Do Over

I've started a semi-autobiographical blog about my life:
Do Over
Read it or don't.

Inspiration/Torment

I tried twice last night to write one of these things about my recent lack of inspiration, but couldn't get the words out. That is absolutely par for the course. Uninspired by non-inspiration. Not all my dreams are like this one. In college, I had one where I ate fish soup and then had my arm ripped off by a tiger.

I've been bereft of inspiration. I had a dream last night. Dreams are an escape into this unknown, unlocked part of your subconscious; anything can and will happen. I dreamed about a girl I went to community college with, where we shared two classes one semester, about six years ago. Her name was Janessa. She was one of the few girls I had regular conversations with during my two years at College of Dupage. She smoked, I smoked. She laughed, I laughed. She had hair like melting rays of sunlight. I finally got the nerve to ask her out, only to learn she had a boyfriend. I said it was fine; I wasn't interested in that (lie). I put her number into my phone and didn't save it. (She inspired a few songs from my first musical release, Slow Dawn. Specifically, a song called "Thursday Afternoon Monday Morning", which was the amount of time between when I saw her. I later renamed that song. Strangely, the band Spoon later had a song named "Sunday Morning Wednesday Night", but whatever. I was heavily into instrumental ((post-rock)) music at that time. Dynamics, imaginary movies in your mind, heavy on emotions). I haven't thought of her since.

In this dream, we somehow became roommates, in a house somewhat similar to where I grew up. She didn't remember me, I didn't remind her. Not until the last part of my dream did I ask if she remembered me. She sort of did. I asked her out again, only to be told she had a boyfriend. In my dreams, where magical, wonderful, sensational, piquant things can happen, I still lost. Wherein dreams come true, not for me.

I've had dreams like this before, with different characters from my real life; Asha, Suzy, Chrissy, Toni. I have a thing for girls with first names that end with a vowel sound? And they never work out like how you think, in your dreams, they would. Are these all just my regrets and failings coming back to haunt me? Is my past mocking me? Is my mind torturing me with what might have been?

My mind is trying to cope with the fact that I truly cannot change the past. Even in my dreams, where I can, I can't. I've moved on in my real life; it's my dreams that are just now starting to catch up. Or is it the other way around?

The Final Push To The Sum

I never know their names
But I smile just the same
New faces, strange places
Most everything I see
Becomes a blur to me
And I'm wasted because
The fast pace is too much
Here at the final push to the sum
If my old life is done
Then what have I become?
What have I become?

Every now and then
The memories creep in
A breeze and blue skies
The trees and you and I
But that old life is gone
I guess that I've moved on
To new faces and strange places
Here at the final push to the sum
If my old life is done
Then what have I become?

What have I become?
What have I become?
What have I become?
What have I become?
What have I become?
What have I become?
What have I become?

There You Are

(Jesus Song No. 7)

There you are
And you stand in the rain
And the rain fills your brain
And it makes you think that God
Was fucked up when he made this town

There you stand
With your bleedin' hands
And you don't understand
Why you work so goddamn hard
To be anything at all

There you are
And you drive in your car
And you wish for the stars
And you end up face down in the road
Dead as fuck

Streams

I had a nightmare that I found my ex-girlfriend dead in my bathtub. There is blood everywhere. I come home from work, go into the bathroom, pull back the shower curtain and there she is. The more I think about it, the more it disturbs me. It is a truly horrific vision.

There is a sticker on my black guitar that says, "Hello My Name Is", and where a name should be, there's the word VOGUE. About seven years ago, I went to TMLMTBGB: 30 Plays In 60 minutes. The Neo-Futurists are a theater troupe based in Chicago and are widely known for this. As you walk into the 'theater', you come across someone sitting at a desk with headphones on. They'll ask you for your name and then write something completely irrelevant. I was VOGUE. A friend of mine was TURNTABLE. I somehow managed to keep the sticker with me all the way home and slapped it on my guitar for no reason. I won't even try to take it off now; it probably won't come off anyway. Fused to the wood or something. I could get a corner, try and pull real slowly and a thin sliver would rip off. Like a sticker on a wood door, the glue will never be gone. No one has ever asked me about it. Probably think it's some sarcastic, ironic, po-mo statement. It's just a sticker I forgot about and was too lazy to take off. I guess it's a good story or conversation starter or something. Maybe not.

I sleep on a hand-me-down mattress, my clothes are in hand-me-down dressers, i watch tv on a hand-me-down television on top of a hand-me-down tv tray on my hand-me-down couch, i play a hand-me-down guitar through a hand-me-down amplifier, i drive a hand-me-down car, i listen to hand-me-down vinyl records on a hand-me-down turntable through a hand-me-down amplifier and hand-me-down speakers and i fucking love it.

It's A Sad and Beautiful World

My friend Mike and I went to a Flaming Lips show at The Canopy Club back in 2003. We decided not to take I-57 all the way down, instead traveling I-55 to Route 47, all the way south. I don't know why. We drove through a hellacious rainstorm, semi-trucks showering gallons of water onto the windshield when they passed. It was by far the worst rainstorm I have ever driven through.

In between the riotous opening band and the Lips insane set, a guy with a guitar and a laptop appeared and played a few songs. I know it’s cliché but when he started to play, all the crowd noise faded from my ears and all I could hear was him. It was a short set of just three songs, but it was delicate, hypnotic and truly beautiful. For the rest of the night, even with the Lips’ sonic and visual chaos all around me, all I could think of was finding out who that guy was. I searched like crazy when I got back from the show at around two in the morning.

I found a single listing for the show billed as The Sun/Mark Linkous/The Flaming Lips. Further investigation yielded that Mark Linkous was the man behind Sparklehorse, a band I’d heard of but never listened to. I hoped on Amazon and bought everything I could find. He hadn’t released anything in two years at the time of the show, so I felt lucky to have seen him play. And I guess that’s how I’ll always remember him and his music; as a fragile, beautiful island in a sea of chaos.

This is an almost identical version of "Sad and Beautiful World" that he played that night. It still gets me.

Riches and Wonders

This is a song by Mountain Goats called "Riches and Wonders". It's pretty heartbreaking, which is probably why I love it so much. "I want to go home, but I am home". I used to feel like that a lot.


We live high, our love gorges on the alcohol we feed it
And it grows all fat and friendly, we have surplus if we need it
We hold on as hard as we can, our knuckles are white
We write letters to each other, invent secrets to confess to
I learn foreign and exotic terms of endearment by which to address you
We feed fresh fruit to one another we stay up all night
And I am healthy, I am whole but I have poor impulse control
And I want to go home
But I am home

We are strong, we are faithful, we are guardians of a rare thing
We pay close careful attention to the news the morning air brings
We show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through
We are filled with riches and wonders
Our love keeps the things it finds
And we dance like drunken sailors, lost at sea, out of our minds
You find shelter somewhere in me, I find great comfort in you
And I keep you safe from harm, you hold me in your arms
And I want to go home
But I am home