Music for mice. Acid for giants. Urban fairy tales for feather brains.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

A bronze rocking horse. The New York Times. Your check in the mail.

If it is my blood that you want, you can have it. It comes in a series of waves. At the moment this feels like a spiritual exercise. Mind over matter. Grace and resilience in the face of tribulation. Can our protagonist make it through the mine field in one piece? I play tricks on the earth so as to make her forget that I owe her much for allowing me continued breath. The comforts of a civilized and moderately happy life. I'm like a clown or some entertainer of an acient time. I'm singing and telling my patron stories in the hopes that he'll eventually be drunk enough and pass out. It is only then that I can have a moments rest. That's when i can think about the dimensions of my yet-to-be-built palace. I can sleep in a spare room. I can dream of the ripple effects caused by my finger tips. Christian in a BMW. Mr. Honeysucklerose on a vespa with a star of stage and screen clinging lovingly to his torso. I can endure much. But little and few can endure me for very long.

I'm thinking of coming up with a stage name for myself, for when I do non-classical performances. Been thinking of it for a while, but then I convince myself it's a silly idea. I don't want an audience to be confused. Is this the guy singing mozart? Or the one playing a song he wrote about whiskey and holy water?
Should I continue trying to ignore my instincts? So far the effects have been mostly positive.

The Lexingtons are one part wolverine and one part chrysanthemum. My mother didn't see fit to give me any brothers, frankly I've always been grateful for that. But I guess that sooner or later, if you're lucky, you can find one, two, or three, that will do just fine. When we put our diamond rings together you can hear the beating of wings.You can hear the screech of the friction caused by the Earth's tenacious path against the stubborn old solar system. You can hear the high frequency murmur of the spirits. The tick-tock-tick-tock of microscopic hearts working diligently in utero.

For the time being we have a monthly show that all should come to. We're also playing pretty often 'round the city these days. I won't talk about them in mere conversation because it doesn't feel fair, like it doesn't do them justice somehow. It's not just a job or a convenient circumstance. Ugh. Human beings rarely say anything to eachother do they? Don't ask me what i'm up to, or how i've been. I won't tell you the truth unless you have 3 hours to spare. Just sit in silence with me. We can share an avocado. Drive to the beach.

The nature of addiction. I guess the trick it plays on you is that it allows you to believe that there's more in that bag. More to be drained. More to be discovered. What if I was one episode away from the ultimate adventure? In order to walk away from the beast you have to have faith that you squeezed as much out of that lemon as you could or that you care to. You have to be proactive and make decisions. This is a terrible time to lose faith, son. Don't wander away in silence.



  1. With a picture of the Lorelei and Finn Wrisely's boots.

  2. ...and a not-so-still life by yours truly... with the aid of 1991 technology.