So the topic of today is musical weirdos. People who operate outside of normal standards, be it for race, nationality, sex, or just style... and are all the more badass for it. And I don't mean the affected mainstream "rock & roll" or "punk" I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude... these people just are what they are. But they have or will go down in history for raising their voices and not allowing the what or how to dictate the who. That's what I think, anyway.
So. What if you're an old toothless black dude with no instrument, sitting on an empty stage, with only your own off-time clapping to keep you company? Can you still be a badass? Maybe you should ask Son House...
How about if your guitar has knotted together strings, hasn't been tuned in about a year, and your singing sounds like one of the crazy winos outside Walgreens? Maybe you can... if your name is Joseph Spence.
Speaking of weird voices, what if your midrange voice sounds smooth and croony, but your lower register can only be described as "demonically gravelly"? It only made Blind Willie Johnson go from stud, to super-stud (you'll see what I mean about gravelly at 1:30 or so).
Ok, so old blues guys were cool even if they sounded weird. But what if you're a contemporary white kid who looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy sans hat, with an acoustic guitar for accompaniment, trying to belt out soul like James Brown? Eli "Paperboy" Reed has my vote for BAMF membership.
Here's a chick with hair like a bottlebrush, who usually records with stuff like this for backing. I wonder if she can take the same song, and make it awesome using only her own voice and a multitrack. Listen to Martina go...
OK, what about a transsexual lead singer (who incidentally pronounces his 'r's like 'w's... I thought I was the only one that did that)?
The Cliks (combination of Clits and Cocks, if you're curious) are all the cooler for it.
How about weird style-crossover? Can you sing metal in a sinatra-esque lounge singer voice?
Richard Cheese can.
OK, nationality mismatches? How about a Swedish Delta Bluesman? (He does a lot of lessons on youtube if you ever take a notion to learn...)
What about an Argentinian Delta bluesman?
Gabriel Gratzer- Canned Heat
Gabriel Gratzer- Highway 49
No problem there I guess... turns out blues is pretty big over in Argentina. Who knew?
So then maybe if you're Russian you can still play some surfer guitar. In fact, you can even
do it to a polka beat while wearing zoot suits and bowties!
One more... while I'm on the topic, I just wanted to show you a rareish live video of a man who lost half the fingers on his left (fretting) hand to a fire... and went on to become one of the greatest jazz guitarists in the world. His name, of course, was Django Reinhardt.
So, now you see. Regardless of what shit you might have to deal with in life-be it physical capability, social standing, or just all around oddity... it can only enhance you in the world of music. Music is the language of the soul- and when the soul speaks, mere appearance is unimportant.
-Mojoe
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
My lazy ass finally wrote another blog...
It's not an elegant title, but it's accurate. It's been awhile since I've been able to think of something to write about. Since returning from my trip to the reality of my unstable living situation, I've sort of taken a break from trying to solve the world's problems and instead tried to bear down and find a way out of the general life-related suckage that has been hanging over my head lately. Consequently, I've had little to write about besides that, and the blog I wrote on that subject never saw the light of day due to excessive complainy-ness. So I'll try to do the personal update in a paragraph or two...
Long story short, I have no job (the old one sucked anyway), my financial support's running out at the end of the year, my "music career" has been stalled on the runway for quite some time now, my romantic life has been more of a whimsical concept than an actuality (probably a blessing... I don't realistically have time or resources for that shit right now anyway) for about as long, and I'm mostly just trying to establish a means of living that doesn't feel like selling my soul. I suspect only other skilled artists know what I mean by that last, as the general population doesn't seem to understand exactly how much time and energy are required to maintain an art form (menial 9-5s are not conducive).
This isn't to say I haven't been enjoying myself at all. My last gig was wicked fun, I just invested some of my savings in a couple pair of sexy new pants to replace the ones that sprung knee-leaks (all part of my plan to attract a sexy sugarmama to fix my financial and romantical woes), and I also made a minor and well considered investment in a new condenser mic. This last has proven quite useful in the 6 hours I've had it, and you should actually be hearing some new recordings before long.
Anyway, I recently received a request for another music blog. So, being the kind hearted and obliging young man that I am, I have decided to make good on that. Get ready for some more delicious soulful music, in no particular order.
Playing for Change
...is a pun. And a really cool concept. Basically, some socially conscious individuals with music equipment went around and got street musicians (playing for change... get it?) from all over the world to overdub on various songs. I don't know much more than that 'cause I haven't really looked it up (lazy). I'm sure you can, though. Frankly, this is one of the coolest social/media related concepts I've seen... ever. I was reminded of it 'cus I just found a way to play Stand By Me on my guitar while I was fuckin' around today. Cool, huh? Here's some Bob for ya...
Some Black Keys you probably never heard
Long story short, I have no job (the old one sucked anyway), my financial support's running out at the end of the year, my "music career" has been stalled on the runway for quite some time now, my romantic life has been more of a whimsical concept than an actuality (probably a blessing... I don't realistically have time or resources for that shit right now anyway) for about as long, and I'm mostly just trying to establish a means of living that doesn't feel like selling my soul. I suspect only other skilled artists know what I mean by that last, as the general population doesn't seem to understand exactly how much time and energy are required to maintain an art form (menial 9-5s are not conducive).
This isn't to say I haven't been enjoying myself at all. My last gig was wicked fun, I just invested some of my savings in a couple pair of sexy new pants to replace the ones that sprung knee-leaks (all part of my plan to attract a sexy sugarmama to fix my financial and romantical woes), and I also made a minor and well considered investment in a new condenser mic. This last has proven quite useful in the 6 hours I've had it, and you should actually be hearing some new recordings before long.
Anyway, I recently received a request for another music blog. So, being the kind hearted and obliging young man that I am, I have decided to make good on that. Get ready for some more delicious soulful music, in no particular order.
Playing for Change
...is a pun. And a really cool concept. Basically, some socially conscious individuals with music equipment went around and got street musicians (playing for change... get it?) from all over the world to overdub on various songs. I don't know much more than that 'cause I haven't really looked it up (lazy). I'm sure you can, though. Frankly, this is one of the coolest social/media related concepts I've seen... ever. I was reminded of it 'cus I just found a way to play Stand By Me on my guitar while I was fuckin' around today. Cool, huh? Here's some Bob for ya...
Some Black Keys you probably never heard
...Cause I hadn't before today. Apparently now that they're popular, people have been hunting down obscure B-sides and stuff from the earlier days. And there's a live show at Abbey Rd. that I somehow missed... I love all the Black Keys' stuff, but damn I miss classic 'Keys. Safe to say finding this stuff made my day.
...Which reminds me
OK, so you know that channel full of awesome TBK i gave you back there? Well... I can nail down at least two awesome people you've probably never heard out of those covers. First, Something On Your Mind is by Karen Dalton. She was not a recording artist (I doubt she really had any input into her final product frankly), so all her records sound kinda weird and hard to get used to. Here is the most accessible track of hers I've found (see? not a studio recording...). I also play a pretty decent rendition of this tune... if you come see me play sometime, you just might hear it.
Second, Goin' Down South is by a badass old bluesman by the name of R.L. Burnside. Burnside was by all accounts kind of an asshole, but a brilliant delta bluesman. The story about him that stands out most for me is about him going to jail for killing a guy (I think the dude banged his wife or something). Burnside's famous commentary on the situation was "I didn't mean to kill him. I just meant to shoot the motherfucker in the head... him dying was between him and God". Incidentally, Burnside spent less than a year in jail. The local plantation owner got him pardoned because he needed Burnside to help with the next harvest.
Sugarmama!
Remember when I told you about my plan to find a sexy sugar mama? Well learning this song is part of my plan...
All that R.L. and John Lee has me wanting to do some electrical type stuff (I'm thinking if I could pull together a sweet rhythmic electrical set it might broaden my gigging horizons too...). Too bad my electric guitar is a piece and my amp is roughly the size of a breadbox, huh? My artistic life could use a goodly infusion of cash, fo' sho'. And sex. Come ooooon, SUGAR MAMA!
Soul!
... is a genre I'm enjoying more and more. I bet most of you didn't look him up last time I linked you (shame!), so here is your booster shot of Aloe Blacc.
And I realized I never showed you any Eli 'Paperboy' Reed. Can't imagine why... white boy's got soul!
Frenchy!
Nouvelle Vague is a french band. This is my favorite song of theirs (an original). It's a little bit of a diversion from their normal schtick. You know how a lot of punk bands do mainstream songs, but sped up and rougher? Well... Nouvelle Vague does it backwards! (Guns Of Brixton is originally a Clash song, I believe).
Here's another cute french chick band- April March. You may know this tune in it's english version as the end credit song for Death Proof. I think it's more fun in french though.
Speaking of Death Proof
...here's another sweet oldie handpicked by Quentin Tarantino. It's in the lap dance scene that's was cut from the theatrical version. Quentin picks some pretty sweet jams for his movies. hadn't listened to that last one in a long time.
As my blog goes on, I start to forget what music I put up already, and sometimes I miss it when I look back over my posts. My apologies (I think I already mentioned Burnside and Dalton after all...). But for the life of me, I can't find any Martina Topley Bird. Since she's one of my favorites I have a hard time believing I didn't put her up already, but... oh well. If you heard it before, listen again! Here's my two favorites:
...and a bonus- the track that introduced me to her. I found it on a video game called Indigo Prophecy several years back, if you're interested.
Well, it's late (early), and Martina's making me snoozy, so there's your music selection for the night. Check back soon... hopefully there will be some of MY recordings 'fore long!
Keep on keepin' on, people.
-Mojoe
P.S. Shout out! Hi, Miela. Hope this keeps you busy over there in the land of 'roos and koalas for awhile...
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Lost and found
Well, this should officially wrap up the travel section of my blog for awhile. I arrived home, safe and sound, on the 15th. I've been chilling out and trying to readapt to stationary life since. I've noticed that anytime I travel for awhile and come home, things maintain a sort of fuzzy sense of unreality for awhile.
The drive to CO was relatively uneventful. We did the "hell ride" as my uncle calls it, 33 hours only stopping for gas and a sandwich. We split the driving (I drove a bit less than half), the alternate crashing out in the back seat when off the clock. I have to say, I was rather impressed at my own endurance, considering I hadn't so much as driven around the block in almost a month and a half. The train ride was boring... but mercifully short (12 hours).
Summary
Well... I guess this would be the point where I tell you what I learned, and all that. Unfortunately, that would be easier if the trip had been more defined. But that's not really where my whole life has been lately. I'd have to say that most of the important things that happened to me while I was gone are the kind of things we don't talk about. Not because they're secret, exactly, but because nobody else would understand. Based on a lifetime of accumulated personal observation, these are the subtle truths that sound stupid, crazy, or both, if spoken aloud. Maybe someday when my internal life is less chaotic I will have better stories to share... but for now, my adventures exist mostly in my own mind.
As you probably know, this trip was undertaken partly (primarily even) in search of some answers. Initially, I would have said that I didn't get the answers I was looking for. But, really, I think the deeper issue here is trust. I think I had those answers before I left, and still haven't learned to trust them in the face of the crosswise nature of my reality right now. I mostly know where I'm headed, but everything seems backwards right now, and something's gotta break before I can move. I'm starting to think that something may be the element of self-trust itself. Where I want to go from here will require a great deal of personal security, probably more than most people lay claim to, and it seems I will have to give myself that before the tipping point is reached. Contrary to popular belief, the only way to find trust is to create it yourself. See? I'm already starting to sound crazy...
So, no big overview to share. I ate a lot of tasty food, hung out with many friends and loved ones, and traveled many many miles. I am still as much at a loss as when I left, but I'm starting to think that's my own fault. But today I wrote a song. I like it... catchy melody, cool break, nice words. I'd maybe even share it on youtube, but you know... the camera thing. But I'll do the next best thing and give you the lyrics. It's kind of a traveling song, I guess. I've had the title for about a year (it's slated to be the title track on my first album), but I just haven't been able to find the song 'til now. Funny, how that works. Anyway, here you go...
Lost and Found
Passing trains
And awkward waiting lines
And the lights of this city, so much like the others, with its
Distant passing smiles
Gone in such a hurry, sheltered high
On every side, by buildings tall
So loved by the gods, for a laugh
All scattered round
Lost and found
Forgotten names
Spaces shared awhile
By these handshake strangers
Waiting for a chance to be known
Again, united in
A common cause of motion, and the
Sway, blacktop or the rails or the
Swelling sea, like the motion of the lovers we have found
Picked up, let down
Lost and found
If I had the time
I'd go back, and dig
These seeds from my mind
Bright flowers, scattered round
Choking the ground
But for now
My fingers love the sound
Of "lost and found"
If I had the time
I'd go back and find
A place to call mine
And I'd find these eyes
Never turned from mine
But my heart
Still swells to the sound
Of "lost and found"
Going home
White station lights
Or the singing of the blacktop
Hoping that the next stop brings us rest
Sleep, companions for the road ahead
"ladies and gentlemen, stand back, the doors are opening..."
