what should happen

another late night. i should be asleep. but if you are like me, you can't turn off your mind. i am tired, my body needs sleep. i won't do it though, yet. i spent 8 hours of my day driving from massachusetts to pennsylvania, most of it through oppressive traffic. it wasn't a total loss though. i reconnected with some old music, chatted with a long-time friend that i've known since i was 5, and took some photos that interested me along the way. a good part of the time, i sat in silence, and thought a lot. about, what should happen. ok. good.

the sycamore trees

i've got idea man,

you take me for a walk, 

under the sycamore trees. 

the dark trees that blow, baby.

in the dark trees that blow. 

and i'll see you

and you'll see me. 

and i'll see you in the branches that blow,

in the breeze.

i'll see you, in the trees.

i'll see you, in the trees.

under the sycamore trees.

— little jimmy scott, twin peaks: fire walk with me

the first time i heard this song was when i saw the movie. you can't download it on itunes, but i'm sure its out there somewhere. you can hear the notes escaping from his throat, his vocal chords. you can really feel them passing through flesh and combining with air and making heartbreaking sounds. by heartbreaking, i mean that it makes your heart hurt, not of sadness or joy, but of pure emotion and passion itself. ok.

i feel bad about this, really.

hello. i remove my glove, so that i can smoke this cigarette. yes, the unfiltered kind, because my lungs, and every other internal organ in my body, are made of titanium. however, eventually i put this glove back on. i slowly take a comb out of my inner jacket pocket (no one keeps them in the back pants pocket anymore) and i style this hair one more time. until the next time. then, in accordance with the wishes of my master (and coincidentally, psychotherapist) i put these gloved hands around your neck. i'm pretty sorry about this, but is isn't my fault.

this hair made me do it.

ok.

crown victoria

hey, ford crown victoria, get the fuck out of the snow. you are going to get ill and frankly i don't have the time or inclination to take care of you. you are old and sick already, disadvantaged as a relic of the american propensity towards huge cars that suck. you are also named after queen victoria, who i think was the longest serving monarch in british history. hmm. maybe this is some sick revenge joke by our UK friends, saddling us with a horribly designed car that won't seem to die or go away. don't worry, detroit will continue to sucker the law enforcement establishment and provide you at incredible deals to every police department who needs you. don't work too hard though, your life as a taxi in some small coastal new england town awaits. ok. good.

power

yes. the power is on right now. this red light is indicating that this is indeed the case. ok. good.

night

another late night in new england, but this photo is from seoul, so whatever that means. my views on the solitude, loneliness and epic nature of night, of late night, are not earth-shattering in any way, but i do feel a special happiness in the early hours. there is something about the quiet at this time that envelops you and holds you, when you are alone. it also seems to amplify most emotions. a mid-summer kiss at 2am in a vacant city street seems to have more significance than one walking out the door to work. words written seem to have more meaning, i imagine always being spoken in a whisper, i love you, i think about you constantly, can you get me a glass of water? there are times, when going to sleep is almost cruel, unless you can dream of the comfort of a darkened room, and love, late at night. ok.

complex

things are complex. they are intricate and require thought and logic. passion can often get in the way, no matter how hard one tries to legitimize it. i hate this notion. i am searching for a way to rise above the complexity, to see it as something unto itself, maybe something beautiful to be appreciated and embraced, but not feared. maybe i am kidding myself and acting like i'm 10 years old. maybe this is a way to keep a certain naivete, and not getting caught in a world of "already knowing the answer" and not doing what you want, or need. ok, i've decided. i'm going to revel in the complex. otherwise, i might as well not exist. ok. good.

the system

hello. how are you. i am well, thank you. yes, i have been away, and i have missed writing. especially as i have been reading a book about writing, and the process that one might go through. this is in the form of haruki murakami's "sputnik sweetheart."

above is a beer i spent the last week drinking in seoul. as you can see, it employs the "fresh taste keeping system." i think i need one of these in my life. more from korea, later. ok.

what

a memory of a time. of the simplicity of being happy. of knowing what feels right, and doing whatever you can to make it a reality. its another late night in new england, but in my mind i'm looking at this sun. ok. good.

where it all started

hello. i currently live in new england, where halloween, thanksgiving and christmas were born. it was 32 AD when JC ate a turkey while wearing a stormtrooper costume he got from under a tree near Boston, everyone knows this. america flexes its global might during christmas time. we power huge electric displays of joy and use our rightful share of the worlds limitless supply of energy. we stand in lines at 4am in order to consume, our attempt to somehow fight a recession that we alone can pull out of by shopping for flat-screen TVs. we tolerate the pro forma holiday film that several hollywood stars get stuck with each year (apparently there is a drawing, and some poor sucker loses every year, this time it is vince vaughn and reese witherspoon. tim allen's career never recovered.) and inflate the box office numbers as if dollars somehow equals quality. this is just one part of christmas however, i'm not saying that it is all as depressing as this.

