When the Music's Over

thunk thunk ...uh is this thing on?

2012-01-27T15:57:00.000-05:00

Wow. Has it really been a year since I've written here? For all of the drama leading up to and through radiation treatment. This may have been the toughest year of my life.

The phrase "waiting to exhale" has been the refrain. Despite having a vague sort of road map to recovery, I thought I would be able to pretty well chart my way through it. The first two months went very well. I made immediate gains in physical therapy and the feeling in my feet came back. I had quite a bit of pain, but I was prepared mentally to keep pushing.

By mid March I started having issues with increased pressure in my brain. I started have temporary vision loss and pain in my ears, as I had the summer before. This seemed to correlate with a slow taper of my hydrocortisone dosage from 50 mg per day to 30 mg. I raised my dosage again and tried to get relief. From here until July I struggled with these symptoms along with a return of parasthesias in my right arm and hand. My pain was constant and I was put on fentanyl patches to cope.

After much consultation with doctors at home and at the Mayo Clinic. We went to a longer acting steroid, dexamethesone, in an attempt to stabilize the pressure in my head. The results were immediate and it cleared most of my symptoms. However, I now had new symptoms due to the dex. I had terrible insomnia and profuse sweating. I accepted these for what they were and a neuro-ophthalmic exam showed my optic nerves had reduced some swelling.

I had a follow-up visit at Mayo on Halloween with world renown POEMS expert, Dr. Angela Dispenzieri. We did a PET scan and the results were good. However, I did have an unexpected rise in my VEGF levels, which are a primary indicator for POEMS disease activity. She was very frustrated with my recovery and have no explanation for the continued pain I was experiencing in my legs. She offered that if we didn't see improvement in 6 months she would have to reassess my diagnosis. This left me feeling kind of adrift again. We departed agreeing to not overreact to the blood test results and do it again in 3 months. She insisted I should get off dexamethesone and also off of the narcotics I was on. That would chart the next 3 months of my odyssey.

Medication changes require weeks or months do get through. I was needing to ween off of three medications, anabolic steroids (testosterone injections), long acting corticosteroids (dexamethesone to prednisone to hydrocortisone), and opiate based narcotics (fentanyl and percosest). My method up to now was to do med changes serially. That would encompass the next nine months! I decided to go cold turkey.

My holiday season was full of pain, sweat, insomnia, and FATIGUE! I did however manage to get back to a normal replacement dose of hydrocortisone. I think the fatigue was mostly due to waiting for my adrenal glands to wake up after several months of dexamethesone. I can say that a couple of weeks ago I seemed to snap out of it and I think my adrenals are back to their normal underproductive selves ( I don't know yet with they will ever fully recover, but I still hold hope).

I don't have my latest test results yet, but I hope I am producing testosterone again. I can say that the boys are back! Three years of steroid balls was a drag.

As for the pain. It's still with me. The over the counter crap they give me just doesn't work. All in all, I'm much more myself than I've been in years. Between the ears at least. I am mobile enough to do what I need to do. No hiking, no mall walking. I can do it, it's just a painful affair.

I think I have accepted more that having POEMS means living with it. There may always be the doubt of being free of it. It will likely mean difficulty in things most folks take for granted. A gentleman from Canada with POEMS Syndrome died last fall. He was 79, I believe. A year before his death he wrote that his "old friend" POEMS was back and he felt like he was waiting for the last shoe to drop. Sad as it may seem, I found this comforting as he still led a long life. For most, life is full of some pain, and there is beauty in every sunrise. Sounds pretty normal to me.

There's Always You

2011-02-15T10:02:00.000-05:00

Life can chip away at us for a thousand years

Castaway our happiness upon a sea of tears

But I can stand forever here, so long as you are near

In our embrace, a wall of stone for any wave of fear

There’s always you to hold me

When it seems like hope is gone

There’s always you to hold me

With the strength to carry on

There’s always you…

Ever is my will to say you are everything to me

Never is a doubt that you are always there for me

You kindle every shadow cast upon reality

You light my darkest moments with every possibility

There’s always you to hold me

When it seems like hope is gone

There’s always you to hold me

With the strength to carry on

There’s always you…

Photo courtesy of Nestropole Contemporary Art Gallery @ flikr

Prompts:

Sunday Scribblings: A Thousand Years

Poetry Potluck: Love, Bonds and Relationships

Every Grain of Sand

2011-02-02T16:05:00.000-05:00

Marking the sense of loss, each grain of abrasive from a handful sand

I am left to take stock, what is left in my possession

Greater is its detail under the loop

Crystaline beauty found in every goblet

In it the power to scour saddened layers exposing the heartwood

Warm in its memory of summer, measuring the tides

Vangaurd to an ever shifting continent

For now, in my own insignificance

Still holding this from the pull of the earth

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Abrasive, Handful, Loss

Photo courtesy of Hayams @ flikr

Pushing Through - Segue to Reborn

2011-01-11T11:32:00.000-05:00

Time I break the silence on the blog. So much has happened since last September, I could write an entire book. The problem has been every time I've stopped to write something, I couldn't focus on any one part in reflection to jot the first word. Health. It's been all about that.