The sway, the swell
The loving road beneath
Riding that line between the times
And the sound
Of "lost and found"
Those who have never attempted it may not believe this, but songwriting is not a process of contrivance. That is to say, I don't "think up" the things I write. The experience is much less like planning a building than like tuning in a static- filled radio. Consequently, you never really know what you've got 'til you hear it for yourself. When it was finished, I noticed it shares a certain musical attitude with this song, which I will leave you with.
Later!
-Mojoe
The drive to CO was relatively uneventful. We did the "hell ride" as my uncle calls it, 33 hours only stopping for gas and a sandwich. We split the driving (I drove a bit less than half), the alternate crashing out in the back seat when off the clock. I have to say, I was rather impressed at my own endurance, considering I hadn't so much as driven around the block in almost a month and a half. The train ride was boring... but mercifully short (12 hours).
Summary
Well... I guess this would be the point where I tell you what I learned, and all that. Unfortunately, that would be easier if the trip had been more defined. But that's not really where my whole life has been lately. I'd have to say that most of the important things that happened to me while I was gone are the kind of things we don't talk about. Not because they're secret, exactly, but because nobody else would understand. Based on a lifetime of accumulated personal observation, these are the subtle truths that sound stupid, crazy, or both, if spoken aloud. Maybe someday when my internal life is less chaotic I will have better stories to share... but for now, my adventures exist mostly in my own mind.
As you probably know, this trip was undertaken partly (primarily even) in search of some answers. Initially, I would have said that I didn't get the answers I was looking for. But, really, I think the deeper issue here is trust. I think I had those answers before I left, and still haven't learned to trust them in the face of the crosswise nature of my reality right now. I mostly know where I'm headed, but everything seems backwards right now, and something's gotta break before I can move. I'm starting to think that something may be the element of self-trust itself. Where I want to go from here will require a great deal of personal security, probably more than most people lay claim to, and it seems I will have to give myself that before the tipping point is reached. Contrary to popular belief, the only way to find trust is to create it yourself. See? I'm already starting to sound crazy...
So, no big overview to share. I ate a lot of tasty food, hung out with many friends and loved ones, and traveled many many miles. I am still as much at a loss as when I left, but I'm starting to think that's my own fault. But today I wrote a song. I like it... catchy melody, cool break, nice words. I'd maybe even share it on youtube, but you know... the camera thing. But I'll do the next best thing and give you the lyrics. It's kind of a traveling song, I guess. I've had the title for about a year (it's slated to be the title track on my first album), but I just haven't been able to find the song 'til now. Funny, how that works. Anyway, here you go...
Lost and Found
Passing trains
And awkward waiting lines
And the lights of this city, so much like the others, with its
Distant passing smiles
Gone in such a hurry, sheltered high
On every side, by buildings tall
So loved by the gods, for a laugh
All scattered round
Lost and found
Forgotten names
Spaces shared awhile
By these handshake strangers
Waiting for a chance to be known
Again, united in
A common cause of motion, and the
Sway, blacktop or the rails or the
Swelling sea, like the motion of the lovers we have found
Picked up, let down
Lost and found
If I had the time
I'd go back, and dig
These seeds from my mind
Bright flowers, scattered round
Choking the ground
But for now
My fingers love the sound
Of "lost and found"
If I had the time
I'd go back and find
A place to call mine
And I'd find these eyes
Never turned from mine
But my heart
Still swells to the sound
Of "lost and found"
Going home
White station lights
Or the singing of the blacktop
Hoping that the next stop brings us rest
Sleep, companions for the road ahead
"ladies and gentlemen, stand back, the doors are opening..."
The sway, the swell
The loving road beneath
Riding that line between the times
And the sound
Of "lost and found"
Those who have never attempted it may not believe this, but songwriting is not a process of contrivance. That is to say, I don't "think up" the things I write. The experience is much less like planning a building than like tuning in a static- filled radio. Consequently, you never really know what you've got 'til you hear it for yourself. When it was finished, I noticed it shares a certain musical attitude with this song, which I will leave you with.
Later!
-Mojoe
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Trains and whales and witches... oh my!
Greetings from Gloucester, MA.
Well, my trip to New England went fine, if somewhat slowly. I spent a half hour sitting in a car in downtown Crystal Falls with my mom at 1 a.m. to catch the Indian Trails (local bus line in lieu of Greyhound) bus. Crystal is a small enough (or backwards enough- take your pick) town to lack a bus stop. To catch the bus, you wait eagerly at the busiest Main St. intersection, and flag the Greyhound down when you see it. Quaint, no?
It probably goes without mentioning that I forgot something else important. This time I left my rail pass (the one that reads "must be presented to obtain tickets" or some such) on the desk in my mom's cabin. I remembered this approximately 2 minutes after boarding the bus. Since I had to pick up my tix in Milwaukee, and judging from the previously "pretty German" (as my uncle puts it) attitude of the amtrak establishment, this could have been a big problem. I could quite reasonably freaked out about it, since Milwaukee would be a shitty place to get stranded. But, rapidly improving at my zen traveler mindset, I took the "nothing I can do now" mindset, and went to sleep instead. I'm really starting to rock socks at this traveling thing, people.
I spent the next 8 hours, as bus passengers do, drifting in and out of consciousness. We stopped for an hour in Escanaba to switch buses, so I got to sit in the bus station for an hour and observe the mundane goings on through a film of semi-waking consciousness. This brought a singular revelation; all bus drivers in the U.P. look identical. No shit. Same height, same weight (male yoopers in general are of that particular beer-induced body type that makes them look, for all the world, like they're pregnant) Same voice, same haircut, same fungible Flanders-esque mustache. Of the 3 or 4 bus drivers I saw in Escanaba, the only differences were, one had brown hair, and one lacked the mandatory surly demeanor. Swear to God.
So, I made it to Milwaukee. Exhausted, I stumbled to the ticket counter where I was actually treated kindly. Either taking pity on my wearied countenance and dehydrated voice, or just because she was nice, the ticket lady used a couple quick keystrokes to circumvent my need for a rail pass, and handed off my tickets, noting that I was free to use my ticket to travel on any Chicago-bound train throughout the day. No problemo. This reinforces my belief that obnoxious corporations are mostly built on the backs of generally decent people.
So, I spent that day killing time. As my train out of Chicago didn't leave 'til 9:30 p.m., I had some time on my hands. I got good and sweaty hiking around Milwaukee for awhile. My final judgement on Milwaukee was, aside from a couple cool old buildings... boring. So I took off to Chicago, grabbed a too-short nap on the train, and got good and sweaty wandering around there instead. My assessment of chicago... also boring. I'm getting pretty used to carrying a backpack and a guitar around, but I suspect my pack is not a good fit. Either that, or I'm using it wrong. Either way, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be experiencing sharp nerve pains through my upper shoulder when I wear it for more than 5 minutes. Oh, well.
I ended up in the Chicago train station with a book for about 3 hours. I must say, the Chicago train station is about as bleak and shitty as they get. Utilitarian, dirty, busy, disorganized... you name it. Fuck Chicago... I kinda knew we wouldn't get along. The conductor lady was also a piece of work. One of those "sassy black women". Effectively, she gets by on an attitude that's alternately charming and offensive, depending on whether or nor she's getting what she wants. She sat me in the wrong car (they only open the applicable car doors when they stop, so that's actually important to the conductor), and when she realized her mistake, sat me in the only one she had left- one with a wall instead of a window. Somehow she seemed to feel this was my own fault. Whatever. At least I got to sit next to a pretty (if not too chatty) Bulgarian girl, instead of a fat Texan or something.
She was a nice enough travel companion, but really hammered in a disturbing trend I've been noticing. Girls my age (esp. ones I find attractive) are always apologizing to me. For no reason. ALWAYS. As in "sorry... my blanket's all over the place" "sorry, I know my job's cliché" or inexplicably apologizing every time she moved her legs so I could get up. Are girls in my generation really this insecure? Do I only find insecure girls attractive? Is there something in my demeanor that compels girls to apologize to me? Is it perhaps even some bizarre expression of attraction? If the last is so, I do not find that flirtatious, Sam I Am. Seriously, what the fuck is it?? If you have a theory, spit it out...
Blah blah, train, blah blah, sink bath (they're even harder with the "push up to activate" sinks- I'd love to hang the bastard who invented those). Blah blah Boston, blah blah funny accents, blah blah swearing. Blah blah "Good Will Hunting". Blah blah commuter train to Gloucester, blah blah pickup at midnight, blah blah safe and sound.
Whaleses!
So, I did the quintessential Gloucester tourist thing, and went on a whale watch. Basically, you climb on a big boat, they tote you out about 30 miles to sea (2 hours or so) and you look for any big sea creatures that might happen to swing by. It's kinda like a photo safari, but on the ocean. One of the attractions is, there's no walls, no fish-finder action (all they do is take you to likely spots), and certainly no goofy animal trainers. You're going to see them in uncontrolled conditions. This has the dual attraction of "untamed nature", and of the unknown (particularly whether you will actually see any friggin' whales). I've been informed by my aunt that more than one visitor has been burned on this latter account.
Luckily, this wasn't a problem for me. I saw a veritable fuckton of humpbacks, and a shark for good measure. We came upon a very active feeding ground. We watched over a dozen whales (possibly more than 20) within a relatively tiny patch of ocean (they were basically right next to the boat) scare up a fishy meal, both by slapping the water with their tails, and corralling schools of fish with circles of bubbles. This went on for about half an hour before we had to motorize on home, taking extra special care not to run over any whales on our way out of the feeding ground. It was pretty cool.
I couldn't take pictures. But I asked a nice young woman with a telephoto-lensed camera who stood next to me if she would e-mail me some pics. So if she gets around to it, I will share them then. Also, I was informed later that the shark we saw on the way home was toothless. Apparently the sharks around here are plankton feeders. That was kind of a boner-killer. What kind of self-respecting shark eats fucking PLANKTON?
I will also note how cool it was being on the sea. This was my first time on a legit boat ride, like... where you can't see land anymore. I found the motion of the sea, far from the nauseating experience some people seem to get, quite wonderful. To me, it felt like love. From the rocking of a cradle, throughout the arts (especially musical, like singing and dancing), and of course in the love-making of adulthood, that ever present swell and fall feels like the undercurrent of everything heart-based I've done in my life. I can only surmise that those who find it nauseating must have some serious troubles navigating the seas of emotion as well. Anyway, I'm thinking maybe I should move a little closer to the water.
Witches!
Also, today, I did the other touristey thing and went to Salem. You know... with the witches and all? That was pretty cool. I was amused that the town that's best known for prosecuting witches back in the day, is now a veritable shrine to witchcraft. Albeit a pretty touristey one. I must have passed a solid dozen "witch museums", along with countless witch-related storefronts.
I, however, eschewed the sensational, and instead spent the day at the Peabody-Essex museum. I'm not much of a museum guy, but it was pretty friggin' cool. It's a 3 floor museum, and it's pretty jam-packed. They have a lot of old sian art (I guess Salem was a big stop on the asian import route)-everything from sculptures to paintings to furniture. They also have a lot of old colonial type stuff, including a well-chosen selection of maritime artifacts, and a crapload of old china and silver. On the top floor I saw an exhibit on Man Ray and Lee Miller, a surrealist dream team who had a rocky romantic relationship for a couple years, but remained good friends for life. It was pretty cool, but a little sad, since they had a lot of art and some really (overly) personal letters on display relating to their break up. That theme always tugs my heartstrings a little, I guess.
This Amtrak deal is the most regularly I've been fucked in some time...
...and that's sad on multiple levels. New Orleans, sadly, is out. Booked up. After this discovery, I decided to cough up another 66 bucks extra and go see my aunt in Omaha on the way home (esp. since the first available ticket back to alb. from Boston leaves on the 16th). But, as it turns out, she's too busy for guests right now. So, I've opted to eschew the entire fucking rail system clusterfuck, and drive back to CO with my uncle Paul, who just happens to be up here on family business. I will then leave Denver by bus at the ungodly hour of 5:35 a.m., and be home in time for dinner (and probably a 24-hour sleep marathon in my own fucking bed!). Plans are finalized, I'll enjoy my last couple days in MA (hopefully I can get some more loblob in my tummy before I go) and hopefully everything goes smoothly from here. I will likely not find an excuse to blog again before I get home, so this may well be the penultimate travel entry (!!!!). It's been fun, y'all, every step of the way ...even all the bitching was mostly just to enhance the dramatic value... but I'm ready to be home.
Wish me luck.
