Skip to main content

Featured

the long way around

The living room is a forest of mic stands and cables. A cup of coffee, a large glass of water and a shallow shot of whiskey sit on the tiny white table. I alternate between them, making sure the guitar is in tune, trying to understand if the chair will creak when I lean my head back on the second chorus.  There is a hush in the room. I can hear my own heartbeat. The lyrics are printed out on a fresh piece of paper, large and thick so I can read them easily even though I sing with my eyes closed and will surely forget a handful of words no matter what I do.

The guitar sounds dry, perfect - even honest. I can play a simple D chord with a long strum, or the side of my thumb and it sounds so different. I record a few takes, barefoot in the bright room. I am going too fast in some parts, and my fingers are already sore from the chord changes.

And then all at once, I am thinking of a show I played in an old factory in Brooklyn, way back when I had just started writing songs almost twenty y…

the forbidden zone


I cannot tell you, and you must not ask. There are words that cannot be said, even quietly. To be speak freely, so many still take this for granted. I do not.

There are vast expanses of life I cannot discuss anywhere. All too much like the forbidden zone in the original planet of the apes. Too many secrets are buried there, beneath the sand.

No hero will come on a dark horse, bucking convention, flaunting the warnings. because this is not a movie.


Comments

Popular Posts

best personal blogs
best personal blogs