After being admitted to the hospital in September I was given several serious and rare diagnoses to go with the Addison's disease I've been living with for several years. The trouble was none of my specialists could correlate any of them. Worse yet, they didn't seem to care to try. My wife had made an appointment at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN back in August. Before I ended up in the emergency room, just out of frustration with my worsening condition and lack of interest from my attending physician's. We had to go.

I book-ended November with a couple of week long trips to the Mayo Clinic. The first week I got around on my own fairly well, save for some leg fatigue getting through the airport in Detroit. The last week, Beth was pushing me around in a wheelchair. The reason being peripheral neuropathy from POEMS Syndrome. That is my diagnosis. A single diagnosis that explained everything I've been misdiagnosed for previously. Including, Addison's disease. My POEMS Syndrome was being caused by a single plasmacytoma on my left femur. A malignant lesion the size of my thumbnail that appeared unexpectedly on a PET scan. I needed to undergo six weeks of radiation therapy in order to kill the source of the disease and hope my rapidly worsening condition would stabilize.

As an aside, the song that is playing, "Segue to Reborn" I recorded just prior to my second trip to Mayo. I played the drums as best I could and barely got through the 2 minutes before the legs quit me. The title invoked my state of mind. I was ready to nail this diagnosis and start my treatment and recovery.

At this time, I have seven more radiation treatments left and I finally feel as though things have stabilized. I've got a long road to recovery and don't yet know what permanent damage I will be left with. But, I do know I am very fortunate to have caught this as early as I did. As it turns, the Mayo Clinic is the premier research and treatment center for POEMS Syndrome. A poetic fate indeed. My wife is my guardian angel, and my gratitude is not even fully realized.

I am just now shaking the dust from my lowest point. Which can only mean one thing. Things are definitely looking up! I can honestly say, I am looking forward to the new year. With that, I wish a Happy and Healthy New Year to all of you! God Bless.

Origins

2010-10-20T15:56:00.000-04:00

The naked shimmer of starlight for eons unnoticed by Earthly inhabitants
Full of answers to history and origin waiting only for one to stand and say, I
For self awareness begs the question, I am here but why?
The naked eye cannot see the stars for the Garden
And so from the Garden we did come, and wrote it so inside The Book
'til some other I would question how, decide to take a closer look

The heavens swirled around us so, we the only thing we know
The centre of the universe, holding everything in tow
But what if that be not quite right, about the ever starry night?
The earth a slave to holy sun, the sun a star inverting night?
A speck upon a galaxy, floating on an immense sea
Life be more than you and I, the effect of possibility

This fantastic photo of the Horse Head Nebula courtesy of Terry Hancock at flikr

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Effect, Immense, Shimmer

Like Dream Paralysis

2010-08-13T15:48:00.001-04:00

The dream within a dream

Days within the weeks or so it seems

We sleep with our eyes open, walking

Leverage arms unto the air, more like water

Smiling at peers, we dirge waltz through snow drifts

Piling to our knees as they pirouette through sunlit pastures

Slow are the moments as time passes furiously around us

Who's charade is this? O Lord, is this a joke or a test of my will?

The apothecary passes this for remedy, but it only staves the inevitable

Life, still sweet to savor, no longer here to gorge and quench,

But to sip and peck

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Joke, Leverage, Remedy

Photo courtesy of Bryan Brinkman Photography, find him at flikr

One Minute of Joy

2010-08-06T11:58:00.000-04:00

You have 1 minute to hear what's new once the auto-player commences. So pay attention!

"When the Music's Over", that is the title of this blog. Which I began as a means of kick starting my creative writing. Of course, there is much implied in the title. This is quoting the great Jim Morrison's lyric, "...when the music's over, turn out the lights". As in, when I can no longer make music, just shoot me.

There are certain challenges as an amateur. The biggest being time. I have a real job. That is, one that takes up most of my time. That was okay prior to having children, I had plenty of time to play in bands, rehearsals, gigs, write songs, or just sit on a porch stoop plucking away. Being a proper father takes time. So I stopped playing in bands for the most part, and took to recording in my basement in the evenings into the wee hours.