there is still the charlie brown classic. ok. good.

the man

hi. there has been a lot of chat lately about abraham lincoln, his "team of rivals", barack obama's admiration of him, etc. this is amazing. i have read 4 books about lincoln, 3 non-fiction and 1 historical fiction (gore vidal's book). despite my lack of faith in destiny, diety or otherwise, it is hard to believe at times that such a person happened to be elected president at a time in which the country was on the edge of total collapse. he was a masterful politician who was able to allow everyone to think he was some country bumpkin all the while manipulating everything behind the scenes to execute the war and attempt to heal the nation. i can see why george bush probably thought they were kindred spirits, except lincoln did all the work himself, not his vice president. in addition to his political mastery, he was a sparse succinct writer, who constantly went over his speeches and letters to communicate the most while saying the least. read "lincoln's sword" to learn more about his writing style, and "team of rivals" to see a political master in action. ok.

the quiet

hi. 

it is late again. and extremely quiet. this seems like such a rarity today, even the ambient noise of earth can get in the way, but not right now. sure, there is the hum of this laptop, and the comcast HD box, and some douchebag who is falling down drunk in the street, but outside of that, it is very quiet, and it is just me and my brain. i could say, "i am alone with my thoughts" like every other songwriter, crap movie of the week writer and who knows else, but then i might as well go on and say "i don't know who you are anymore" or "who am i?" lets just say that it is just me now and i have a lot to think about. ok. i drove from the manchester NH airport to newburyport MA and passed maybe 5 cars in 40 minutes, that type of freeway solitude almost never happens anymore, and it is phenomenal. the radio was off, but soundtracks of ambient noise flowed through me, and thoughts of how to share this moment . . . with orion looming large in front of me, turning off the headlights for just a moment to be enveloped by the sky and then remembering that this is crazy and turning them back on. so what conclusions did i reach? has this quiet time produced anything other than this post? no, but to me, right now, the fact that these thoughts exist is enough. ok. good.

what the quiet can do . . .

it never fails, time spent in rural areas after living in cities always reinforces the concept of quiet and silence. it is quiet here, now, in coatesville pennsylvania. it is a strange place for me to be. things here are worn. don't mistake this with old, there are plenty of old things in this part of the country, but i mean worn, beat down and tired. there is a town whose steel mill shut down years ago and has never recovered. there are thrown-up homes from the mid-70s with moldy aluminum siding and fake decorative shutters with no function. and there are brand new thrown-up condos whose crap construction is already showing. it's a bit depressing. if i had a history in this town, i might feel different, but i didn't and so the isolation is even more acute. i can't think of any place i'd rather be less than here, right now. ok.

thanksgiving club

today, at 2pm, i went to my parents country club in the outer suburbs of philadelphia for thanksgiving dinner. now, i am not a country club person, in any way. every time i think of being at one, i of course go to the movie caddyshack, or any other film in which the privilege of these establishments is featured. tonight was a strange combination of worlds. there were men in kelly green and navy blue jackets with brass buttons. some of these men wore white or red turtlenecks under these jackets. a man came through in a wheel chair powered by a tube that he blew into. an 85 year old woman complained to her grown son about her aging husband. "he is driving me crazy!" she explained as she dished a cranberry slaw onto her plate.  a woman channeling stevie nicks' wardrobe played covers of songs by Jewel and Janis Ian on a casio keyboard. I had two Jamesons and Ginger and watched the entire thing. it wasn't the best thanksgiving ever, but it was the closest thing to a halloween thanksgiving. and who wouldn't want that? ok.

you figure it out, part 2

yeah, that’s right. a lot of words start with B. somedays however, there is only one that really matters. fill in your own word, as long as that word isn’t “balderdash.” where the hell do you think you are, 1885?

where am i going?

where am i going? where am i? george carlin once said, "what a horrible question to have to ask another human being, 'where am i' and hope to get a sensible answer, instead of 'you're in the land of forgotten dreams and lost hopes, and you're next on line for the human sacrifice.' " i am not sure where i am "going" yet. that word seems funny, "going" the act of being in a state of "go." wow. i'm not going to mcdonalds however, although it is pretty clear where they are. ok.