-Mojoe
P.S. did you think I forgot to leave you a song? Silly rabbit... here's some Billie:
I will probably learn to play this one. I especially like the "some like me" verse at the end... I really wanna sing that verse.
And here's a sad, sad song my brother turned me onto when we were hangin out ( I gotta say, he got a pretty good line on my musical preferences just from listening to me for a couple hours).
Well, my trip to New England went fine, if somewhat slowly. I spent a half hour sitting in a car in downtown Crystal Falls with my mom at 1 a.m. to catch the Indian Trails (local bus line in lieu of Greyhound) bus. Crystal is a small enough (or backwards enough- take your pick) town to lack a bus stop. To catch the bus, you wait eagerly at the busiest Main St. intersection, and flag the Greyhound down when you see it. Quaint, no?
It probably goes without mentioning that I forgot something else important. This time I left my rail pass (the one that reads "must be presented to obtain tickets" or some such) on the desk in my mom's cabin. I remembered this approximately 2 minutes after boarding the bus. Since I had to pick up my tix in Milwaukee, and judging from the previously "pretty German" (as my uncle puts it) attitude of the amtrak establishment, this could have been a big problem. I could quite reasonably freaked out about it, since Milwaukee would be a shitty place to get stranded. But, rapidly improving at my zen traveler mindset, I took the "nothing I can do now" mindset, and went to sleep instead. I'm really starting to rock socks at this traveling thing, people.
I spent the next 8 hours, as bus passengers do, drifting in and out of consciousness. We stopped for an hour in Escanaba to switch buses, so I got to sit in the bus station for an hour and observe the mundane goings on through a film of semi-waking consciousness. This brought a singular revelation; all bus drivers in the U.P. look identical. No shit. Same height, same weight (male yoopers in general are of that particular beer-induced body type that makes them look, for all the world, like they're pregnant) Same voice, same haircut, same fungible Flanders-esque mustache. Of the 3 or 4 bus drivers I saw in Escanaba, the only differences were, one had brown hair, and one lacked the mandatory surly demeanor. Swear to God.
So, I made it to Milwaukee. Exhausted, I stumbled to the ticket counter where I was actually treated kindly. Either taking pity on my wearied countenance and dehydrated voice, or just because she was nice, the ticket lady used a couple quick keystrokes to circumvent my need for a rail pass, and handed off my tickets, noting that I was free to use my ticket to travel on any Chicago-bound train throughout the day. No problemo. This reinforces my belief that obnoxious corporations are mostly built on the backs of generally decent people.
So, I spent that day killing time. As my train out of Chicago didn't leave 'til 9:30 p.m., I had some time on my hands. I got good and sweaty hiking around Milwaukee for awhile. My final judgement on Milwaukee was, aside from a couple cool old buildings... boring. So I took off to Chicago, grabbed a too-short nap on the train, and got good and sweaty wandering around there instead. My assessment of chicago... also boring. I'm getting pretty used to carrying a backpack and a guitar around, but I suspect my pack is not a good fit. Either that, or I'm using it wrong. Either way, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be experiencing sharp nerve pains through my upper shoulder when I wear it for more than 5 minutes. Oh, well.
I ended up in the Chicago train station with a book for about 3 hours. I must say, the Chicago train station is about as bleak and shitty as they get. Utilitarian, dirty, busy, disorganized... you name it. Fuck Chicago... I kinda knew we wouldn't get along. The conductor lady was also a piece of work. One of those "sassy black women". Effectively, she gets by on an attitude that's alternately charming and offensive, depending on whether or nor she's getting what she wants. She sat me in the wrong car (they only open the applicable car doors when they stop, so that's actually important to the conductor), and when she realized her mistake, sat me in the only one she had left- one with a wall instead of a window. Somehow she seemed to feel this was my own fault. Whatever. At least I got to sit next to a pretty (if not too chatty) Bulgarian girl, instead of a fat Texan or something.
She was a nice enough travel companion, but really hammered in a disturbing trend I've been noticing. Girls my age (esp. ones I find attractive) are always apologizing to me. For no reason. ALWAYS. As in "sorry... my blanket's all over the place" "sorry, I know my job's cliché" or inexplicably apologizing every time she moved her legs so I could get up. Are girls in my generation really this insecure? Do I only find insecure girls attractive? Is there something in my demeanor that compels girls to apologize to me? Is it perhaps even some bizarre expression of attraction? If the last is so, I do not find that flirtatious, Sam I Am. Seriously, what the fuck is it?? If you have a theory, spit it out...
Blah blah, train, blah blah, sink bath (they're even harder with the "push up to activate" sinks- I'd love to hang the bastard who invented those). Blah blah Boston, blah blah funny accents, blah blah swearing. Blah blah "Good Will Hunting". Blah blah commuter train to Gloucester, blah blah pickup at midnight, blah blah safe and sound.
Whaleses!
So, I did the quintessential Gloucester tourist thing, and went on a whale watch. Basically, you climb on a big boat, they tote you out about 30 miles to sea (2 hours or so) and you look for any big sea creatures that might happen to swing by. It's kinda like a photo safari, but on the ocean. One of the attractions is, there's no walls, no fish-finder action (all they do is take you to likely spots), and certainly no goofy animal trainers. You're going to see them in uncontrolled conditions. This has the dual attraction of "untamed nature", and of the unknown (particularly whether you will actually see any friggin' whales). I've been informed by my aunt that more than one visitor has been burned on this latter account.
Luckily, this wasn't a problem for me. I saw a veritable fuckton of humpbacks, and a shark for good measure. We came upon a very active feeding ground. We watched over a dozen whales (possibly more than 20) within a relatively tiny patch of ocean (they were basically right next to the boat) scare up a fishy meal, both by slapping the water with their tails, and corralling schools of fish with circles of bubbles. This went on for about half an hour before we had to motorize on home, taking extra special care not to run over any whales on our way out of the feeding ground. It was pretty cool.
I couldn't take pictures. But I asked a nice young woman with a telephoto-lensed camera who stood next to me if she would e-mail me some pics. So if she gets around to it, I will share them then. Also, I was informed later that the shark we saw on the way home was toothless. Apparently the sharks around here are plankton feeders. That was kind of a boner-killer. What kind of self-respecting shark eats fucking PLANKTON?
I will also note how cool it was being on the sea. This was my first time on a legit boat ride, like... where you can't see land anymore. I found the motion of the sea, far from the nauseating experience some people seem to get, quite wonderful. To me, it felt like love. From the rocking of a cradle, throughout the arts (especially musical, like singing and dancing), and of course in the love-making of adulthood, that ever present swell and fall feels like the undercurrent of everything heart-based I've done in my life. I can only surmise that those who find it nauseating must have some serious troubles navigating the seas of emotion as well. Anyway, I'm thinking maybe I should move a little closer to the water.
Witches!
Also, today, I did the other touristey thing and went to Salem. You know... with the witches and all? That was pretty cool. I was amused that the town that's best known for prosecuting witches back in the day, is now a veritable shrine to witchcraft. Albeit a pretty touristey one. I must have passed a solid dozen "witch museums", along with countless witch-related storefronts.
I, however, eschewed the sensational, and instead spent the day at the Peabody-Essex museum. I'm not much of a museum guy, but it was pretty friggin' cool. It's a 3 floor museum, and it's pretty jam-packed. They have a lot of old sian art (I guess Salem was a big stop on the asian import route)-everything from sculptures to paintings to furniture. They also have a lot of old colonial type stuff, including a well-chosen selection of maritime artifacts, and a crapload of old china and silver. On the top floor I saw an exhibit on Man Ray and Lee Miller, a surrealist dream team who had a rocky romantic relationship for a couple years, but remained good friends for life. It was pretty cool, but a little sad, since they had a lot of art and some really (overly) personal letters on display relating to their break up. That theme always tugs my heartstrings a little, I guess.
This Amtrak deal is the most regularly I've been fucked in some time...
...and that's sad on multiple levels. New Orleans, sadly, is out. Booked up. After this discovery, I decided to cough up another 66 bucks extra and go see my aunt in Omaha on the way home (esp. since the first available ticket back to alb. from Boston leaves on the 16th). But, as it turns out, she's too busy for guests right now. So, I've opted to eschew the entire fucking rail system clusterfuck, and drive back to CO with my uncle Paul, who just happens to be up here on family business. I will then leave Denver by bus at the ungodly hour of 5:35 a.m., and be home in time for dinner (and probably a 24-hour sleep marathon in my own fucking bed!). Plans are finalized, I'll enjoy my last couple days in MA (hopefully I can get some more loblob in my tummy before I go) and hopefully everything goes smoothly from here. I will likely not find an excuse to blog again before I get home, so this may well be the penultimate travel entry (!!!!). It's been fun, y'all, every step of the way ...even all the bitching was mostly just to enhance the dramatic value... but I'm ready to be home.
Wish me luck.
-Mojoe
P.S. did you think I forgot to leave you a song? Silly rabbit... here's some Billie:
I will probably learn to play this one. I especially like the "some like me" verse at the end... I really wanna sing that verse.
And here's a sad, sad song my brother turned me onto when we were hangin out ( I gotta say, he got a pretty good line on my musical preferences just from listening to me for a couple hours).
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
WTF is a Yooper?
I'll answer that in a second. Predictably, it's been awhile since my last post- and the last one wasn't even a full update. Since Portland, I've been to WA and MI. I leave MI tonight, striking out for Gloucester, MA. Since I've mostly just been hanging out with family and whatnot, I should be able to bring you up to speed pretty quickly before I leave.
Washington
So when I left Portland, I went to Washington. I have a friend who lives in Port Orchard, so I rolled into Tacoma. It was the work of but a few hours to get there, and the train was on time for a fucking wonder. That was nice, but it didn't make up for what happened next. Remember the "foreshadowing" thing? Yeah... so about halfway to Port Orchard I realized I left my fucking camera on the train. That's right, I took my brand new 300 dollar Nikon out of my backpack with the intention of being a good little tourist and taking some pictures for you, got bored (turns out everything looks pretty much the same from a train window), fell asleep, woke up for my stop, and completely forgot the fucker. FUCK!
I called Amtrak, gave them my seat number and everything, and was told they'd look for it, and call me if they found it. I called them back a couple times, but no go so far. I'm thinking it's gone. I feel like I should say I've been kicking myself ever since, but it's not really true. As much as that sucks, it was an honest mistake, and I'm too Taoist to waste a lot of time over spilled milk. Frankly, as much as I had designs for a youtube channel and all that, I've lived without a camera for 21 years- if I really need one in the future, I guess I'll find a way to get one. The only thing that really still stings is that it was a gift. I always have a harder time letting go of things someone got me out of the goodness of their hearts than shit I got for myself. Funny, huh?
The rest of WA was fairly uneventful. I hung out with my friend for a couple days (one full day and two halves in fact). I had some tasty food, fucked around in Seattle for awhile, did some redneck target practice (20 gauge shotgun + old microwave in the back yard). I rode the ferry across to Seattle, where I jammed with a hobo, and hopped on my 48-hour train ride (plus 5 hour layover in Milwaukee, and 9 hour bus ride) to Crystal Falls, MI.
Yoopers!
So, what's a Yooper? Well, Michigan is divided into 2 parts. There's Lower Michigan, which is where all the stuff you know about (Detroit) is, and then there's another part- separated from the rest of the state by a large portion of lake Michigan (it's a big-ass lake). This little bit at the top is inhabited mostly by descendants of immigrants from super cold places like Finland (lots of the towns have street names that are mostly in Finnish). They are generally poor by today's standards, and have silly accents much like a watered-down version of the Minnesotan/Dakotan accents in Fargo.This area is referred to as the Upper Peninsula- U.P. for short. From there, especially with the accents here, it's a short step to calling all the natives here Yoopers. So now you know, and when I wear my Yooper Chopper Co. shirt with the picture of a chainsaw on it, you don't have to ask.
The reason I'm here is I have family here. My Grandfather has lived here for years and years, so has my Great-Great Aunt, and my Mom moved here a year or so ago when life in California didn't pan out. My trip coincided (purposely) with my brother/sister-in-law/nephew's visit, so mostly what I've been doing for the last week or so is hang out with my family. Consequent to that, I have very little to report. Most of the newsworthy info is as follows:
-I played at a bar in a town @ an hour away- Bennet's Roadhouse Saloon. I was well received there, and the owner (a very nice guy) filmed and posted my House Of The Rising Sun. The sound quality's a little iffy, but it's certainly nice to get outside promotion!
-One of my most impressed audience members was my brother, Dave, who took pains to inform me that it "wasn't just because he's my brother". That was the first time he had seen me perform, and he was apparently taken enough that he wants to try and help me orchestrate a little southern tour sometime soon, having made connects in the Virginia/Carolina area for some years. As the original family pro (he trained as a concert pianist for years, til his second year of college, when he decided a Classics major was more his style- he has his doctorate in that now), among other things, that recognition really means a lot to me.