The other challenge is energy. Creativity only comes from inspiration. There's nothing inspiring about needing a nap. Living with Addison's disease has really limited my energy. Far more than I was expecting, as the doctors pretty much said, "take the steroids and you'll live a 'normal' life". Bullshit! It's a roller coaster. A really slow roller coaster! Pretty much, feel good for a few weeks then crap for a month or two. So far anyway. I'm still hopeful I can take full control of medicating my own symptoms. Waiting for a doctor to push the right buttons is purgatory! "Try this and see me in four months". And when it doesn't work (it usually doesn't) you've pissed away a whole season hoping these twits can get it right!

Enough bitching about my poker hand. The bottom line is writing takes a lot less energy than producing recordings. So I started this blog as a creative outlet. It went swimmingly for a while, but the last six months I can't seem to get the first word out! So now, I write. I don't know how creative it is, but at least it's something.

I decided to take some time off this summer, and I started my vacation in the studio. "One Minute of Joy" was the result. I'm a musical doodler of sorts. I can pick up all sorts of things and make some sort of rhythm or melody out of it. What's new in this recording are a couple of things. First, I have an old Melobar lap steel that I needed to convert from 10 strings to 6 strings, which I did. You can hear it during the opening melody. The second is, me playing a live drum kit. It's nothing to write home about, but it keeps the bed made.

I figured this was just a segue to a couple weeks of musical productivity. Trouble was, the month long heat wave in New Jersey really knocked me on my ass. I've determined that I will never live in Texas again! I used to gig in 105 degree heat, outdoors! I would literally need an IV hooked up to me onstage these days to do that! Maybe I'll move to Canada?

That's the news from Lake Woebegone. I'll try to write sooner next time!

Slow Black Death

2010-05-19T14:39:00.001-04:00

How many more reasons do we need?
To wean ourselves from the acrid black tit of fossil fuel
The news of every dawn be full of dread
This festering shadow continue to spread
A mile of ocean down we drill
To feed our gluttonous appetite
Be it driving a tank for a quart of milk
Or filling the corporate pig trough

Can anyone grasp the depths of this sin?
Our leaders developed this energy "policy"
Behind closed doors and in harmony with the oil barrons
They send our sons and daughters to die in foreign lands
So these pigs can continue to profit from black heroin
They rape our planet so our children can live in a world

Without beaches and birds, never having reason
To cast a net into the sea

How many more miners must die in the name of "clean" coal?
How many mountain tops leveled before we learn the value of a vista?
And yet they pacify the lobbyists and spurn the people
How many of us would choose a better way if given a choice?

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Dead, Grasp, Pacify

Photo courtesy of waymjoh at Photobucket

Good Friday

2010-04-02T10:08:00.000-04:00

For 30 odd silver pieces had,

Judas gave Pilate, Jesus’ head

By Roman order he would be led

Upon a crucifix ‘til dead

A spray of thorns, his head adorns

Are sharper than a demons horns

The cross upon his back was worn

‘Neath sweat and blood his skin was torn

The road to Calvary was full

To view this gruesome spectacle

The Lamb of God would die for all

Upon Golgotha, Place of Skull

Notes: A repost of "Good Friday". Photo courtesy of Christopher Chan at flikr

A Sort of Letter

2010-03-26T10:49:00.001-04:00

Three months of nothing to say. From a creative standpoint at least. The new year was full of hope and dedication. Refocused on taking control of my well being, I spent much energy researching and implementing changes in my medical treatment.

January began with the euphoria of feeling normal. What could be so narcotic about normalcy? After 3 years of feeling like crap you forget what it's like to go days on end not confronting roadblocks. So my year began without the solitary peace of creative writing. But with socializing and playing and performing music. Those are two things that have been a staple of my adult life and were sorely missed. And so I was beginning to think and plan on getting out and performing again.

By January's end, I was back on the rollercoaster. Perhaps overconfident in my condition, I engaged and overindulged, in some late night revelry with neighbors. This hangover should have had me on an IV in an ER. But in my own shame and embarrassment I rode it out. I haven't been the same since.

Febuary's blizzards and shut in darkness tends to meloncholy. Add in the anvil of fatigue from Addisonian imbalance and you have an iceberg on the senses. A common rhinovirus is to be expected this time of year. But this manifested into some unexplained maelstrom that put me in the hospital for a full day of fruitless examinations. "All the tests came back normal, Mr. Orzek. But we've determined you have a viral syndrome". A what?

The weeks after, it became evident that the meds prior to "viral syndrome" weren't cutting it. So it's been lower the meds, get sick for a few days, stress dose, lower the meds, get sick for a few days, stress dose ...etc., ad nauseum. Lots of nauseum. It seems my adrenal glands have been beaten further into submission. This progression is to be expected. But there is no road map to getting there.