noise

i went for a run this morning, but i skipped the 25 degree fahrenheit morning and drove to the gym to run on a treadmill. i normally abhor this, but it had been 3 days since my last run and i needed it. not that this is anything earth shattering, but i've timed several tracks on a playlist to hit at certain moments during my 33 minute run. the last song is a track from silversun pickups called lazy eye. now, i have realized that this song was quite popular a little while back, but it is new to me, so i'm not too concerned. at around 3:23 into the song (sorry is this too general?) the vocals bleed away and droning guitars crescendo into a voluminous head filling noise. i put my finger on the speed button of the treadmill and went into a full out sprint for the last minute. there is something so cathartic about a mindless explosive run, especially when you are not running away from someone who is trying to kill you, or sell you a rose outside a restaurant. it was one of those moments, with the guitars screaming, the drums crashing and my feet pounding the treadmill that my life almost had a soundtrack. but then, most days it does, inside. in that moment, anything and everything is possible. lets make it so we feel this way all the time. ok.

how

what makes a connection? what makes one stronger than another? what makes one unique? how do you know where your attention should stay or what it should abandon? this may sound too cliche, but it is what we think of as our heart that tells us. we have such a hard time listening however. i know there are 1000 love songs out there that have documented this heart/head battle, but i have recently discovered that this is an actual phenomena, and the battle is pretty fierce. many times, people let their heads tell them what they should NOT do, as if the heart is wrong somehow, and needs to be put in it's place. i'm thinking another way however, that the heart knows what will bring you happiness, and you should use your brain, your logic, your intellect, all your head-based skills to make everything work out. instinct is stronger than we realize, logic can be just that. even the most streamlined and modern of designs has an emotional and crafted core. lets decide that we will seek this out. good.

oh man.

when I was in elementary school, we used to have skate nights at a local "roll-o-rama", the kimberton roller rink. there was linda ronstadt music, disco lights, a snack bar and 250 4th graders trying to skate. 

the last song was always "stairway to heaven", without fail, and we would all attempt to pair up and find that girl/boy to "slow skate" with. what an excruciating moment, especially for someone like me (see above) it seems like our school was so sexually charged at a really young age. I remember talking about "making out" at age 8 and 9. I don't know, maybe we were normal.

one particular night, I had made up my mind to ask this girl from my neighborhood, the only other jewish girl in my school, to skate the final song. her name was marcy. she was quite popular. we were friends, as shown by her rating of me in the school "kissing book" that all the girls had made. It scored all the guys they would want to kiss on a scale of 10 down to 1. she told me that she gave me a 1 instead of a zero, "because we were friends." man.

so, they announced the final skate, and I awkwardly made my way towards her to ask. the lights had gone down to a deep amber brown, and the mirror ball began to rotate slowly. the first guitar picks of "stairway to heaven" began to echo through the rink. I got over to her, I could see she was looking for someone, and that someone was not me. I asked if she would skate with me. she tried to look at me in the kindest way she could, and told me that this other guy, had already asked her. I made some noise about how that was cool, and turned around to drift away.

it was so emotional, I was crying. why did it have to be so damn hard? why did I want that moment so much? where was my easy time, my normalcy? why was I this freak that no one wanted to kiss or skate the slow skate to stairway to heaven with? I knelt down to untie my skates, when I saw these adult feet in front of me. it was my friend's mother, a chaperone. "are you ok, are you crying?" she asked. I made the lamest excuse ever, "no, I've just got some dust in my eye." SOME DUST IN MY EYE! unbelieveable.

I've never forgotten that night. the silence I sat in when my parents picked me up from the rink, the lonliness I felt in my bed that night. the desperation. it wasn't until years later, when I was more myself, more who I really am, that the trauma of that moment was there for me. that going for it and weathering the hard times can bring about a better life.

warm leatherette

magic 103 WMGK. philadelphia. 1977. harry chapin is singing "taxi" and i am in the back seat of my mom's car. it is hot and august. something about that era feels like august, amber tinted photographs and refrigerators, brown, harvest gold, avocado. the beat hot sun and the lack of gas and the world blowing up and me getting burned on the warm leatherette, choking on the smoke coming from the car ashtray. chapin's taxi driver has just given into his life and is getting stoned, and his actress will continue her life of fake happiness. it's too bad that they couldn't communicate, or fall in love, or whatever. she gives him 20 bucks and he probably blows it on dope. it's a song about memory, but also about regret and lost opportunities. let's all agree we won't let this happen. ok.

murakami_norwegian wood

"i telephoned midori. 'i have to talk to you,' i said. 'i have a million things to talk to you about. a million things we have to talk about. all i want in this world is you. i want to see you and talk. i want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.'

midori responded with a long silence — the silence of all the misty rain in the world falling on all the new-mown lawns of the world. forehead pressed against the glass, i shut my eyes and waited. at last, midori's quiet voice broke the silence: 'where are you now?' "

what is more important than telling another human being exactly how you feel about them? well, perhaps many things. but right now, for me, this is the most important thing. ok.

man.