-Dave, having taken up distance running in the last few years, also ran a trail marathon while he was here (made 3:50 or so, I might add). In a fit of brotherly love, he decided to dedicate it to me. That almost made me cry.
-I played another gig at an awesome venue called the Honey House. It's owned by beekeepers. They bought an abandoned church- that's where I played. Except for the shitty sound equipment ( i borrowed 2 practice amps-one turned out to be a bass amp- and a lousy microphone from my mom's friends), it was pretty awesome. I've always wanted to play in a church... and I'd like to again. Also, they are trying to start a meadery via a Kickstarter project. Everyone likes delicious honey wine (especially me), so kick them some money if you can. If you do, I'll buy you a bottle when I get rich and famous.
-I ate lots of tasty food and had lots of fun
-Amtrak apparently only lets us privileged rail pass customers get our tickets physically AT the station, and since the nearest station is in MILWAUKEE, they effectively bussed me up here and left me high and dry. I had to pay for a bus ticket out of my own pocket (70 bucks) to get me back down. This brings my ticket expenses, on top of the $750 pass that was supposed to keep my ass covered, up to about $200. Not to mention the 300 dollar camera they couldn't find, even though I gave them its exact location before the train even stopped again. Fuck you, Amtrak, I hope you die.
Anyway, that's about it for now. I roll out by bus at 1 a.m. tonight, and should get into Boston at @ 9 on the 5th. keep your fingers crossed that it's not in too late, as I have to catch a train to North Station, then to Gloucester after that, all before they finish running for the night.
Here's a song I like.
Bye!
-Mojoe
Washington
So when I left Portland, I went to Washington. I have a friend who lives in Port Orchard, so I rolled into Tacoma. It was the work of but a few hours to get there, and the train was on time for a fucking wonder. That was nice, but it didn't make up for what happened next. Remember the "foreshadowing" thing? Yeah... so about halfway to Port Orchard I realized I left my fucking camera on the train. That's right, I took my brand new 300 dollar Nikon out of my backpack with the intention of being a good little tourist and taking some pictures for you, got bored (turns out everything looks pretty much the same from a train window), fell asleep, woke up for my stop, and completely forgot the fucker. FUCK!
I called Amtrak, gave them my seat number and everything, and was told they'd look for it, and call me if they found it. I called them back a couple times, but no go so far. I'm thinking it's gone. I feel like I should say I've been kicking myself ever since, but it's not really true. As much as that sucks, it was an honest mistake, and I'm too Taoist to waste a lot of time over spilled milk. Frankly, as much as I had designs for a youtube channel and all that, I've lived without a camera for 21 years- if I really need one in the future, I guess I'll find a way to get one. The only thing that really still stings is that it was a gift. I always have a harder time letting go of things someone got me out of the goodness of their hearts than shit I got for myself. Funny, huh?
The rest of WA was fairly uneventful. I hung out with my friend for a couple days (one full day and two halves in fact). I had some tasty food, fucked around in Seattle for awhile, did some redneck target practice (20 gauge shotgun + old microwave in the back yard). I rode the ferry across to Seattle, where I jammed with a hobo, and hopped on my 48-hour train ride (plus 5 hour layover in Milwaukee, and 9 hour bus ride) to Crystal Falls, MI.
Yoopers!
So, what's a Yooper? Well, Michigan is divided into 2 parts. There's Lower Michigan, which is where all the stuff you know about (Detroit) is, and then there's another part- separated from the rest of the state by a large portion of lake Michigan (it's a big-ass lake). This little bit at the top is inhabited mostly by descendants of immigrants from super cold places like Finland (lots of the towns have street names that are mostly in Finnish). They are generally poor by today's standards, and have silly accents much like a watered-down version of the Minnesotan/Dakotan accents in Fargo.This area is referred to as the Upper Peninsula- U.P. for short. From there, especially with the accents here, it's a short step to calling all the natives here Yoopers. So now you know, and when I wear my Yooper Chopper Co. shirt with the picture of a chainsaw on it, you don't have to ask.
The reason I'm here is I have family here. My Grandfather has lived here for years and years, so has my Great-Great Aunt, and my Mom moved here a year or so ago when life in California didn't pan out. My trip coincided (purposely) with my brother/sister-in-law/nephew's visit, so mostly what I've been doing for the last week or so is hang out with my family. Consequent to that, I have very little to report. Most of the newsworthy info is as follows:
-I played at a bar in a town @ an hour away- Bennet's Roadhouse Saloon. I was well received there, and the owner (a very nice guy) filmed and posted my House Of The Rising Sun. The sound quality's a little iffy, but it's certainly nice to get outside promotion!
-One of my most impressed audience members was my brother, Dave, who took pains to inform me that it "wasn't just because he's my brother". That was the first time he had seen me perform, and he was apparently taken enough that he wants to try and help me orchestrate a little southern tour sometime soon, having made connects in the Virginia/Carolina area for some years. As the original family pro (he trained as a concert pianist for years, til his second year of college, when he decided a Classics major was more his style- he has his doctorate in that now), among other things, that recognition really means a lot to me.
-Dave, having taken up distance running in the last few years, also ran a trail marathon while he was here (made 3:50 or so, I might add). In a fit of brotherly love, he decided to dedicate it to me. That almost made me cry.
-I played another gig at an awesome venue called the Honey House. It's owned by beekeepers. They bought an abandoned church- that's where I played. Except for the shitty sound equipment ( i borrowed 2 practice amps-one turned out to be a bass amp- and a lousy microphone from my mom's friends), it was pretty awesome. I've always wanted to play in a church... and I'd like to again. Also, they are trying to start a meadery via a Kickstarter project. Everyone likes delicious honey wine (especially me), so kick them some money if you can. If you do, I'll buy you a bottle when I get rich and famous.
-I ate lots of tasty food and had lots of fun
-Amtrak apparently only lets us privileged rail pass customers get our tickets physically AT the station, and since the nearest station is in MILWAUKEE, they effectively bussed me up here and left me high and dry. I had to pay for a bus ticket out of my own pocket (70 bucks) to get me back down. This brings my ticket expenses, on top of the $750 pass that was supposed to keep my ass covered, up to about $200. Not to mention the 300 dollar camera they couldn't find, even though I gave them its exact location before the train even stopped again. Fuck you, Amtrak, I hope you die.
Anyway, that's about it for now. I roll out by bus at 1 a.m. tonight, and should get into Boston at @ 9 on the 5th. keep your fingers crossed that it's not in too late, as I have to catch a train to North Station, then to Gloucester after that, all before they finish running for the night.
Here's a song I like.
Bye!
-Mojoe
Portlandia
Hullo, again!
I wrote this in a hurry, and my computer was gonna die right before I posted it, so I put it up, then took it down at the next waypoint of my journey, since I hadn't gotten the chance to edit it. It's been a minute since I've had a chance to write, so the news is a little dated, but hopefully I can catch up before too long. Sorry to all the confuzzled (I know there's at least one) loyal readers that read my post in the 24 hours before I took it down and wondered where it went.
Portlandia
Today I'm sitting in the Marquette, WI Amtrak/Greyhound station. It's 7:30 now, and the bus leaves at 10:00. This station has free wireless, so now seems like the perfect time to update you on my latest goings on.
Last time we spoke, I was stranded in an overpriced coffee shop in Portland. Feeling disheartened and miserly, I exercised my God-given right to bitch about my life. Howsomever, being as far into the Taoist way of life as I am, I don't think I was even as discouraged as I played myself to be. When you really start listening to it, that little voice in the back of your mind that urges you to keep going starts to be pretty reassuring. So here's the rest of the Portland story.
When I left the coffee shop, I started walking. I walked for the next five hours or so. First I went to the post office to (finally) offload the books I had been stupidly toting around. When I arrived at the post office, I was surprised to discover that the mailing office was closed (turns out it was Sunday. I did, however, find some provision for drop-boxing prepayed packages. Eager to be free of my burden, I purchased one by credit card and boxed up my shit. Pleased to dispose of my burden, I tossed it in the mailbox, bidding a not-so-fond sayanora. After the mail chute was closed, I noticed a cryptic label indicating that my package may be too weighty to travel by that means. This was reinforced by the box-contraption's failure to return to a ready position following the deposit- it seemed, in fact, to be locked closed. At this moment I realized that I had (as I am wont to do) forgotten to write a return address. Oh, joy. Go with God, little books... you may well be the second casualty from my poorly packed luggage.
*I will note that the books did indeed arrive at their destination some days before I did. So they weren't the second casualty... but I would gladly trade them for the 3d. The literary folks call this "foreshadowing"*
Increasingly flustered, I left the post office and repacked my knapsack. I decided my laptop bag was another unnecessarily bulky accoutrement, it's sole purpose to protect my laptop in an environ already reinforced. Left leaning against a tree in hopes that some hungry-hungry-hobo might find a use for it (that seemed more reasonable at the time), my laptop case became another companion fallen by the wayside. Load lightened, guided by a (poorly conceived) tourist map of Portland, I set off in search of the free streetcar I had heard so much about.
Brain... somewhere else, I promptly overshot the mark by a good 10 blocks. I walked back and hopped the streetcar, intending to ride it as far as I could for free, then proceed for what seemed a hop, skip and a jump to the southernmost bridge, which I would walk across. From there it would be, according to the map's heretofore unchallenged scale, another hop, etc., to Hawthorne Hostel at 30th and Hawthorne on the East side. Anyone who's actually been to Portland might be able to find a couple flaws in this.
According to plan, I disembarked and marched merrily down Moody, peepers peeled for the river. Suffice it to say, my map failed me. The bridge I intended to cross turned out to be a hundred or so feet over my head, and I had to return from whence I came- a 3 + mile detour, with (still heavy) backpack on, and guitar in hand. Oddly unperturbed, and in true bluesman fashion, I hiked along- footsore, guitar in hand, all my worldly possessions (for the moment) on my back. Setting out for the promised land of Southeast Portland.
Crossing the bridge (Hawthorne bridge-the only one that actually has a path across), I discovered the map (apparently intended only as a map of downtown) was not to scale. Pretty much the entirety of East Portland had been crammed into the sidelines. Somehow, I had suspected as much.
So, I hiked some more. Although tiring (did I mention I was wearing engineer boots?), this unexpected hike (it turned out to be about 6 miles and change from the streetcar) was rather a blessing. After a few sort of ghetto blocks (random Sunday-evening-shift stripper sitting on the sidewalk, entirely bottomless, smoking a cigarette, was rather a startling east-side greeting), I started to see what Sweete was talking about. Food carts, cute cafes, organic produce stores started popping up. The town began to show a sort of green indie charm. After being hailed by a random group of street musicians inquiring as to my wellbeing from across the street, my hope for the town was well on the rise.
I arrived at Hawthorne Hostel as the sun was setting. I was immediately greeted as a friend by four people standing in the kitchen. After dropping my things, I returned and a conversation started. Shortly thereafter, we were friends. A well-traveled feller who volunteered at the hostel instantly guided me and a fellow traveler to a good local restaurant, and proceeded to buy me a tasty venison burger and a delicious beer. These were greedily consumed over a discussion of hatch chile and posole- culinary affinities I never expected to discuss with anyone north of Arizona. The rest of the evening at the hostel was spent jamming (3 of the 4 people I fell in with are musicians) and talking about spiritual stuff. This interaction also brought me further into a newly discovered and embraced life role of mine- Spiritual Teacher. Definitely not a hat I was expecting to wear at the age of 21.
The next day was pretty mellow. Hanging out with new friends and returning to the West side in time to catch my train, where I grabbed some fucking delicious food cart food and arrived at the station, guided by Paul (the volunteer), who made the trip over just to see me off safe.
Overall, I would say the trip to Portland was indeed as important as I had projected. It's almost as difficult to explain why it mattered as it is to explain the whole Charlie Brown dynamic of mine and Sweete's relationship. But the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. Suffice it to say that (particularly in light of other people's attempts to help me that also mysteriously fell through-there were several) Sweete is still family, and Portland is still high on my list of potential new homes.
I had hoped to update you entirely on my travels, but my battery is in danger of dying, and I can't find an outlet. The Portland segment will have to do for now. The next update will fill in the rest of what I lost on the way to WA, just as soon as I'm nestled safely in MI tomorrow. I can't really think of a very original musical selection to leave you, so I will just give you a couple goodies I've been listening to on my 3-day trip to MI.
Jack Neilson was a late-great musician friend of my family. More on him some other time...
CCR!
Peace out!
