that come from either side over the NEA. And with every word I read, as much as I love, appreciate and respect all artistic expression so long as it's genuine, I just kept thinking "Touluse Letrec never got any money from the NEA. Langston Hughes never got any money from the NEA. Irving Berlin never got any money from the NEA. Basquat never got any money, Charlie Parker never got any money." So I sat reading, and I asked myself: "Are these people only able to be artists if they are getting money from the government to do so?" If so, then why are they not able to make the same sacrifices and achieve so much with so little like the artists I mentioned? And if the answer is no, and these artists would remain artists wether they received federal financing or not, then what is really at the heart of these arguments? These artists that are so passionately standing up for the NEA applying to all artists without censorship, are they really fighting for art, or for money? True, having money allows for you to make more art, but like has been demonstrated by everyone from Mozart to Martin Sheen, if you create great art, you will be compensated for such.
So the perception is that these artists are fighting the good fight, against censorship, for art. But the reality is that just because they are not funded by the government it doesn't mean they can't continue to make their art. So, the perception is that they are standing up for art, the reality is that they are standing up for their paychecks. In the same vain, the perception of counter culture is that they move against the popular culture, constantly fighting the good fight against complacency, conformity and status. But in reality the counter culture has it's own standing order of exactly those same principals. The same people you would expect to be shunned by the Ambercrombie and Fitch wearing, Maroon Five/Rihanna listening crowd are shunning others who are not of the Independent, Death Cab for Cutie/Modest Mouse crowd. And those who push for actual tolerance, love, passion and real art grow fewer and farther between.
I hate to place it into these high school type terms, but unfortunately this is how I see much of our society. Much of the victories of the counter culture of the past decades have been empty concessions, seemingly important changes which are there to superficially mask the greater tragedies which take place. We can see this in almost every part of our daily lives. Through our Politics, through our media coverage of news events, our recreational activities, occupations... the clothes that we wear and the foods that we eat.
Turn on CNN on any given night and you will find what I'm talking about. You will see political zealots, on both the liberal and conservative sides beating the same talking points to death, not listening to anything the other person has to say. Coming up with these insane arguments just to get around agreeing with any point from the other side, even when it is plainly obvious. These people are not providing you with political commentary, they're feeding you a commercial for their party, or their political agenda. Obama's a Muslim or McCain wants to be in Iraq for the rest of humanity's existence. Obama refuses to salute the flag or McCain refuses to disagree with any of Bush's policies. All things that any reasonable person with any sort of brain power can deduce as complete nonsense, but yet these people continue to defend this trash as if it is indisputable fact, because they have learned that in the end, if you scream something loud enough, people will begin to believe it. But my question is, where is the voice of the American people? Where is the representation for the person like me who doesn't want to hear a bunch of bullshit propaganda and would like to hear an actual, intellectual discussion about what the hell is going on?
This voice traditionally came from the arts. From Bob Dylan to John Wayne. Hunter S Thompson and C.S. Lewis. But this voice has become much like that which I hear on CNN lately. Music for example, has become much more about what is marketable than what is musical. Much like selling a coffee pot, it is refined, and sculpted. Finished and designed for your optimum enjoyment, all so that you will download the song on itunes, or watch their performance on TRL, or pay $85 to ticketmaster for admission to their 45 minute concert where they make an appearance, give an uninspired performance and then you go home to drink and feel as though you had a night for the ages.
Buying a loaf of bread used to be an easy decision. Isn't it odd that the obesity epidemic has come to prominence in the day and age when all we have is 15 loafs to select from on the self? Low carb, whole wheat, 7 grain, enriched, gluten free... the list goes on. And with all of these choices we're told one week "Limit your carbs" and the next "only eat whole wheat". What the hell are we supposed to do and why the hell were people so healthy when they only had to go between white and wheat? Fat Free doesn't mean there isn't any fat. Whole Wheat doesn't mean the wheat isn't processed. Does anyone even know why 2% milk is 2% when 1% is 1%? I'm sorry but it doesn't seem as though 1% more fat is going to taste that much different, maybe I'm wrong.
