20 July 2008

i have a old school german army jacket that i sometimes wear. see?:



anyway. i was on bart yesterday, in this jacket, coming home from a long and beautiful day of sf independent study: gg park, bicycle festival with crazy shoe tire bikes, buffalo, ocean, japantown, french thriller ("tell no one". its good!), cheese steak. i was sitting with my bike, when this guy boards, hes big, 30ish, wearing unseasonal flipflops and a baseball hat. he looks like a frat oaf. so then:

"hey. HEY! where'd you get that jacket?"
pause
"a thrift store"
long pause
pause
"you like wearing that jacket?"
"yeah"
long pause

and we go through the tunnel etc. silence. i go back to my book.
finally my stop arrives, i get up. hes in the door, so i have to go past him. i look him in the eyes just once.

"you better be carfeul who you wear that jacket around buddy.
you got a lot of balls wearing that jacket.
...
asshole."

i couldnt resist a small smirk. but thats all.

what is this, really? a jewish thing? its really my only guess...the guy certainly didnt look it though. maybe just a patriotic, american wwII old axis thing?

geesh.
i just wear it cuz it looks cool. and i like a lot of german composers.
geesh!

24 June 2008

i am surrounded by small sprawling piles of paper nostalgia.
im moving to nyc in the fall, but this very week j&j are driving a giant silver bullet cargo van across the country. so im purging, the biggest purge of the last 8 years, and packing up all my big things, instruments, fancy clothes and worn-through books. and of course the box of unthrowawayable nostalgia.

i havent gone through this box in a long time, and its hitting me hard (doesnt help that im listening to the beatles, complete in chronological order, to maximize my nostalgix state)(btw, what the fuck is with all the clapping in "words of love"?). such a bizarre and arrogant swirlstorm of creativity my friends and i were! there are printouts of old email correspondence from dps, and, mat and more (including a few if i might say so quite beautifully understated love letters to a girl named jen henkin, whom i cant remember at all); there are cassettes and minidiscs of old college bands, early four track noise, a 7th grade "day in the life" documentary, and middle of the night cruise ship piano sessions, complete with elegantly mournful sighs of frustration when i time and time again cant lay down a single perfect chorus of "when i fall in love"; there are 8 years of old datebooks, with entries like "some new pants" and "telepathy/lobster claws/apocalypse"; and there are photos, and bizarre magazine cutout mailings, and old plays and scores, and frantic intoxicated illegibilities.

and above all, there are IDEAS; huge, lofty, horrible, wonderful ideas. looking through my old music notebooks is pretty wrenching when i focus on the specifics, all of these angular, atonal funk lines, unsingable jazz choir music, lots of different ways of notating "noise", 10 pages of random chord progressions created by dps's computer science genius. but the ideas, the ideas them selves are pretty amazing sometimes. there are outlines of complete, bizarre, unrealized music/theater pieces: "the wooden staircase", a ten movement masquerade of robed figures, closed doors, steeplechases and balloon men; a five year conspiracy art piece involving intentional mistakes by a major film company, symphony orchestra, book publisher and new york times columnist; there is "put all your eggs in one basket, put an entire cake in one bag".

all of it tingles and drips with the truth-is-right/stream-of-consciousness-is-truth early twenties idealism, with kerouac, with electric kool-aid, with phish lyrics, stockhausen and stravinsky, with dada and the rat pack and buddhist near-misses. aw god i got plenty old all right, and sure the art has gotten better, but there is that frenetic importance to it all that i miss. there is this urgency to all this creation of the past, this dire stakes, this attitude of love above all and !smash the glasses on the floor! that makes me want to head right out to north beach and find some brandy and a flapper-girl and take the piano out for a post-freebebop spin all over again. all those monkey truths may have had their strings and holes revealed over time, but the exuberant joy is still valid, and essential, and missed.

my favorite thing right now is this scrawled bit from a notebook dating from not too too too long ago, 2002 maybe:

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

GRANT WRITING TECHNIQUE
higher academic-
but enclosed
a small sealed envelope
special paper
unlabeled (or "the truth"?)

-i just have these things in
my head
and i need some $
to get them out.
i think it would
be good to
have
them
out.

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

i still kind of wonder if that would work.

18 March 2008

monday at 5pm or so i walked out of the penn station A train subway stop with one hour to postmark my CA$H theatre grant application. im asking for money for effects pedals and conch shells for beowulf. i had printed out six copies of my letter/resume/materials, but needed to go to a copy shop to copy the cover letter, a form which i had to handwrite because it was only offered in archaic straightup uneditable pdf form. okay.

all of this was complicated by the fact that i had ZERO money. i often find myself in this situation, feast or famine, where running out of money and getting money end up just a few days apart; it is such a frustration to me, these $30 overdraft charges i incur JUST BECAUSE OF TIME. i mean, i have the money, i just dont have it right now. goddamn, one day, 24 hours makes all the difference.
like time even exists!
...in this case i am due two large checks, but neither has come through as they should have. FRUSTRATE. and then sure enough my rent check goes through, and i am $-30 (which quickly becomes $-60 due to the overdraft charge). FRUSTRATE.

so now, i have to copy and mail this grant application, with no money. but i have found my fortunates, on which this little project hinges...i have an old kinkos card in my wallet, with an unknown amount of money, and scrounging through my subletee's desk drawers uncovered a pile of old stamps, of odd denominations. i also have 43 cents.