-Mojoe
I wrote this in a hurry, and my computer was gonna die right before I posted it, so I put it up, then took it down at the next waypoint of my journey, since I hadn't gotten the chance to edit it. It's been a minute since I've had a chance to write, so the news is a little dated, but hopefully I can catch up before too long. Sorry to all the confuzzled (I know there's at least one) loyal readers that read my post in the 24 hours before I took it down and wondered where it went.
Portlandia
Today I'm sitting in the Marquette, WI Amtrak/Greyhound station. It's 7:30 now, and the bus leaves at 10:00. This station has free wireless, so now seems like the perfect time to update you on my latest goings on.
Last time we spoke, I was stranded in an overpriced coffee shop in Portland. Feeling disheartened and miserly, I exercised my God-given right to bitch about my life. Howsomever, being as far into the Taoist way of life as I am, I don't think I was even as discouraged as I played myself to be. When you really start listening to it, that little voice in the back of your mind that urges you to keep going starts to be pretty reassuring. So here's the rest of the Portland story.
When I left the coffee shop, I started walking. I walked for the next five hours or so. First I went to the post office to (finally) offload the books I had been stupidly toting around. When I arrived at the post office, I was surprised to discover that the mailing office was closed (turns out it was Sunday. I did, however, find some provision for drop-boxing prepayed packages. Eager to be free of my burden, I purchased one by credit card and boxed up my shit. Pleased to dispose of my burden, I tossed it in the mailbox, bidding a not-so-fond sayanora. After the mail chute was closed, I noticed a cryptic label indicating that my package may be too weighty to travel by that means. This was reinforced by the box-contraption's failure to return to a ready position following the deposit- it seemed, in fact, to be locked closed. At this moment I realized that I had (as I am wont to do) forgotten to write a return address. Oh, joy. Go with God, little books... you may well be the second casualty from my poorly packed luggage.
*I will note that the books did indeed arrive at their destination some days before I did. So they weren't the second casualty... but I would gladly trade them for the 3d. The literary folks call this "foreshadowing"*
Increasingly flustered, I left the post office and repacked my knapsack. I decided my laptop bag was another unnecessarily bulky accoutrement, it's sole purpose to protect my laptop in an environ already reinforced. Left leaning against a tree in hopes that some hungry-hungry-hobo might find a use for it (that seemed more reasonable at the time), my laptop case became another companion fallen by the wayside. Load lightened, guided by a (poorly conceived) tourist map of Portland, I set off in search of the free streetcar I had heard so much about.
Brain... somewhere else, I promptly overshot the mark by a good 10 blocks. I walked back and hopped the streetcar, intending to ride it as far as I could for free, then proceed for what seemed a hop, skip and a jump to the southernmost bridge, which I would walk across. From there it would be, according to the map's heretofore unchallenged scale, another hop, etc., to Hawthorne Hostel at 30th and Hawthorne on the East side. Anyone who's actually been to Portland might be able to find a couple flaws in this.
According to plan, I disembarked and marched merrily down Moody, peepers peeled for the river. Suffice it to say, my map failed me. The bridge I intended to cross turned out to be a hundred or so feet over my head, and I had to return from whence I came- a 3 + mile detour, with (still heavy) backpack on, and guitar in hand. Oddly unperturbed, and in true bluesman fashion, I hiked along- footsore, guitar in hand, all my worldly possessions (for the moment) on my back. Setting out for the promised land of Southeast Portland.
Crossing the bridge (Hawthorne bridge-the only one that actually has a path across), I discovered the map (apparently intended only as a map of downtown) was not to scale. Pretty much the entirety of East Portland had been crammed into the sidelines. Somehow, I had suspected as much.
So, I hiked some more. Although tiring (did I mention I was wearing engineer boots?), this unexpected hike (it turned out to be about 6 miles and change from the streetcar) was rather a blessing. After a few sort of ghetto blocks (random Sunday-evening-shift stripper sitting on the sidewalk, entirely bottomless, smoking a cigarette, was rather a startling east-side greeting), I started to see what Sweete was talking about. Food carts, cute cafes, organic produce stores started popping up. The town began to show a sort of green indie charm. After being hailed by a random group of street musicians inquiring as to my wellbeing from across the street, my hope for the town was well on the rise.
I arrived at Hawthorne Hostel as the sun was setting. I was immediately greeted as a friend by four people standing in the kitchen. After dropping my things, I returned and a conversation started. Shortly thereafter, we were friends. A well-traveled feller who volunteered at the hostel instantly guided me and a fellow traveler to a good local restaurant, and proceeded to buy me a tasty venison burger and a delicious beer. These were greedily consumed over a discussion of hatch chile and posole- culinary affinities I never expected to discuss with anyone north of Arizona. The rest of the evening at the hostel was spent jamming (3 of the 4 people I fell in with are musicians) and talking about spiritual stuff. This interaction also brought me further into a newly discovered and embraced life role of mine- Spiritual Teacher. Definitely not a hat I was expecting to wear at the age of 21.
The next day was pretty mellow. Hanging out with new friends and returning to the West side in time to catch my train, where I grabbed some fucking delicious food cart food and arrived at the station, guided by Paul (the volunteer), who made the trip over just to see me off safe.
Overall, I would say the trip to Portland was indeed as important as I had projected. It's almost as difficult to explain why it mattered as it is to explain the whole Charlie Brown dynamic of mine and Sweete's relationship. But the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. Suffice it to say that (particularly in light of other people's attempts to help me that also mysteriously fell through-there were several) Sweete is still family, and Portland is still high on my list of potential new homes.
I had hoped to update you entirely on my travels, but my battery is in danger of dying, and I can't find an outlet. The Portland segment will have to do for now. The next update will fill in the rest of what I lost on the way to WA, just as soon as I'm nestled safely in MI tomorrow. I can't really think of a very original musical selection to leave you, so I will just give you a couple goodies I've been listening to on my 3-day trip to MI.
Jack Neilson was a late-great musician friend of my family. More on him some other time...
CCR!
Peace out!
-Mojoe
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Denver, Frisco, and the Portland situation.
Welcome back. It's been awhile, no?
So, I haven't updated since Colorado. Trains are long, visits are busy (especially when you only have a couple days in a given place) and wi-fi is not as plentiful for a footloose wanderer as I had hoped. I was considering typing up a post on the train, but I seem to have worked myself into a space where I can't think of anything to say unless I am actually on my bloggy-page. Best theory is that, subconsciously, Microsoft Word is associated with dry, frustrating school papers (all I've ever really used it for) while my blogspot window is associated with free flowing conversation. Weird, huh?
Since my last post, I have traveled another 1800 miles (give or take), from Denver to San Francisco, then up the coast to Portland. Consequent to that, this post may be rather epic.
Denver
So I never went on that brewery tour. Nor did I get to check out the Mercury Café, an establishment recommended by my cousin. I was especially interested in the latter, since by all accounts it operates on an eclectic model I had sort of thought of as an idea of my own... you know... if I ever did the entrepreneurial thing.
However, I did get to play again. I went to the D Note, a pizzeria about a half hour away from my cousin's. There I ate delicious pizza (who'd have thought hummus would be a good pizza topping?) and, after a bunch of food and two delicious pints of Porter, got up and played. This time, the event was captured on film (thank you, uncle Paul). thus, I present to you the christening video of my Youtube channel. Overall, I like the way that turned out... I can see what people are on about with the eternal "you should articulate more" bullshit. As I suspected, it's not articulation, it's projection. But how would you express that if you were a musically clueless person who gives random advice to strange musicians? I'm working on that. I think I've just been jamming in people's living rooms so long I instinctively reign in my shit, even when I'm supposed to be performing. Oh, well, as a friend of mine is wont to say... "AFGO... Another Fucking Growth Opportunity...".
Anyway, I had fun. The DJ was awesome, as you can see. He made up a story to introduce every performer. Turns out he's a really good guesser.
The following day, I rolled out to the train station in the wee hours of the morning, loaded up with portable foodstuffs for my (as it turned out) 35-hour ride to Frisco (I forgot to ask if they really get pissed when you call it that).
Amtrak is ALWAYS late.
I rolled into Emeryville, CA about 2.5 hours after I was slated to (again). It's a really good thing I'm not in a hurry to get anywhere, 'cause apparently rail travel in the U.S. operates on a level of temporal incompetency that makes life in the Land of Mañana look positively punctual. I took a bus across the bay bridge to the Ferry Building
(not my picture)
I immediately experienced another transportational SNAFU, as I presumed my great aunt would be picking me up at the Amtrak building (brick building on the right) where I was dropped by the bus, as opposed to the actual ferry building... the giant thing next to it. My piece of shit Cricket phone chose this moment to stop accepting calls, only ringing after she had already left a message. The cell number she gave me turned out to be wrong. Through a series of frustrated voice messages, I was eventually clued in to her location, and managed to flag her down. Thus ended my epic journey West.
San Francisco.
...is pretty cool. Everything is either huge or tiny, with little space in between. It is also buttfuck expensive (pardon the san-fran related pun). My aunt lives in a second floor apartment (with the most ridiculously tiny garage I have ever witnessed... she has to back her tiny economy car in with about 1/2 inch clearance on the mirrors- no small feat), which she has lived in for over 20 years. This ensures that her rent is ONLY about a grand a month, despite having a couple roomies. When we rolled in, I was treated to a delicious meal at a local Thai restaurant. Then I crashed out til the morning.
I only really had one full day to stay there, so it was a fairly whirlwind visit. When I got up, we went to a European style bakery around the corner, much loved by my mom when she lived near there. I had an almond croissant and an Americano in her honor. I must say, I can see what the attraction was. That is without a doubt some of the finest pastry and coffee I have experienced in my life. I'm not really even a baked goods kind of guy, but I think I would go broke if i lived near a place like that.
After the bakery experience, I visited Haight St.- the sometime nexus of San Francisco hippyism. Indeed, I stood at the infamous Haight and Ashbury.
...where I was introduced to a new kind of panhandler, one with which San Fran is apparently replete... the Humorous Panhandler!
I think I like them. We crossed paths with a slightly less tactful one, whose sign read "I need money for a coffin, because I am dead sexy!". This inspired my aunt to peer skeptically at his face for a long time. I assumed she was either honestly trying to evaluate the validity of the statement, or just fucking with him. It became clear that she didn't get the joke... "I don't think being dead is very sexy, unless you're into necrophilia or something (insert mistrustful look)". This confused the mohawk sporting hobo, and he tried at some length to explain. Eventually she gave him a dollar for his troubles, I think mostly because she liked the Siamese cat his girlfriend was toting. I'm actually still not sure if she was fucking with him. Here are some pretty houses:
...and the mandatory touristey Golden Gate picture of me and my aunt...
After the Haight journey, we went to Muir woods... a redwood forest outside of town. Miles were walked, and pictures were taken. Here's a couple...
Following that, we returned, ate a homecooked dinner of chicken and veggies from my Aunt's organic garden plot (for which there is an 85-year waiting list). The next day was spent re-re-repacking my backpack (I jettisoned some raggedy clothes to cut back on bulk... it's getting better...) and helping my aunt get to her plane to Utah on time. This turned out to be an epic adventure. Having waited til the last minute to pack (possibly my fault) and due to unforeseen complications, my aunt was running late. With a bad back and ankle, she is not the most physically capable of individuals, so it was my duty to play porter. We journeyed across town... walking, riding BART (the bay area public train), and taking a shuttle to get her to the airport in the nick of time. The journey back was my first real navigating-a-strange-city-without-support experience of the journey, and came off without a hitch. Good job, me. The rest of my day was uneventful. I navigated back to Emeryville flawlessly, and my 10:07 train out was only a half hour late.
Fuck you, Amtrak. Fuck you.
So, the premise of my 750 dollar pass was that I can now go wherever I want, whenever I want, and my ticket's already paid for, right? Wrong. Apparently Amtrak only reserves a (undisclosed) number of seats on each train for rail pass holders. I'm guessing this number is something like two. So far, even though I've been reserving things ASAP whenever I get an extra minute at a station, they have so far eked an extra 120 dollars out of me (30 for Portland, a whopping 80 to get to Michigan in time for my brother's birthday). Between the hideously long transit time, the idiotic level of lateness, and the hidden monetary buttfucks, I'm thinking this is not such a great deal anymore. I don't think I'll be participating with Amtrak after this if I can help it.
The Portland situation.
So, here I am in Portland. I am currently sitting in a little coffee shop on a drizzling corner downtown, eating a sandwich and pouring my little heart out, all for you. The heart-pouring, not the sandwich... you can't have my sandwich- I'm hungry. I got in at about 6 yesterday, (predictably) 2 hours late.