And so again, small concessions to hide the actual problem. True, we've established our desire to have more wholesome food so that we can live healthier lives. And the Concession?? We'll make packaging that will make you feel as though you are eating better, regardless of if that's true or not.
And so if you're going to be cheated by these companies, why would we not take the chance to cheat these companies ourselves? Why would someone opt to pay $20 for a record by some band that doesn't even know how to play their instruments anyways when they can just download the shit for free, especially when they only like the band because it's hip to do so? Why invest in art if the art isn't invested in you? It's a great question that I would pose to most of the new artists that are "Making it" today.
Now of course there are plenty of artists who are still trying to make art for the sake of art, just as there are still political scientists who have a grip on reality and nutritionists who will tell you that it isn't a reduction in carbs or fats or anything else you need, but simply a balanced diet and an active lifestyle. But the extreme problem with our society is that these staples of our cultural well being are being systematically phased out of our daily lives. This is being done simply because it is more profitable for you to buy whatever cheaply manufactured art you can be made to think is hip, to believe in whatever political dogma distracts you from major unethical decisions which make the world a worse place but also make people a whole lot of money, and to eat what will make you fat and unhealthy so that you can spend your future paying for weight loss programs, prescription drugs and hospital visits all the while feeding an addiction to the foods which are causing this in the first place. Make no mistake, your complacency, and your willingness to overlook the substance of an issue to enjoy the serenity of oblivion is big business in this brave new world.
So again, we return to Authenticity. Looking around me, everywhere around me, it's becoming harder and harder to see authenticity in our society. As artists, we are supposedly the keepers of this. I can't tell you how many times I've heard from an artist that what they try to do is be as honest and genuine as possible. Someone once said the process of making art is chipping away at all the bullshit you build up around yourself, to expose the truest parts of yourself and your feelings. I also can't tell you how many songs I've heard that I can say "That was written to make money" or "that was written so that the writer could feel cool that they're a really deep artist". I can't tell you how many movies I've seen which have left me with that hollow feeling, as if there was really no substance to it at all. And I can't tell you how many times I've tried to strike a conversation with someone who projects themselves as an extraordinary person only to find exceptionally ordinary dialogue.
So what is there to do? Where do we reclaim this Authenticity that we've so willingly, admittedly unconsciously given up? I don't know. Maybe it's not something we can do. Or maybe, as my friend pointed out tonight, we will approach another revolution, like the beat generation, or the free love generation. You can never quite anticipate which direction you are headed, wether it's a bold dash into the future, or a noble return to the past. But I think, maybe if we stay true to ourselves. Maybe if we hold onto that which makes us as a species special, and remember to love not only one another, but also ourselves as much as we deserve. Maybe if we refuse to accept what a corporation will sell us at the value presented on the tag, and continue to seek out and discover new ways of feeling, communication, and inter personal relations. Maybe if we can put down the cellphones and the videogames and the ipods, and pick up the guitars and the paint brushes and the pens. Maybe if we can remember that a cup of coffee with a lover is more rewarding than a beer in our living room. Maybe if we can forget about our jobs and our bank accounts and our social status for one moment and remember instead to love where, when and who we are. Maybe if we can look at one another from across a room, and share an entire life conversation with one perfect smile, we can hold on to that which makes us more than the sum of our parts.
Maybe, if I can be as honest as possible, in my art and in my life, I will attract that authenticity in others. It may not be enough, but it will be a start.

