Sunday, October 27, 2013

An Amazing Week...

Hi. Just had to step in here and write about the amazing week I had and make a post. I got to improvise Music behind the incredible poet Buddy Wakefield on Wednesday in Stratford, CT. It was an honor as he redefined language for me and showed me the power of the word. So, in honor of his work, here is his poem, "Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbirds" that is in his book "Gentlemen Practice". Please support him by buying the book and PLEASE go see him live!

PS:While the written form of the poem is amazing, please watch him say it live here.


August 11, 2009
If we were created in God’s image
then when God was a child
he smushed fire ants with his fingertips
and avoided tough questions.
There are ways around being the go-to person
even for ourselves
even when the answer is clear
like the holy water Gentiles drank
before they realized Forgiveness
is the release of all hope for a better past.
I thought those were chime shells in your pocket
so I chucked a quarter at it
hoping to hear some part of you
respond on a high note.
You acted like I was hurling crowbirds at mockingbars
and abandoned me for not making sense.
Evidently, I don’t experience things as rationally as you do.
For example, I know mercy
when I have enough money to change the jukebox at a gay bar
(somebody’s gotta change that shit).
You understand the power of God’s mercy
whenever someone shoves a stick of morphine
straight up into your heart.
It felt amazing
the days you were happy to see me
so I smashed a beehive against the ocean
to try and make our splash last longer.
Remember all the honey
had me lookin’ like a jellyfish ape
but you walked off the water in a porcupine of light
strands of gold
drizzling out to the tips of your wasps.
This is an apology letter to the both of us
for how long it took me to let things go.
It was not my intention to make such a
production of the emptiness between us
playing tuba on the tombstone of a soprano
to try and keep some dead singer’s perspective alive.
It’s just that I coulda swore you had sung me a love song back there
and that you meant it
but I guess sometimes people just chew with their mouth open
so I ate ear plugs alive with my throat
hoping they’d get lodged deep enough inside the empty spots
that I wouldn’t have to hear you leaving
so I wouldn’t have to listen to my heart keep saying
all my eggs were in a basket of red flags
all my eyes to a bucket of blindfolds
in the cupboard with the muzzles and the gauze
ya know I didn’t mean to speed so far out and off
trying to drive all your nickels to the well
when you were happy to let them wishes drop
but I still show up for gentleman practice
in the company of lead dancers
hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes.
Is that a handsome shadow on my breath, sweet woman
or is it a cattle call
in a school of fish? Still dance with me
less like a waltz for panic
more for the way we’d hoped to swing
the night we took off everything
and we were swingin’ for the fences
don’t hold it against
my love
you know I wanna breath deeper than this
you know I didn’t mean to look so serious
didn’t mean to act like a filthy floor
didn’t mean to turn us both into a cutting board
but there were knives s-stuck
in the words where I came from
too much time in the back of my words.
I pulled knives from my back and my words.
I cut trombones from the moment you slipped away
and I know it left me lookin’ like a knife fight, lady
yeah you know it left me feelin’ like a shotgun shell
you know I know I mighta gone and lost my breath
but I wanna show ya how I found my breath
to death
it was buried under all the wind instruments
hidden in your castanets
if ya ever wanna know how it felt when ya left
yeah if you ever wanna come inside
just knock on the spot
where I finally pressed STOP
playing musical chairs with exit signs.
I’m gonna cause you a miracle
when you see the way I kept God’s image alive.
is for anybody
who needs a safe passage through my mind.
If I was really created in God’s image
then when God was a boy
he wanted to grow up to be a man
a good man
and when God was a man
a good man
He started telling the truth in order to get honest responses.
He’d say,
“I know.
I really shoulda wore my cross
but I don’t wanna scare the gentiles off.”

All thanks to Reverend Kathianne Lewis for the two lines regarding forgiveness. She was quoting someone else when she used them but she’s the one who passed them forward, and gracefully so.
Thanks to my incredible cousin Lace Williams who texted me the subtitle regarding hope which was somehow worked into conversation where we agreed that “Monsters VS Aliens” was a bunch of fun.
Lots of old loose lines I’ve tossed around before finally found a home in this piece.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Postcars from a guitar hero...

The bulk of my life has been spent playing guitar as well as teaching it. My inspiration for teaching was a guitarist who died before I was even playing. His name was Randy Rhoads and he died in March of 1992 in a plane crash at the age of 25 while being the guitarist for Ozzy Osbourne. Here is a postcard he sent someone.

About a decade ago I actually called his mother who still owns the music store he taught at. I expected to get an answering machine. Instead I spoke to her. I was nervous and totally off center, but I did thank her for what her son gave to me as well as her support for his talents.

This should be an interesting autumn...

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Yep, an open letter makes the news....

Okay, fine, so it may not be pen to paper but this is a rather amazing letter from Sinead O'Connor to Miley Cyrus. From having been near/around the music and entertainment business for forever, I can only say that this is amazingly true..

From Sinead to Miley

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Last Letters...

Sorry I have not been updating, but I just lost a dear friend to cancer. She lived across the country and, last week, I sent her one last letter.

Here are some last letters written by other people.

Thank you Reese, for everything...