So, the reason I came to Portland is complicated. Through several absent recommendations, and one emphatic one in particular, I have been led to believe that Portland is an awesome place. Since I will almost undoubtedly be moving before too long, I have received several of what I would take to be karmic signs pointing to the possibility of my moving here. Still hesitant over my inability to find a place to stay here, I was encouraged by my friend's (Sweete's) emphatic assurance that she could find me a place no problem... that she had tons of friends and connections here, and they would be more than happy to put me up. This was followed by another in a series of gushy monologues on how wonderful and friendly Portland is. Of course, that didn't happen. Turns out the "lots of connections" is two friends, one of whom is sick. The other has guests already.
I'm still convinced there's something I'm supposed to see here. Those who know the story of me and Sweete probably already know that our interactions are more often than not like Charlie Brown and the fucking football. It seems to be my karma to keep trusting her against all rationality, and it seems to be her karma to frequently and lovingly take me places I wouldn't otherwise go, then leave me high and dry midway in. I bet it looks pretty retarded from an outside perspective... lord knows it does to me from time to time. It's beyond my capacity to explain exactly why I keep doing it, but somehow keeping the faith still seems like the thing to do. Maybe I'm just naive.
Luckily (or karmically, depending on your point of view) I ran into a girl from Portland on the bus to San Francisco. She had been riding the train all the way from Chicago, where she had gone to visit her folks in Wisconsin. Since I secured an empty adjoining seat from Denver (the better to sleep on), she was the only person I really communicated with on the California leg. Anyway, she volunteered the name of a hostel here in Portland. Upon ascertaining that the Sweete connection was again falling through (her final advice: "ask around for cool musicians and they will put you up"), I contacted the recommended hostel. They were full, but they directed me to another hostel that turned out to be just a couple short blocks from where I had wandered to. I shelled out another 30.00 (Portland has me hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate) for a bed, and went out looking for "cool musicians" per Sweete's recommendation. For all the playing up of Portland's music scene (haha pun), the result has been abjectly disappointing thus far. Nobody I asked knew where there was any live music, and the only place I found not only had a 10 dollar cover, but featured some frankly lameass music. Blah.
Whitney (the bus girl) told me that West Portland was the more moneyed side, and that East Portland was less so. I'm trying my best to be stoic and taking that (and the fact that the originally recommended hostel and music joints are in Hawthorne, the SE area) to mean that the soulful part lies East of the river. Upon leaving here, I shall proceed to the nearest post office (I'm finally fed up and mailing off my fucking books... more money) and work my way over my new hostel on the East side (I reserved a room there this morning). Keep your fingers crossed that Portland finds the heart to extend a loving hand and prove itself worthy of its initial recommendation. I'm encouraged by the mellowly beautiful music of one of my favorite indie bands, Portland-based Blind pilot, sampled here:
The soccer game that's been on the TV since I got here is long over, the rain has ended, and the afternoon wears on, so I think it's getting to be about that time. Until the next post, wish me luck keeping the faith on this trying stretch of my Taoist voyage. I'll let you know how it turns out.
Ta-ta
-Mojoe
P.S. It's occurred to me that some of my editorials regarding Sweete might sound a little mean. I don't mean them that way... after all, if I didn't still love her and think the world of her, I probably wouldn't still put up with all this silly shit that comes out of our interactions. Nawmean?
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Leg 1-Colorado
Whatup, y'all! I guess this is going to convert mostly into a travel blog for the next month or so, so be prepared for many more updates in that vein.
Well, my travels have officially begun. I left on Friday afternoon by train, and rolled into Denver at midnight. My train had engine trouble, so it took 2 1/2 hours longer than it was supposed to. Aside from getting in at midnight and having my phone die in the midst of trying to direct my cousin to the right station to pick me up, the trip went fine.
I discovered, as I was leaving, that my backpack is REALLY FUCKING HEAVY. This confused me, since I had removed several bulky items from the bag prior to departure. Turns out my laptop plus hard drive and power cord is much heavier than I realized (also I was too lazy to buy travel-sized toiletries). I didn't pack that stuff 'til the last minute, so I forgot to account for it. I briefly considered sending a few of my extraneous items home, but since the only things I have more of than I need are t-shirts and shampoo, that probably won't limit the weight very much. I'm thinking it might not be worth the trouble. So I will likely just remove my laptop from the backpack and submit to being one of those idiotic looking tourists who wander around festooned with luggage... backpack, laptop bag, camera, guitar case... bleh.
Anyway, I don't really have much to report right now... I am spending time amongst many extended family members, so I am mostly just catching up, eating tasty food, and relaxing with beers. Also, I played a short set over at the Cannon Mine coffee shop last night (thanks for hookin it up, uncle Paul)- they're always very cool to me when I come, so I had a good time. All very fun for me, to be sure, but not much material for general blog-reader amusement. I was gonna get someone to take pictures when I played, but I forgot. Oh well.
That's about it for now. I will probably go on a brewery tour tomorrow, so perhaps pictures will be forthcoming from that. Stay tuned to find out, and for an introduction to my diminutive travel companion, Winston.
I'll leave you with an awesome tune by a relatively unknown artist named Karen Dalton. She died without ever really attaining recognition, but is much loved by great musicians like Bob Dylan and Dan Auerbach. I picked this song because it has one or two verses about Colorado (and trains). I guess she lived here for awhile.
"I wish I was a headlight
On some western train
I'd shine my light on
Cool Colorado range..."
Seeya laters...
Mojoe
Well, my travels have officially begun. I left on Friday afternoon by train, and rolled into Denver at midnight. My train had engine trouble, so it took 2 1/2 hours longer than it was supposed to. Aside from getting in at midnight and having my phone die in the midst of trying to direct my cousin to the right station to pick me up, the trip went fine.
I discovered, as I was leaving, that my backpack is REALLY FUCKING HEAVY. This confused me, since I had removed several bulky items from the bag prior to departure. Turns out my laptop plus hard drive and power cord is much heavier than I realized (also I was too lazy to buy travel-sized toiletries). I didn't pack that stuff 'til the last minute, so I forgot to account for it. I briefly considered sending a few of my extraneous items home, but since the only things I have more of than I need are t-shirts and shampoo, that probably won't limit the weight very much. I'm thinking it might not be worth the trouble. So I will likely just remove my laptop from the backpack and submit to being one of those idiotic looking tourists who wander around festooned with luggage... backpack, laptop bag, camera, guitar case... bleh.
Anyway, I don't really have much to report right now... I am spending time amongst many extended family members, so I am mostly just catching up, eating tasty food, and relaxing with beers. Also, I played a short set over at the Cannon Mine coffee shop last night (thanks for hookin it up, uncle Paul)- they're always very cool to me when I come, so I had a good time. All very fun for me, to be sure, but not much material for general blog-reader amusement. I was gonna get someone to take pictures when I played, but I forgot. Oh well.
That's about it for now. I will probably go on a brewery tour tomorrow, so perhaps pictures will be forthcoming from that. Stay tuned to find out, and for an introduction to my diminutive travel companion, Winston.
I'll leave you with an awesome tune by a relatively unknown artist named Karen Dalton. She died without ever really attaining recognition, but is much loved by great musicians like Bob Dylan and Dan Auerbach. I picked this song because it has one or two verses about Colorado (and trains). I guess she lived here for awhile.
"I wish I was a headlight
On some western train
I'd shine my light on
Cool Colorado range..."
Seeya laters...
Mojoe
Thursday, July 7, 2011
...If I have to ride the blinds
" So, I'm leavin in the mornin
If I have to ride the blinds
You stole my heart but you can't
Take my mind"
-Dan Auerbach
That line's been used in various iterations in numerous blues songs. The first two lines are kinda like "roses are red, violets are blue" but in the blues tradition. The second two are kinda fill-in-the-blank... I used Dan's version 'cause, well, it's the Black Keys, man. Before we launch into the meat of the bloggage (this one won't be very substantial I think), I'll gift you with two of my favorite tunes (read "the first two I thought of") that include this line. First is Robert Johnson's ever classic Walkin' Blues. Also, here's a version of the same tune done by R.L. Burnside. I added it because I find it funkylicious in a most excellent way. And here's The Black Keys' Countdown. It's off their very first album, which I've noticed many johnny-come-lately fans haven't even listened to. I love their new shit too, of course, but I kinda miss the 'Keys' old low-fi sound.
Anyway, the reason I'm posting this is that I, too, am leaving in the mornin'. Although I won't be riding the blinds, and this journey has very little to do with my ever-tragic love life, I will be traveling by rail. Just inside, in the relative comfort of the coach car. Yup, that's right. The day has finally come to embark on my epic tour of the U.S. But I must take the opportunity to quell a rising rumor (apparently inadvertently started by me, indulging in obscure terminology). This is NOT a music tour. I will play in a couple places on the way, but I hardly think that qualifies. It's just a regular tour, guys. Like... with postcards and whatnot.
Actually, this trip has a lot more to do with scoping out potential places to live. It seems that my familial support for my non-collegiate foolishments will soon be running out. This does not come as a surprise- it's just like in the deal. But having to find an independent means of subsistence, coupled with the absolutely SHITTY musical opportunities for a mellow fellow such as myself, and the fact that I no longer go to UNM... well, let's just say there's not a hell of a lot to compel me to stay.
That said, I still have a few ties here. My dad, my Kung Fu family, and the few friends I've gleaned from my socially unambitious life at UNM are all still in the abq, as well as this little studio apartment that's been in the family for enough years it's started to feel a little... homey. I still love each and every one very much (well... "love" is a little strong for the apartment), and I don't really relish the idea of leaving them behind and starting again by myself. But it kinda feels like time to move on. That's probably why I feel sadder than I should leaving for just a month or two... basically, I don't expect to be back very long when I return.
As far as where I intend to go, I don't really know yet. Right now there are three possibilities in my mind. One is moving to Asheville NC if and when my sister goes in September- but she's not sure she's going to yet, and I'm not sure if I want to move there anyway.
Another is moving to Portland- I have a friend who's moving there soon, so I would have connections, and I hear the music scene is pretty cool. But there's two problems with that... I've never been to Portland (I will rectify that on my trip), and let's just say having that particular friend as my only connection might make things... a little more complicated than I want.
The third option is to give it all up, sell all my shit, take a backpack and a guitar, and go where the wind blows me, much like my Kung Fu brother Camilo. I've followed the spiritual path (and watched Camilo do his thing) long enough to know I don't really need my stuff, and I'm reasonably sure I could let go of it without overmuch fuss. But there's always a catch, and the catch for this option is... I don't really want to. Possessions, I don't care so much about. But I do care a lot about my connections. As aloof and reclusive as I may seem to the casual observer, I like hanging out with loved ones... in fact there's not much I like better in life, and I like having somewhere to come home to. I'm not really an extraverted person, and it takes people awhile to warm up to me. So, as romantic as it is, the footloose and fancy free persona doesn't really fit me so well. I'm calling it plan C.
I don't really expect any, but if you have any awesome ideas for an alternative, I'd love to hear them. I haven't planned my whole trip yet (it's been extended to include Massachussetts and Nebraska, by the way), and I'm specifically leaving a couple transfers free for later inspiration. So if you think I should visit somewhere that's not on my itinerary (see my previous entry "death and travels"), holler at me.
One way or another, I'm hoping this journey will help clarify where I want to go next in life, literally and figuratively. I intend to have fun too, though.
I think that's all for now... check back for posts on my journey. I'll try to put anything interesting up here when I can, and I have a camera now, so photos should be forthcoming as well. I'll leave you with another cool song about traveling (and sex, 'cause sex is cool too...). These guys are probably old news by now, but... I like 'em.
Bye folks
-Mojoe
If I have to ride the blinds
You stole my heart but you can't
Take my mind"
-Dan Auerbach
That line's been used in various iterations in numerous blues songs. The first two lines are kinda like "roses are red, violets are blue" but in the blues tradition. The second two are kinda fill-in-the-blank... I used Dan's version 'cause, well, it's the Black Keys, man. Before we launch into the meat of the bloggage (this one won't be very substantial I think), I'll gift you with two of my favorite tunes (read "the first two I thought of") that include this line. First is Robert Johnson's ever classic Walkin' Blues. Also, here's a version of the same tune done by R.L. Burnside. I added it because I find it funkylicious in a most excellent way. And here's The Black Keys' Countdown. It's off their very first album, which I've noticed many johnny-come-lately fans haven't even listened to. I love their new shit too, of course, but I kinda miss the 'Keys' old low-fi sound.
Anyway, the reason I'm posting this is that I, too, am leaving in the mornin'. Although I won't be riding the blinds, and this journey has very little to do with my ever-tragic love life, I will be traveling by rail. Just inside, in the relative comfort of the coach car. Yup, that's right. The day has finally come to embark on my epic tour of the U.S. But I must take the opportunity to quell a rising rumor (apparently inadvertently started by me, indulging in obscure terminology). This is NOT a music tour. I will play in a couple places on the way, but I hardly think that qualifies. It's just a regular tour, guys. Like... with postcards and whatnot.