To belong.
Sometimes I think that it's all that we are, this quest for a better beginning. How often do any of us truly find our place in the world. Hanging from trees and buried under rocks, you'll find all the options of where to plant your seeds, bury your roots, take heart in your home. I've looked in both of these places, and anywhere in between, and all I've come to possess is a need for something more.
Is it with a lover that you feel at ease? Is it with the weight of the world at your feet that you feel complete? Is the story of your life, hanging on the wall of the hall? Or is that what troubles you most of all?
Worse than the feeling that your best days are behind you, is the feeling that they were never the best days at all. True, I have a box of Brick and plaster to come home to every night, but it makes me no less homeless. I can't imagine one thing that makes things more meaningful, more everlasting, than that of a firefly passing on the wind.
And so is my life. So is all of our lives. Evolution has caught up with us, and removed the human element from the equation. And now we have electronic music, assembly line food and computer generated images to replace what was once our greatest triumph. Now we are everything we once thought we were better than. Our language resonates in Binary, our dreams sparkle in the faint flicker of fatal errors and power outages. If I only knew the direction, I would walk a million miles to get back home. But home doesn't exist anywhere but inside here. And so we dream, until the batteries run low.

Michael

He lived his life in virtual isolation. Not in a sense that he wasn't surrounded with people, indeed it was quite the opposite. But who among them had walked a while in his shoes? Who among them had taken the time to look beyond the booze and parties and pretty girls with long eyelashes, to find the lonely soul within? It can't be expected, this path. Most will opt to flow with the wind, the path of least resistance. Most will wallow in the depths of a world provided for them, where artificial emotion and medicated evenings will be their last and final call to arms. A world in which every moment is lived in anticipation for another. One in which instinctual fornication reigns supreme, and cultural evolution is left to those who say "Fuck the wind, I'm going that way."

If I only knew the reasons,
Why we're this self absorbed.
Then I wouldn't feel the seasons,
Anymore.

Perhaps those words are a lie. Rather to a degree I know that they are, simply because I do understand the reasons with our preoccupations with ourselves, and yet every change of season simultaneously brings disappointment for the season preceding, and hope for the season to come. Still, if you continue to throw you're pennies into the well eventually you'll be left with none left. Those of us with the most dreams are always left the poorest. Unless of course you count on faith, which ultimately is the only thing we have.

I want so much to believe,
These pennies are more than dreams.
That there's something more up your sleeve,
Than broken threads at the seams.

Somedays all we can do is hang by a thread, as if one simple point of stress will cut us loose, sending us crashing to the ground, like satellites in the night. When you hit the atmosphere, you'll only burn as bright as the debris you leave behind. The friends you leave toasting, the girl you leave crying, the mother you leave missing. With enough debris you might even create a dream for someone.

I'm hanging on,
Before the satellites come down.
Each one only burns as bright,
As what they leave around.
You might raise your glass,
You might stand and cry,
If someone wishes on a star,
You're the reason why.

As much as I may want to believe, that the only thing which defines me comes from inside here, I can't run fast enough, I can't sing loud enough, and I can't distance myself long enough to escape the fact, that what makes me more than what I am, is what I can give to you. Perhaps you don't want love, perhaps you've never needed it, but please pardon me, if I love you.

If I choose the wrong words,
Then please my friend remind me,
Of the way in which I spoke of,
The precious things you do.
If I try to make you smile,
Then please lover forgive me.
I love you more than anything,
I'll try to make it up to you.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Shooting Stars

If I only knew the reasons,
Why we're this self absorbed.
Then I wouldn't feel the seasons,
Anymore.

I'm hanging on,
Before the satellites come down.
Each one only burns as bright,
As what they leave around.
You might raise your glass,
You might stand and cry,
If someone wishes on a star,
You're the reason why.

I want so much to believe,
These pennies are more than dreams.
That there's something more up your sleeve,
Than broken threads at the seams.

I'm hanging on,
Before the satellites come down.
Each one only burns as bright,
As what they leave around.
You might raise your glass,
You might stand and cry,
If someone wishes on a star,
You're the reason why.

If I choose the wrong words,
Then please my friend remind me,
Of the way in which I spoke of,
The precious things you do.
If I try to make you smile,
Then please lover forgive me.
I love you more than anything,
I'll try to make it up to you.

I'm hanging on,
Before the satellites come down.
Each one only burns as bright,
As what they leave around.
You might raise your glass,
You might stand and cry,
If someone wishes on a star,
You're the reason why.