On March 9, I received a phone call that my father-in-law, Glenn MacKinnon, had died. He and I were close. As my own father has been dead 15 years now, Glenn has been my guiding role model through fatherhood and marriage. I don't think I've realized his loss for me yet. My wife has lost a father, my children their only grandfather. My family's grief is obvious. And overwhelming.

But having his once or twice a year outreach will be noticed. His hand on my shoulder, asking "so, how are YOU doing?" That honest and open invitation to share my internal paternal frustrations or fears won't be there any more. That is when it will hit me, I think.

Time marches on and life is for the living. Enter any other cliches such as, get back on yer horse, that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. It's all true, however hollow it feels right now.

But I am still determined. I will get myself right and enter this spring hopeful. And carry forth with my loved ones into the warmth of our summers.

The Path of Least Resistance, Part I

2009-12-30T12:05:00.012-05:00

Through post-adolescent fear, we marched forward as involuntary draftees in collegiate armies full of promise and uncertainty.

Four years of hard labor, sex, drugs, and alcohol sweating through our consciences, peptic ulcer anxieties.

Torn between duty and pheremonic ecstasies we burned the midnight oil and partied 'til grey twilight of the dawn.

Bobbing for forbidden apples, peer pressure holding our hazed faces below the surface until the point of erotic asphyxia.

Semi-conscious realization in the glow of bare basement incandescent lights six feet under beer stained floorboards.

The hideous scent of vomit, piss, and beer drumming out the beauty of innocence lost in the maddening pace of competitive debauchery.

Neither the greatest generation, nor me generation, not baby boom, no gen x, gen y. Generation Nothing.

Greatest wonders were we who got up in the morning and continued to ambush our cache of talent and brain cells, day in day out.

Holding the rudder to the wind for the course of double-vision compasses maintaining headings true.

We meddled with duty and destiny carrying onward in mediocrity to the finish line still proud in the face of spite.

Shadows of the Great Depression looming over us like specters in the night spearing voices of shame into our psyches.

We dodged anti-establishment banter, flower power warriors hurling martyred ideology down our throats so we may taste the shame.

Thrusting rock'n'roll into our ears like fingers we chanted loudly over dark reason hoping for a brighter way.

My generation of fence walkers, teetering above the jaws of yesteryears never knowing which way the wind blows.

So pour another drink of c'est la vie, forget the moral battles, grab the token laureate and join the corporate ranks....

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Ambush, Hideous, Meddle

The Grave Robber

2009-12-09T16:06:00.006-05:00

Though lean and lithe and sinewy

He toils earth and stone with ease

Slipping through the dark of night

To feed his begger's appetite

His occupation would some offend

Disturbing any human's end

Divining with his crooked spade

Sniffing gentry freshly laid

Tripping lilies in the gloom

He raids the poshly relished tomb

From the grave rise auntie's pearls

Or the pocket watch of master Earl

What value can a dead man claim?

When ash to ash be one and same?

The labor done whence dawn has come

Another honest workday done

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Grave, Lithe, Offend

Notes:

Image and artwork courtesy of J.M.J. Wikholm. Visit him at flikr

Room

2009-12-09T09:16:00.008-05:00

the space is empty yet they wail

if walls could talk they'd tell the tale

when childhood ends, the demons hail

and fall upon us tooth and nail

within this room, a spirit’s jail....

Sunday Scribblings #192: Weird

Notes:

Image courtesy of Seed 2 Sickle Studio.

The Essence of Woman

2009-12-02T13:05:00.008-05:00

She sumptuously fondled his ball

Inviting his kick and thrust

Then thwarting his passion play

By removing his target of lust

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Fondle, Kick, Sumptuous

In Spite of the Obvious: Thanksgiving

2009-11-25T10:33:00.011-05:00

Give of yourself in spite of the obvious. Thanksgiving: The Obvious. The obvious is ritual. Old Pilgrim legend embraced in Rockwell dining rooms, domestic American poultry divied up by the Cleaver's cleaver. Candied yams and merriment and please pass the cranberry sauce. Embrace ourselves in glorious grateful perfection. Not.

Offer our gratitudes and share in the bounty, yes. But why must we partake in the charade? We are family, in all of our truly obvious imperfections. We trade the country mile for jet planes and interstates. Weary are the travelers. And more the traveler are we on this particular holiday. We are tired on arrival. Full of rest-stop stress and strain. Come in! Sit down! You've only spent the last five hours on your ass.