Actually, this trip has a lot more to do with scoping out potential places to live. It seems that my familial support for my non-collegiate foolishments will soon be running out. This does not come as a surprise- it's just like in the deal. But having to find an independent means of subsistence, coupled with the absolutely SHITTY musical opportunities for a mellow fellow such as myself, and the fact that I no longer go to UNM... well, let's just say there's not a hell of a lot to compel me to stay.
That said, I still have a few ties here. My dad, my Kung Fu family, and the few friends I've gleaned from my socially unambitious life at UNM are all still in the abq, as well as this little studio apartment that's been in the family for enough years it's started to feel a little... homey. I still love each and every one very much (well... "love" is a little strong for the apartment), and I don't really relish the idea of leaving them behind and starting again by myself. But it kinda feels like time to move on. That's probably why I feel sadder than I should leaving for just a month or two... basically, I don't expect to be back very long when I return.
As far as where I intend to go, I don't really know yet. Right now there are three possibilities in my mind. One is moving to Asheville NC if and when my sister goes in September- but she's not sure she's going to yet, and I'm not sure if I want to move there anyway.
Another is moving to Portland- I have a friend who's moving there soon, so I would have connections, and I hear the music scene is pretty cool. But there's two problems with that... I've never been to Portland (I will rectify that on my trip), and let's just say having that particular friend as my only connection might make things... a little more complicated than I want.
The third option is to give it all up, sell all my shit, take a backpack and a guitar, and go where the wind blows me, much like my Kung Fu brother Camilo. I've followed the spiritual path (and watched Camilo do his thing) long enough to know I don't really need my stuff, and I'm reasonably sure I could let go of it without overmuch fuss. But there's always a catch, and the catch for this option is... I don't really want to. Possessions, I don't care so much about. But I do care a lot about my connections. As aloof and reclusive as I may seem to the casual observer, I like hanging out with loved ones... in fact there's not much I like better in life, and I like having somewhere to come home to. I'm not really an extraverted person, and it takes people awhile to warm up to me. So, as romantic as it is, the footloose and fancy free persona doesn't really fit me so well. I'm calling it plan C.
I don't really expect any, but if you have any awesome ideas for an alternative, I'd love to hear them. I haven't planned my whole trip yet (it's been extended to include Massachussetts and Nebraska, by the way), and I'm specifically leaving a couple transfers free for later inspiration. So if you think I should visit somewhere that's not on my itinerary (see my previous entry "death and travels"), holler at me.
One way or another, I'm hoping this journey will help clarify where I want to go next in life, literally and figuratively. I intend to have fun too, though.
I think that's all for now... check back for posts on my journey. I'll try to put anything interesting up here when I can, and I have a camera now, so photos should be forthcoming as well. I'll leave you with another cool song about traveling (and sex, 'cause sex is cool too...). These guys are probably old news by now, but... I like 'em.
Bye folks
-Mojoe
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Brand New Me (my shit's fucked up...)
I know I've been promising everyone recordings of my stuff and generally not delivering. Recording is harder than you might think, and I'm too aurally sensitive for my own good, which results in obsessive deletion and re-recording of my stuff. I'd like to promise I'll finally hook it up with my youtube channel before I leave on the 8th (gulp), but knowing me like I do, I should probably just say I'll try really hard. Anyway, I'm sure you're all crying yourselves to sleep for lack of my music...
Anyhoo, I wrote another song, and I felt like sharing the lyrics. It's (obviously) about the general tendency of people these days to medicate copiously. Whether it's self-medication or prescribed medication makes no difference. As long as they don't tie you down, it's all self medication in the end, no?
Brand New Me
Hey there, buddy, have you heard the news?
All about the brand new you?
Drinkable, shootable, inhaleable, doable
Comes in pill form too!
Just take it down
Never a frown
Buddy, it'll help you fit
Just put it away
Three times a day
Share it with the wife and kids!
I'm goin down to the corner store
Gonna buy a cure for my blues
Ain't seen my baby for a month or two
Don't know what to do
Gonna drink it down
Sink right down
Won't feel bad no more
Gonna kill my pains
With the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Well, my bossman, he don't treat me right
Mama don't like me too
"Better find a way to fit, before you get licked
Or you'll never get ahead, you fool"
So I'm goin' down
To fix my frown
Make a good boy outta me
Can't wait to see
How proud they'll be
When they see the brand new me
Hey there, buddy, do you have the time?
I got somewhere to be
Gotta get to work, make a dollar or two
So I can buy a brand new me
I'm gonna work
'Til the sun comes up
Don't need to sleep no more
'Cause all I need
Is the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Need a pill or a shot
Or an herbal remedy
Gonna ask my doc
What's right for me
Change my name
Numb my pain
Find a way
To play the game
Buy me a me from the man on the corner
Just five times a day
Won't need any more
Just a little at a time, and I'll be fine
Won't be mad, won't be sad
I won't care if the world's unfair
Need no more than a pill or four
Can't wait to see how proud they'll be
Cause all I'll need
Is the brand new me
That I bought from the corner store!
I think it needs to end, obviously. What started off as an honest (albeit somewhat misguided and misunderstood) attempt of folks in the '60s and '70s to "expand their minds" has turned sour. Most of the drug craze was initially about rebellion against the cultural status quo. I'm all for moving outside the mainstream, so I give credit where credit is due to that generation for mixing it up and endeavoring to find a way to think and live outside of the proverbial box. Unfortunately, they decided on a pretty dysfunctional way.
While it's true that drugs have been used for a long time (which, by the way, is not in and of itself a justification of anything), they have previously been used with respect. Like... in sacred rituals, ceremonies, and other once-in-a-long-time practices. This is because the first time it's used, it might be revelatory. Maybe the second or third too, if you space them far enough. But the western ideal of "more is better" has once again bested us, resulting in all this addictive "regular maintenance" shit. I'm glad people are starting to realize we, as a species, are a little fucked in the head. But sadly, trying to fix your spiritual and mental problems by numbing them with chemicals is a bit like trying to cure your broken leg by beaning yourself over the head with a 2X4. Yup... it'll stop hurting for awhile, but what happens when you wake up in the morning?
I dunno... that's my two cents, anyway. I've seen enough people I've liked or loved exacerbate their problems with habitual medication, most of these problems coming from the belief that they need to "fit in" instead of being themselves. I feel this is something we need to let go of. It's pretty clear that we as a species need to grow up a little (sooner than later, too) and that's not gonna happen through a chemically induced fog.
In lieu of an actual recording of my song, I'll leave you with another song on a similar theme.
Badass guitar on that one, too.
Oh, and for the record, I'm not claiming saintliness here. My shit's fucked up too, ya know, and I've dabbled in self-medication myself over the years. But, like the man says, "the shit that used to work, don't work now".
Peace!
-Mojoe
Anyhoo, I wrote another song, and I felt like sharing the lyrics. It's (obviously) about the general tendency of people these days to medicate copiously. Whether it's self-medication or prescribed medication makes no difference. As long as they don't tie you down, it's all self medication in the end, no?
Brand New Me
Hey there, buddy, have you heard the news?
All about the brand new you?
Drinkable, shootable, inhaleable, doable
Comes in pill form too!
Just take it down
Never a frown
Buddy, it'll help you fit
Just put it away
Three times a day
Share it with the wife and kids!
I'm goin down to the corner store
Gonna buy a cure for my blues
Ain't seen my baby for a month or two
Don't know what to do
Gonna drink it down
Sink right down
Won't feel bad no more
Gonna kill my pains
With the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Well, my bossman, he don't treat me right
Mama don't like me too
"Better find a way to fit, before you get licked
Or you'll never get ahead, you fool"
So I'm goin' down
To fix my frown
Make a good boy outta me
Can't wait to see
How proud they'll be
When they see the brand new me
Hey there, buddy, do you have the time?
I got somewhere to be
Gotta get to work, make a dollar or two
So I can buy a brand new me
I'm gonna work
'Til the sun comes up
Don't need to sleep no more
'Cause all I need
Is the brand new me
That I got at the corner store
Need a pill or a shot
Or an herbal remedy
Gonna ask my doc
What's right for me
Change my name
Numb my pain
Find a way
To play the game
Buy me a me from the man on the corner
Just five times a day
Won't need any more
Just a little at a time, and I'll be fine
Won't be mad, won't be sad
I won't care if the world's unfair
Need no more than a pill or four
Can't wait to see how proud they'll be
Cause all I'll need
Is the brand new me
That I bought from the corner store!
I think it needs to end, obviously. What started off as an honest (albeit somewhat misguided and misunderstood) attempt of folks in the '60s and '70s to "expand their minds" has turned sour. Most of the drug craze was initially about rebellion against the cultural status quo. I'm all for moving outside the mainstream, so I give credit where credit is due to that generation for mixing it up and endeavoring to find a way to think and live outside of the proverbial box. Unfortunately, they decided on a pretty dysfunctional way.
While it's true that drugs have been used for a long time (which, by the way, is not in and of itself a justification of anything), they have previously been used with respect. Like... in sacred rituals, ceremonies, and other once-in-a-long-time practices. This is because the first time it's used, it might be revelatory. Maybe the second or third too, if you space them far enough. But the western ideal of "more is better" has once again bested us, resulting in all this addictive "regular maintenance" shit. I'm glad people are starting to realize we, as a species, are a little fucked in the head. But sadly, trying to fix your spiritual and mental problems by numbing them with chemicals is a bit like trying to cure your broken leg by beaning yourself over the head with a 2X4. Yup... it'll stop hurting for awhile, but what happens when you wake up in the morning?
I dunno... that's my two cents, anyway. I've seen enough people I've liked or loved exacerbate their problems with habitual medication, most of these problems coming from the belief that they need to "fit in" instead of being themselves. I feel this is something we need to let go of. It's pretty clear that we as a species need to grow up a little (sooner than later, too) and that's not gonna happen through a chemically induced fog.
In lieu of an actual recording of my song, I'll leave you with another song on a similar theme.
Badass guitar on that one, too.
Oh, and for the record, I'm not claiming saintliness here. My shit's fucked up too, ya know, and I've dabbled in self-medication myself over the years. But, like the man says, "the shit that used to work, don't work now".
Peace!
-Mojoe
Monday, June 20, 2011
I promised you sunshine and daisies...
It's true. If you read my other blogs, you may remember I wrote a P.S. swearing I'd post something "a little more sunshine and daisies" someday. Having re-read (skimmed) my last post, it occurs to me that buddhism sounds kinda emo from an outside perspective. I swear it's better from the inside. Anyway, that wasn't very sunshiney. Since 1/3 of the feedback I've gotten on my blog so far (literally one out of the three people that comment) is about the music I post, I'm doing another music post. This is my attempt at a crowd pleaser.
Obviously this will be mostly blues-related, 'cause I'm a bluesman, born and bred. But blues is more diverse than you might think. In fact, it's kind of everywhere. Prepare yourself for an onslaught of linkage! So, beer in hand, tonight we're going to play a musical association game, similar to "6 degrees of Kevin Bacon", but without a consistent element like Kevin Bacon.
#1- Dirty, dirty, dirty blues!
Seriously. This is the dirtiest blues you will ever hear. An artifact of the shit they played in after-hours clubs that was too taboo to record. Fun fact- at one point, Lucille Bogan started recording under a pseudonym (Bessie Jackson), presumably because she'd earned a reputation singing songs like This.
#2-Asylum Street Spankers
These guys are awesome. And they do a version of the last tune. They came to the ABQ not long ago, but of course I didn't get to see them. I was introduced to their music by my sister, whose favorite song (mine too) is This'n.
#3-Scott H. Biram
I met him. Seems like a nice guy. Scott plays what's known as Blues-Punk, or Hellbilly. Here's another song about drinking!
#4-Canned Heat Blues
Yet another drinking song- this one's done by a brilliant delta blues man by the name of Tommy
Johnson.
Robert Johnson is the delta blues guy everyone knows (the Robert Johnson Foundation likes to pompously claim "no Robert Johnson, no rock and roll!"), and most people know the "sold his soul to the devil" legend, but guess what... that was Tommy's legend first.
Canned heat is Sterno. Apparently it's basically made of grain alcohol, and there was a way of rendering it back that left you with a cheap and effective way to get 'faced during prohibition. And blind. It made you go blind, too. Here's Tommy Johnson's Canned Heat Blues.
#5-Mojo Hand
Like I said, Robert's legend was Tommy's first. Many blues guys have legends about how they got so awesome, and I am no exception. My own involves a key and a mojo hand... if you come to one of my shows, maybe I'll tell it for you sometime.