coffee, pounding beijing pop-punk, email, creative direction, ego-stroking, and more email. this is what sometimes makes up a morning, makes up a day. there are times when the sounds of snapline, queen sea big shark or PK14 are buzzing in my head, through meetings and conversations. "what was that important thing regarding the brand you just said? i didn't hear you because my mind is in another place and my heart is exploding. sorry, my bad." so, i'll keep my headphones on as much as possible today. it may not go over well in the staff meeting, but is there anything said in that forum that is really important today? ok. good.

the decision

what is worth fighting for in life? what are the most important things? can one think about life in terms of longevity, and live according to the idea that no moment should be wasted? i sometimes feel this way, that we only have on average 80 years or so, and to spend any amount of it NOT working towards true happiness is extremely wasteful. i think one can know what they want, who they want and do whatever they can to achieve those things. to fight for those things. it is like a line from a song, "i'd rather be working for a paycheck, than trying to win the lottery." that job, that "paycheck" is the thing you really want, and you work for it. not droning beat down work, but inspired passionate pursuit of something crafted and loved. ok. good.

seems logical

the refrigerator is one of the unsung heros of out-of-home advertising. messages are left here constantly, they are sought for here. very often, these appliances look empty without a collection of calendars, notes, artwork or smear of pasta sauce. here are two. one is so epic, so clear. it takes a certain audacity to eat food that doesn't belong to you from a public refrigerator. this same type of person also picks his nose and puts the result under their desk. the squirrel thing, i mean, come on, awesome.

the truth

i love you, but not as much as i love your legs. i love their orange color, and the way the nails hang off the end of your toes. to show how much i love these legs, i am giving them a red rose. there you go, long orange long-nailed legs, there is a rose for you. now go and use those legs to get me a double-tall non-fat latte. ok. thanks.

true

ukrainian village, chicago. i'm not sure if this was white out, paint or cake frosting that was used to make this message, but it is pretty amazing. the store windows were papered over, with no indication as to what type of business used to be there. i'm going to hope that someone was in love with the shop owner, and went there everyday to buy replacements for his Franklin Covey day planner, using one page each day and then getting another the following and so on. either that, or it used to be a video store dedicated to the david lynch tv opus Twin Peaks. in that case, it was me who wrote this message. either way, i do miss you.

no photo attached

it is late at night here on the east coast of North America. a time for reflection, a time to think about criticism versus true expression. is saying what you feel, really putting it out there and taking the consequences of that action a positive or negative act? very often, it seems that these forms of communication are more about being critical. however, i recently had the opportunity to tell someone how i really felt about them, in a positive way. to be able to look a person in the eye, someone who you are having conflict with, and simply say, “i miss you, i love you, i am sorry that things are difficult between us. here are the things that i am sorry for, and here is the friend that i can be”, can be amazingly liberating and can remove all types of stress, at least for me. i think we carry so much stress around with us. from insecurities, and miscommunications, to little stories and lies. i guess i say “we” to make myself feel better. this is something i that i have done. not anymore. good night, i’ll bring some more irony another day.

you figure it out

just fill in the blank, depending on how your day is going. enjoy. ok.

word

In the Pennsylvania State University Library, there are densely populated shelves of every type of volume imaginable. Many books are housed in "the stacks." these corridors have extremely low ceilings, numerous nooks and crannies, one can get lost back there. in fact, a woman was murdered in there during the 1960s, she wasn't found for days and it remains unsolved. these particular books get right to it.

the reason

this blog is supposed to be about, in part, honesty in speech, meaning in conversation, reality. i first started thinking seriously about this when i was living in amsterdam, the netherlands. after having been there for a few weeks, i realized that there was a lack of superfluous speech. people would say hello, or good morning as a greeting, but never “how are you doing?” or “what’s up?” unless they really had the time to hear the answer. returning to the US accentuated my awareness of this phenomena with banal utterances of “let’s get together soon” or “i know what you mean” during conversation. i designed a line of t-shirts and posters about the subject. ok. good.

please

shear madness, hair affair, shear genius, the director’s cut. i live in a town with a small waterfront and a tiny airfield. oh, it also has a hair port. damn.

a bit drastic

when i saw this, well, i didn't know what to think. obviously it has a functional purpose for the space in which it exists, but i had the feeling that someone, perhaps a salmon spawn supporter from the klamath basin in oregon, was behind this sign. however, this door is in nyc, so, kind of a missed opportunity.

yes.

simple, succinct, honest.
yes.

ok. good. ok.

what are we talking about? what are we saying? are the words we utter formulaic? how much of our speech is programmed and geared towards just keeping our existence moving towards an end that we probably have no idea will really consist of? i think about this stuff all the time, and very recently, have decided that saying what you feel, being real, human and honest is the only way to communicate. decorum needs to exist of course, and consideration and caution. however, real communication and dialogue needs to open and honest, or you are just wasting time. posts on this blog will be about these moments in speech, and in life.