No need to pretend all is well in your life, any more then I should mine. This year, Uncle Albert got laid off. Aunt Ida has cancer. Cousin Elvin came out of the closet. We are all disenfranchised in one form or another. But the truth is, we woke up this morning and, by God, there is a shit-load of food on my table! I've got beer in the fridge, wine, whiskey, there's wood for the fire. We have plenty to inbibe, and not just the spirits. I expect some laughter, so loosen up! The only impression to be made here is how much of YOU you leave behind. That, and maybe an impression of Sarah Palin or two.

Happy Thanksgivin'! *wink wink*

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Give, Obvious, Thanks

Creative Beauty

2009-11-22T12:52:00.007-05:00

Creative beauty

Channels from the heart

Hastens humanity

From souls gaurded

Exposing self to elements

Bare to onlooking eyes

Shameless expression

Answers implicit,

To universal questions

Who we are

Why we are here

What will happen

The beginning

The end

Right

Wrong

Righteous

Wrongheaded

Headlong into oblivion

A rubbernecker's banquet

Cornucopia of tragedy

Comedy, drama, and horror

We, the open book

Needing to spill forth

The stories of life

Within one

Among all

We share

Interpreting: One Single Impression: Creative

Sunday Scribblings: Beauty

Little Saigon

2009-11-19T15:42:00.019-05:00

The Viet down in Chelsea try to make their means. In the neon sparkled mist of Atlantic City's broken dreams. They scramble in the shadows of the casinos' gilded faux. Breathing life into a ward who's bones began to show. Lan secured a loan to lease a shop on Arctic Ave. To open up a restaurant he would give up all he had. The Vietnamese will lend a hand, as they're loyal to their own. They propped up Lan and cheered him on as he opened Little Saigon.

We can light the flame for every Little Saigon

Call it Ho Chi Minh by the Viet Cong

In the end, it's just an American song

For every broken dream here in Little Saigon

Lan would work the kitchen, his sister Mai would tend the floor. Mai was just sixteen with a face to be adored. The scent of lemongrass and basil and the warmth of sweet Mai's glow. Kept the customer's returning to a place where they were known. But like every ghetto mom-and-pop, there was more to pay than rent. Refuse to pay the gangbangers there may be an accident. The BTK from Chinatown were ruthless and obscene. They raped and killed his sister, Mai, when Lan would not come clean.

We can light the flame for every Little Saigon

Call it Ho Chi Minh by the Viet Cong

In the end, it's just an American song

For every broken dream here in Little Saigon

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Accident, Loyal, Obscene

Notes: This is a fictional ballad loosely based on real places. Little Saigon is a Vietnamese restaurant in the Chelsea section of Atlantic City, New Jersey. The setting of this pleasant establishment and the gentrifying neighborhood it resides were the inspiration for the story. The blight of gang violence in Asian communities in America is widespread and often underreported due to the cultural distrust of government in general by these communities. The BTK (Born to Kill) is a Vietnamese gang formed as an offshoot of Chinese gangs in New York's Chinatown. They were known to be extremely violent. While Atlantic City has been a magnet for mob activity of all kinds, any presence of BTK there is unknown to me.

Deep Ether

2009-11-15T19:46:00.009-05:00

From the song, Requiem (One Way Home), a soul returns to whence it came.

"You live your life always fearing the end, but the end is the beginning, like a trusted friend

Back to the ether where we started from, our souls are in motion like the light of the sun"

Interpreting, One Single Impression: Reincarnation

Deep ether

Ancient swamp of souls

Clutching for the soular wind

Capture my sails and bring me forth

Once again into the spectrum of the living

Our white light in bloom through the prism of birth

Listen to "Deep Ether" here, if not in blogspot

Departing Alice

2009-11-09T16:22:00.005-05:00

Departed is the love we used to share

That love was blinding

Never minding

The habits brought to bear

Consumed in you, my every day

Our carnal knowing

Ever showing

Our affections on display

We trade the glow for tolerance

Less love unending

Mere pretending

A tango-istic dance

Irritation is your very sigh

A sound like wheezing

Heart is freezing

Left wanting you to die

So raise a toast, to our precious love

The wine is malice

Dearest Alice

Depart for Heaven up above….

Interpreting One Single Impression: Departed

The Longest Night

2009-11-04T11:28:00.004-05:00

Virgin frost

Meets the dawn

No slave to Karma,

The sun

Obey Lord Gravity

And axis atilt

Waning daylight cause

The stem to lilt

Wither and wuther

Autumn leaves

The arc of the sun

Falls to its knees

Repealing its warmth

To the evening sky

Driving fleet afoot

And winged to fly

Gnashing tooth upon the lingering bounty

The breathing ones sup

'Fore the sleep of the longest night

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Karma, Obey, Wither

Narcissus

2009-10-28T14:15:00.005-04:00

Insecurity incubates behind the glow of vanity

Fueling the nightmare of the ruse

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Incubate, Nightmare, Vanity

Song for Brad

2009-10-02T16:35:00.006-04:00

Thoughts and prayers for Brad.