What's a mojo hand? Well, my blues name, to begin with. But in the broader scope, a mojo hand is a hoodoo charm. Most often a love charm (but not always), a mojo hand is the hoodoo equivalent of a medicine bag- a bunch of powerful objects tied up in a red flannel bag with spells and whatnot. I'm hoping to get one permanently applied to my flesh in tattoo form when I go to New Orleans. You'll see why in a minute (listen to the lyrics). Anyone know any tattoo artists in Louisiana?
Anyway, here's another great great (Texas) blues man by the name of Lightnin' Hopkins playing one of his songs, Mojo Hand.
#6- Silky Smooth
Since Lightnin' can be held responsible for inspiring almost as many people as Robert, I can pretty much go wherever I want from here. I'm gonna switch back to the more modern age and tell you about a few contemporary musicians who inspire me. First up is Gaby Moreno. I heard an NPR interview of hers in my dad's car, and looked her up 'cause she releases multi-genre albums, which is kind of what I wanna do. Her voice is indeed silky smooth. And she's cute. I think I'm in love...
#7-Dan
Did you actually think we would get through an epic music sharing session without talking about Dan Auerbach? Silly rabbit. I don't believe in idolizing people, but Dan is my fucking idol, man. What a badass. I've been listening to TBK since I was 16, and they are the reason I started playing blues to begin with. His voice, and his guitar, are silky smoother even than Gaby's. Most of you have already heard The Black Keys, and if you haven't... shame. You might not have heard dan's solo stuff though, which, in my opinion, is just as awesome. Dan gets two links 'cause I think he's that cool. In a totally non-gay way.
#8-I need a dollar too! Where's MY goddamn dollar?
My sister turned me on to this guy. For someone who listens to as much obnoxious happy-hardcore techno as she does, Amy sure does display some impeccable taste sometimes. Aloe Blacc is another totally awesome vocalist who may be singing in a town near you. And apparently, he really, really needs a dollar.
#9-That old Mississippi sound
Blues is changing again. Now it's not so much with the Chicago and Texas dudes, trying to imitate SRV and BB King... we're going back to the delta, baby. I like that. A lot. I think I already linked you to Ben Prestage (clearly, I need a cigar box guitar). This next dude's music was introduced to me by a friend who runs a guitar store here in town (Grumpy's). He (the next guy) is the only contemporary musician I know of who's clearly studied Skip James , one of my own delta blues idols. I'm not sure how I feel about this, since that was gonna be my thing. Here's an awesome delta bluesman by the name of Mississippi Gabe Carter. He's 26, and white, by the way. Why do I feel like I'm already falling behind, before I've fairly begun?
That's it, for now. As inadequate as I may feel about my own musical endeavorings, I would like to once again hammer in the fact that I finally booked a decent gig, all on my ownsome. It's not much, but certainly a bit of a milestone in my own slowly budding career.
I will leave you with a bit of a musical blessing. This is a Bob Dylan song I found on an episode of a badass show called Sons Of Anarchy. I mean it, for all you who care enough to follow my silly ramblings.
May you stay forever young.
-Mojoe
Obviously this will be mostly blues-related, 'cause I'm a bluesman, born and bred. But blues is more diverse than you might think. In fact, it's kind of everywhere. Prepare yourself for an onslaught of linkage! So, beer in hand, tonight we're going to play a musical association game, similar to "6 degrees of Kevin Bacon", but without a consistent element like Kevin Bacon.
#1- Dirty, dirty, dirty blues!
Seriously. This is the dirtiest blues you will ever hear. An artifact of the shit they played in after-hours clubs that was too taboo to record. Fun fact- at one point, Lucille Bogan started recording under a pseudonym (Bessie Jackson), presumably because she'd earned a reputation singing songs like This.
#2-Asylum Street Spankers
These guys are awesome. And they do a version of the last tune. They came to the ABQ not long ago, but of course I didn't get to see them. I was introduced to their music by my sister, whose favorite song (mine too) is This'n.
#3-Scott H. Biram
I met him. Seems like a nice guy. Scott plays what's known as Blues-Punk, or Hellbilly. Here's another song about drinking!
#4-Canned Heat Blues
Yet another drinking song- this one's done by a brilliant delta blues man by the name of Tommy
Johnson.
Robert Johnson is the delta blues guy everyone knows (the Robert Johnson Foundation likes to pompously claim "no Robert Johnson, no rock and roll!"), and most people know the "sold his soul to the devil" legend, but guess what... that was Tommy's legend first.
Canned heat is Sterno. Apparently it's basically made of grain alcohol, and there was a way of rendering it back that left you with a cheap and effective way to get 'faced during prohibition. And blind. It made you go blind, too. Here's Tommy Johnson's Canned Heat Blues.
#5-Mojo Hand
Like I said, Robert's legend was Tommy's first. Many blues guys have legends about how they got so awesome, and I am no exception. My own involves a key and a mojo hand... if you come to one of my shows, maybe I'll tell it for you sometime.
What's a mojo hand? Well, my blues name, to begin with. But in the broader scope, a mojo hand is a hoodoo charm. Most often a love charm (but not always), a mojo hand is the hoodoo equivalent of a medicine bag- a bunch of powerful objects tied up in a red flannel bag with spells and whatnot. I'm hoping to get one permanently applied to my flesh in tattoo form when I go to New Orleans. You'll see why in a minute (listen to the lyrics). Anyone know any tattoo artists in Louisiana?
Anyway, here's another great great (Texas) blues man by the name of Lightnin' Hopkins playing one of his songs, Mojo Hand.
#6- Silky Smooth
Since Lightnin' can be held responsible for inspiring almost as many people as Robert, I can pretty much go wherever I want from here. I'm gonna switch back to the more modern age and tell you about a few contemporary musicians who inspire me. First up is Gaby Moreno. I heard an NPR interview of hers in my dad's car, and looked her up 'cause she releases multi-genre albums, which is kind of what I wanna do. Her voice is indeed silky smooth. And she's cute. I think I'm in love...
#7-Dan
Did you actually think we would get through an epic music sharing session without talking about Dan Auerbach? Silly rabbit. I don't believe in idolizing people, but Dan is my fucking idol, man. What a badass. I've been listening to TBK since I was 16, and they are the reason I started playing blues to begin with. His voice, and his guitar, are silky smoother even than Gaby's. Most of you have already heard The Black Keys, and if you haven't... shame. You might not have heard dan's solo stuff though, which, in my opinion, is just as awesome. Dan gets two links 'cause I think he's that cool. In a totally non-gay way.
#8-I need a dollar too! Where's MY goddamn dollar?
My sister turned me on to this guy. For someone who listens to as much obnoxious happy-hardcore techno as she does, Amy sure does display some impeccable taste sometimes. Aloe Blacc is another totally awesome vocalist who may be singing in a town near you. And apparently, he really, really needs a dollar.
#9-That old Mississippi sound
Blues is changing again. Now it's not so much with the Chicago and Texas dudes, trying to imitate SRV and BB King... we're going back to the delta, baby. I like that. A lot. I think I already linked you to Ben Prestage (clearly, I need a cigar box guitar). This next dude's music was introduced to me by a friend who runs a guitar store here in town (Grumpy's). He (the next guy) is the only contemporary musician I know of who's clearly studied Skip James , one of my own delta blues idols. I'm not sure how I feel about this, since that was gonna be my thing. Here's an awesome delta bluesman by the name of Mississippi Gabe Carter. He's 26, and white, by the way. Why do I feel like I'm already falling behind, before I've fairly begun?
That's it, for now. As inadequate as I may feel about my own musical endeavorings, I would like to once again hammer in the fact that I finally booked a decent gig, all on my ownsome. It's not much, but certainly a bit of a milestone in my own slowly budding career.
I will leave you with a bit of a musical blessing. This is a Bob Dylan song I found on an episode of a badass show called Sons Of Anarchy. I mean it, for all you who care enough to follow my silly ramblings.
May you stay forever young.
-Mojoe
Monday, May 16, 2011
Two questions to live by
I have reached something of a turning point in my life recently. My love of art and spirituality, my dispassion for the current culture and priorities of the world, and my own deep capacity for love and empathy have combined over the past year or so to decimate most of what I thought about myself and the world at large. This has significantly intensified during the current year.
When I look around at people I mostly see wonderful creatures, with power and potential beyond their wildest dreams, who spend much of their lives in pain and suffering and weakness. Not only is most of this agony self inflicted, it is done so willfully, and (at least ostensibly) in an effort to avoid the very thing created. Through fear, denial, violence, and rationalization, we wreak emotional and physical havoc- least of all on perfect strangers, more on those we profess to love, and most of all on ourselves. And somehow we manage to convince ourselves that this is the only way to live. Like the puritans of old, through fear of hell, we create hell. It's an obsolete occupation and it needs to go away. There are quite enough ways to suffer- we don't need to create our own.
I believe the world is ripe for an advancement in consciousness like it has never been before. Contrary to the "hell in a handbasket" theory, I believe the world is almost ready to become a much nicer place to live. I would like to help.
It is a fallacy to presume that life should be painless. Clearly, life is not without pain, and never will be. If it were, there would be no pain involved in birth or death. The idea is, that instead of denying that pain, perhaps you should accept it. Perhaps you should use your pain to bring more beauty in the world, instead of trying to slough it off onto your fellow man, and creating more pain in the process. It's emotional alchemy!
To this end, I would like to give you two questions that, if used wisely, will change the way you see your life, and may just serve to unlock your truer power and purpose.
Be cautious, though... rationalization is a powerful tool. Just because you can think of a logical response doesn't make it true. This exercise requires that you listen to that naive childish voice deep inside you that seldom speaks safe, and always speaks true. And if the answer is an honest "I don't know", that's good. Now you know to start looking.
The first question was asked me a couple years ago by a great friend and a true brother. At the time it was in discussion of a political agenda that (like all politics) I still consider too narrow to bother with. But for all his talking, that question was perhaps the wisest thing he's ever said.
1. If you never had to worry about money or security again, what would you do with your life? How would you spend your time?
The second question is of my own contrivance. It is meant to deal with those situations where a choice must be made, an answer provided, or action taken, and the path is not clear. Stop, take a breath, and ask;
2. Where is the love in what I am doing?
If these questions do not seem very reasonable, realistic, or logical, good. They are meant to appeal to a deeper part of you- one beyond rationalization.
Try it out. If it works, tell your friends. Remember, there's nothing I would love more than to see you peaceful and happy.
Here is an awesome song that deeply represents the emotional alchemy I refer to. This, at its best, is what art is. As an artist, I'm proud to say it's what I do.
Love
-Mojoe
When I look around at people I mostly see wonderful creatures, with power and potential beyond their wildest dreams, who spend much of their lives in pain and suffering and weakness. Not only is most of this agony self inflicted, it is done so willfully, and (at least ostensibly) in an effort to avoid the very thing created. Through fear, denial, violence, and rationalization, we wreak emotional and physical havoc- least of all on perfect strangers, more on those we profess to love, and most of all on ourselves. And somehow we manage to convince ourselves that this is the only way to live. Like the puritans of old, through fear of hell, we create hell. It's an obsolete occupation and it needs to go away. There are quite enough ways to suffer- we don't need to create our own.
I believe the world is ripe for an advancement in consciousness like it has never been before. Contrary to the "hell in a handbasket" theory, I believe the world is almost ready to become a much nicer place to live. I would like to help.
It is a fallacy to presume that life should be painless. Clearly, life is not without pain, and never will be. If it were, there would be no pain involved in birth or death. The idea is, that instead of denying that pain, perhaps you should accept it. Perhaps you should use your pain to bring more beauty in the world, instead of trying to slough it off onto your fellow man, and creating more pain in the process. It's emotional alchemy!
To this end, I would like to give you two questions that, if used wisely, will change the way you see your life, and may just serve to unlock your truer power and purpose.
Be cautious, though... rationalization is a powerful tool. Just because you can think of a logical response doesn't make it true. This exercise requires that you listen to that naive childish voice deep inside you that seldom speaks safe, and always speaks true. And if the answer is an honest "I don't know", that's good. Now you know to start looking.
The first question was asked me a couple years ago by a great friend and a true brother. At the time it was in discussion of a political agenda that (like all politics) I still consider too narrow to bother with. But for all his talking, that question was perhaps the wisest thing he's ever said.
1. If you never had to worry about money or security again, what would you do with your life? How would you spend your time?
The second question is of my own contrivance. It is meant to deal with those situations where a choice must be made, an answer provided, or action taken, and the path is not clear. Stop, take a breath, and ask;
2. Where is the love in what I am doing?
If these questions do not seem very reasonable, realistic, or logical, good. They are meant to appeal to a deeper part of you- one beyond rationalization.
Try it out. If it works, tell your friends. Remember, there's nothing I would love more than to see you peaceful and happy.
Here is an awesome song that deeply represents the emotional alchemy I refer to. This, at its best, is what art is. As an artist, I'm proud to say it's what I do.
Love
-Mojoe
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