i arrive at kinkos and copy my six pages, just barely making it on my card, then start stapling and collating...only to discover that in the (additionally frustrating) madness of printing odd/even pages reverse order on a cheap constantly-feeding-two pages-at-once-printer etc, i have actually only printed five copies of my resume et al. 09¢ x 8 pages = 72¢, so im FUCKED, right? 29¢ short. and the option is quickly, yeah im just gonna have to ask someone. for change, for 29¢, for the copy machine. steeling myself up for the panhandle, i walk past a copy machine...and find one with a card still in it. no one nearby. THE UNIVERSE PROVIDES.

get the copies made, sealed in envelope. head to the post office to weigh. $1.84, ive almost got it, stamps of 80¢ 60¢ and 39¢. oh yeah. i decide to trust it. five cents right?

only: while the 80¢ stamp affixes easily, the 60¢ and 39¢ stamps are both old enough that the glue has become non functioning. they wont stick. FRUSTRATE. and the potentially tape giving tellers are blocked by insane lines, fucking rush hour ridiculous. all this while i have both the 6pm postmark deadline and an 8pm opening night across town, for which i still have to load in six new sound cues, adjust levels, solve this mystery cue that logic audio keeps reversing the stereo spread on, etc. i walk through the place looking for tape. none. none. no tape. theres some "priority mail" tape that is not transparent and will not suit me. im fucked.

so i walk outside, survey the options. theres a duane reade across the street. i head on over...and on the way i have a delightful brain storm: removing the unnecessary metal clasp on the manila envelope will possible knock off the extra weight thats putting me 4 cents over. i pick it off while heading into duane reade, and cut my finger. ouch.

once in duane reade, i head downstairs to the tape section, survey the scene, and then yeah stand there like a fucking criminal, checking left and right before going into one of the scotch tape rolls and getting what i need, keeping the roll on the rack. holding my left middle finger in my mouth to avoid getting blood on my grant application.

i get it done, head back to the post office, drop the mail in the slot. slot says due to new postal regulations any letter over 13oz or something has to be taken up in person.

fuck you, right?

i dont know.
i seem to find myself in this kind of absurdist minutiae all the fucking time.
what the hell is wrong with me?

07 March 2008

"by KonArtist on 08-30-2002 @ 03:33:38 AM
Im more of a rap fan, so if i like a song like this u know that its good. This song is probly the greatest non rap song i ever heard.

by Skippy921 on 06-14-2005 @ 03:20:17 PM
This song to me means that there will be a change in your life and sometimes you have to step out and look from a far at your life and deciede what you want to keep and what you need to let go of. And sometimes these things we choose to do are impossible and not popular, but you have to stick to them or you will end up in a rut of life not wanting to be there, but you are because everyone else wants you to be and you lose sight of who you are and where you came from and going back home again means finding your roots and who you are and who you want to be, you have to think back to when you were as pure as a child and thought like a child and what you wanted back then. then with your heart racing you gotta do what makes you happy. trying to find "your one true swing" something that cannot be learned only remembered.

by TasChiBandGirl on 03-04-2003 @ 09:16:31 PM
Tough song to put together. I think it's about somebody who is having a sort of crisis. Not sure exactly what type. They're up at the hill or what not, thinking things over. It coudl be the possibility that the person got their heart broken and is contemplating everything, and their father and friend are trying to bring the guy back to their place, to realize that everything is okay, but they're too destroyed by the ex-love. Then they realize, that they do have to leave it all behind, thus the last line. Of course don't take my word for it.

by LoganNYC on 09-25-2002 @ 06:12:08 AM
well every time i hear the line
"son, grab your things, i'm hear to take you home" on
the radio, i get chills.
let's just say, i was in a situation where my father was in a position to say words similar to those to me, and the rush of emotion from one line is amazing.
music is a very powerful thing.

by Thursdaylove on 03-24-2006 @ 09:52:49 PM
A friend of mine just got out a prison a week or so again and when his parents went to pick him up, they played this song. So whenever I hear it, I always think of a kid getting out of prison.

by SongMeaningGuy on 06-11-2004 @ 03:02:50 AM
This is a stirringly visceral and spiritual song. Whenever I hear it my eyes fill with tears of joy. Sometimes I think I would like this song to be played at my funeral. The idea being taken home at the height of a mystic vision is profoundly moving.

by Aight on 04-28-2007 @ 10:31:52 PM
I have always considered these lyrics to this song to be totally about drugs.

by cyrolophosaurus on 04-04-2007 @ 01:30:12 PM
I used to think it was about suicide, but that was my own morbid interpretation of it. It was written as Peter was leaving Genesis and looking to become the solo artist that he is today. Just because it is about him leaving a band, certainly does not make it less deep or meaningful. The lyrics are inspirational and meant to open to individual interpretation. He wrote about his own feelings and experiences but let it be vague enough so that others could apply it to their own lives.

Sorrow on 06-12-2002 @ 07:43:00 PM
I could be wrong, but I always thought this song was about Jesus. And I'm not even christian.

by jnb987 on 01-08-2005 @ 03:16:10 AM
I heard that the eagle that flew out of the night was Bruce Springsteen. Apparently, Gabriel decided to go solo after seeing one ot the Boss' legendary mid-70's epic shows. "He was something to observe" and Peter "had to listen had no choice."

by kenba on 10-04-2004 @ 02:30:58 AM
this ain't steak... it's 'solsbury'"

25 January 2008

whenever i spellcheck,
the suggestion
for
"davemalloy"
is always
"dismally"

cmon!!