Here's a song his father, Bob, wrote for him and his sib's, "The Kids' Song" .

Embrace the love and heal. Quell the anger, justice will be served.

Peace.

Crime

2009-10-01T14:07:00.003-04:00

Bloody coincidence this word, "crime".

I awoke to the very real news that

my cousins 19 year old son was shot.

Once in the neck, once in the shoulder.

The latter wedged in his spine.

Be careful of who your "friends" are. And even more what you say. Brad made the simple mistake of making a Facebook update. A note that had a "friend" believe he had several hundred dollars cash on hand. And so his "friend" shows up with 2 other thugs and a loaded hand gun. Broke through the front door and demanded he hand them the money. Demand not met, bullets fired. Life on a thread. Sick fucking world we live in....

One Word, Crime. Please send prayers for Brad and his family.

Silence

2009-08-26T14:08:00.009-04:00

Though it may appear that I have vanished, I shall fracture the blogospherical noise-floor with the sounds of Silence...

Silence is the deaf man’s call
The forest tree before it falls
It separates us one from all
An imp inside a tower wall

Drifting dense as morning fog
It casts its dew upon the log
Shrouds the meadow and the bog
A shrinking tail of polliwog

Silence is a muted choice
Sunlight warms the shroud and hoists
A founding wall upon the joist
And so from heaven, find our voice

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Fracture, Noise, Vanish

Call Me Son

2009-08-07T14:29:00.007-04:00

So this Sunday Scribblings - New, is for Laini, is for expecting a baby. Congratulations and best wishes, Laini! My offering for new is in keeping with new life. I wrote this song ten years ago. It was written for my son a few weeks after he was born. I wrote it from his perspective, or at least how I imagined it. While he was "in utero" I would talk to him. Of course, to the casual observer I was talking to my wife's stomach. He would get a bit excited and kick and move (which probably explains why he is now a drummer!).

This had me wondering what it must be like to be him at that moment and subsequently joining the rest of us in our cold harsh world. That is the point of reference in the song.

I'm just an alien in this world

I know not where I come from, nor why I'm here

You are somehow not a stranger to me

You are a voice in this darkness I call home

I was dreaming conscious when I came

I have been waking slowly since that day

Although my eyes were open I just now start to see

You call me Ian Michael and that is who I'll be

I heard someone call me Son

I know I am not the only one

You are more than just a man to me

For I will call you father if you should choose to be

We are more than actors in this scene

You must be my teacher of what life means

I heard someone call me Son

I know I am not the only one

Call me son….

Call Me Son, should auto-play via the player below. If you are not reading from Blogspot, you can click the link in the previous sentence.

A Summer Moon

2009-08-05T22:27:00.006-04:00

Summer's highest moon is nigh
Accentuate a shadow sky
Glamour lights the lions den
Balance pitch to Us and Them

-- Post From My iPhone

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Accentuate, Glamour, Pitch

Notes: "Us and Them", courtesy of Pink Floyd. (Click the link in the stanza).

One Word: Humid

2009-08-04T09:22:00.004-04:00

In the humid apex of summer we languish

Taking days in stride, pacing ourselves

From shaded vantages we sense the rotating cicadian drone

The undercurrent of life shifting compost in the dew

One Word: humid

Patronize Darkness

2009-07-30T13:49:00.009-04:00

Weaken

esteem

Patronize

darkness

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Darkness, Patronize, Weaken

Drumthwacket

2009-07-22T15:54:00.003-04:00

Major Drumthwacket

Cradled his snare

In perfect cadence with

Princetonian air

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Cradle, Perfect, Snare

Hole

2009-07-16T20:43:00.002-04:00

Give me a hole in the sky
For the light to pass through

-- Post From My iPhone

One Word: Palm

2009-07-16T14:06:00.002-04:00

In the palm of my hand

Memories of places I've been

Like the small of your back

The nape of your neck

And I can feel it

Like it was yesterday

One Word: Palm

Requiem (One Way Home)

2009-07-05T21:29:00.004-04:00

Sunday Scribblings #170 - Human

Words, toys of the mind, the building blocks of consciousness. Consciousness, the essence of humanity. Humans not only know the space around them, but understand their space in time. The placement of memories one after another, defining us as individuals. We define ourselves by our memories. We all have heard the phrase, "life passed before his eyes", in a potentially dying moment. People who have died on the operating table, to be revived, almost unanimously speak of being out of body, and heading to the light. We all question where we go when we die. I remember being in the hospital with an aunt who was dying of cancer. She let go after my mother whispered in her ear that everything was ok, and she could let go. And so she did. And I distinctly felt her around me, and then looking down on me. I will never forget it. I believe, we all go back. Back to the ether, from where we came. Only one way home.

This should auto play. If you're reading this outside of blogspot, you can listen here, "Requiem".

Requiem (One Way Home)

Part I: Departure

spoken - I think it's time. Honey, Honey, hey I'm right here. I just want you to know it's ok, you can let go now. Everything is ok. I love you.

Part II: One Way Home

There’s only one way, there’s only one way home

There’s only one way home at the end of the day.

Do you remember the beginning of time to the earliest thoughts running through your mind

Now play it all back, life before your eyes, while you stare at the light like the sun in the sky

Do you feel it calling out your name, like nothing heard before, but it feels the same

Like the voice of your mother calling through the womb, the voice of an angel crying through the gloom

You live your life always fearing the end, but the end is the beginning, like a trusted friend

Back to the ether where we started from, our souls are in motion like the light of the sun

I’ve been gone so long I can’t find my home

I’ve been gone so long I can’t find my way, the fog is rolling in at the end of the day

I can feel the room start to fall away, as I am floating above where my body lay

There’s only one way only one way home only one way only one way home….

Part III: In the end, the beginning

Notes: This song has been evolving for two years now. Starting out as a simple guitar loop, minor seventh. Evoking for me, early Pink Floyd. A repeated refrain, "one way home". I wanted to add a down-beat rhythm, and finally did this past winter. I began to add a singing melody answering the refrain, but nothing seemed to work. I had a flash of an idea one evening that I should rap the lyric. This is something I've never tried. The final part, tumbling through space, I decided to add an old family tape recording. Of me, at three years, singing my first song, "Hocka-dee-dar".

Toys of the Mind

2009-06-27T23:01:00.003-04:00

Words

Toys of the mind

Grasp as colored blocks

Arrange in stacks and lines

Building walls of thought

One generation upon the other

Drawing id from muck and mire

Holding ego ever higher

We keepers of the holy fire

Perilous flight of our desire

Sunday Scribblings #169 - Toys.

Iron Horse

2009-06-27T21:58:00.005-04:00

This prompt from my friend, murat11: Radiant screed. After the gold rush.

The Iron Horse

Anxious at the western gate

Snorting and heaving radiant

Waves of attackers

Upon unwitting enemies

Clinging to the truer earth

The eternally desperate escaping

To the promise of alchemy's lie

Steel wheels screed and slipped

Hoofing from the station

Mobilizing fate from its lockstep course

With world order

Summoning continental shifts in time

Folding oceans of change upon the land

Washing the rooted and still

Forever westward to the future

One Word: Surf

2009-06-25T17:02:00.004-04:00

One Word

Toes in surf, I drink from my canteen. Margarita if you must ask. Nothing like cool and salty when you're in a sweat. Time to dive in! Cheers!

One Word: Event

2009-06-25T17:00:00.003-04:00

One Word

In the event that someone reads this message. Please tell my family I love them.

The Edge of Night

2009-06-18T09:46:00.005-04:00

Wicked is the blues. Gospel's Judas, disciples of the same vein. Rhythmic, soulful undercurrents, they stand upon the same tenents. One begging to be lifted upward, the other being pulled below. Arresting is the empathy of the blues. The pressing weight of life. The simple diversions of carnal pleasure and mirth. By day we carry the stone, sharing in the festival of music upon the edge of night.

"The Edge of Night"

On the edge of night I can see your light come shining through

On the edge of day well I can see the darkness in your eyes

Ain't no hiding from your disguise

In the light of day your soul is sleeping like the grizzly's winter way

In the light of day you wear the face of a clown on circus day

The truth is hiding behind your eyes

The feeling comes when the sun goes down

And the music of your soul comes around

There is nothing but you in the way and don't say

That you can't let go of the feelings inside

'cause the music must come from your soul in some way

Today...

When darkness falls you break the walls you mended all day long

When darkness covers all you bask your naked soul in warmth of song

The truth of passion can't be wrong

On the edge of night you spread your spirit wings and rise in flight

On the edge of day you come to roost from the heights of open sky

Take the time to stop and wonder why

The feeling comes when the sun goes down

And the music of your soul comes around

There is nothing but you in the way and don't say

That you can't let go of the feelings inside

'cause the music must come from your soul in some way

Today...

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Arresting, Rhythmic, Wicked.

The Edge of Night - as performed at the Winedale Tavern, Dallas, Texas, February 1996

Officer Ed

2009-06-01T14:04:00.007-04:00

Well they said that Ed was a neighborhood guy

He never walked by without saying “Hi”

Just a township cop on the Jersey Shore

He won’t be making his rounds no more

Seems this soldier of justice in this murderous age

Was blinded by fate and the fire of rage

He packed up his sidearm and his pump action shot

And decided to fix what the courts would not

Well it’s the final drive of Officer Ed

Only God knows the demons he had in his head

By the time he was done there were six people dead

Including the life of Officer Ed

Eddie’s chief of police was the last in the news

But the chief ran to safety deep in the woods

The streets were crawling with a hundred-plus blues

As New Jersey’s finest searched for one of their hue

Well it’s the final drive of Officer Ed

Only God knows the demons he had in his head

By the time he was done there were six people dead

Including the life of Officer Ed

The last bullet he fired was in his own head....

Sunday Scribblings #165, Covert. This weekend grabbed my bull by both horns. I came up for air last night but was running on fumes. Covert could not connect to synapse. Until my brain sparked into action on this morn'. Officer Ed is a song I wrote a few years back. Based on a true story about a New Jersey policeman who went on a killing rampage (read here). No multi-media today, I never recorded it. In fact I haven't thought about it in years. But imagine a driving mid-tempo rocker delivered with the fire and gravel of The Boss, Bruce Springsteen - patron saint of New Jersey. (If I do record this and you would like to hear it, be sure to have the comments emailed to you. I will update this post if/when I have something to share)

:-)

Wind Chimes

2009-05-31T22:05:00.002-04:00

Wind chimes in the key of G
Thoughts arrive in privacy
Tobacco smolders with the sun
Ponder one more weekend done

-- Post From My iPhone

Gotham Dawn

2009-05-27T12:31:00.015-04:00

Embrace the monotonous hum of the commute

Myriad sleepwalkers shuffle in programmed

Pathways through tunnels like ants

Immersed in a sea of humanity

Clinging to the isolation of

The morning news or the cocoon of tune

Or the private confines of eyelids

With timid glances tired eyes, like mine

Shift the imagination into faux conversation

Steely screech and the pull of inertia

Awaken zombies into action

Stair climbing turnstile twists

We increment and ascend into

The dreary dampness of the city

Dodging umbrellas and briefcases

Footworn curbs of granite channel streams

Of gray matter over-coursing seams

Of penny loafers adding froggy croaks

Of footsteps to the cacophony

Of urban happenings

Progress is trading hunter instincts

For the bullfighters ballet

Forever sidestepping yellow braman beasts

In a Gotham dawn

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Dreary, Embrace, Timid. You should be listening an auto-play reading production, "Gotham Dawn", from the JMike Inferno player, you can fast forward if required. If you are not reading this in blogspot you can listen here, "Gotham Dawn"

To download these readings click on the widget below.

Waiting for the Fall

2009-05-22T11:06:00.005-04:00

Did you ever wonder why some people have it all

While you squeeze the blood stone for a drop so small

You’re sweating when the jealous fever burns inside

But you can’t hold back the moon as it turns the tide

When all is said and done can’t keep a good man down

But it’s hard to take flight with your feet on the ground

And you’d like to take those people down a notch or two

Instead you wait for the fates to bring them closer to you

We're waiting

We're waiting for the

We're waiting for the fall

Did you ever wonder how you had it so good

How everything could be just as it should

Makes you wonder just how long this could last

When you look back and you see that it’s all in your past

We're waiting

We're waiting for the

We're waiting for the fall

Sunday Scribblings - #164, Worry. One of these days, I'm actually going to write something for SS. But this fits nicely. But this is also about sharing so I only feel half bad. I'm a little self conscious about the recording as it was one of the first I did myself and I've always meant to remix. This should auto play. If you're reading this outside of blogspot, you can listen here, "Waiting for the Fall" .

To download these readings click on the widget below.

Apollo XIII

2009-05-21T12:17:00.005-04:00

Encapsulated from

The treacherous vacuum

Of space

Murphy embraces

The fortunes of thirteen

In the face of death,

Minds meld in efficient process

To optimize lunar gravity

And deliver brave souls

Into the bosom

Of our earthly mother

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Efficient, Optimize, Treacherous

To listen to a reading (recorded on my iPhone) of "Apollo XIII" fast forward the JMike Inferno player at upper right. If you are not reading from blogspot you can listen here: Apollo XIII. Apollo 13 recordings courtesy of public domain.

To download these readings click on the widget below.

Enemy

2009-05-17T21:43:00.007-04:00

Somebody save me from myself I am my own worst enemy

Somebody save me from myself for I have no inner peace

I’ve got all the trappings that the poor and lonely could ever want

I’m not the best at anything but I’m good at an awful lot

I wake up every morning with all my fingers and my toes

But I couldn’t smell the flowers if they were placed before my nose

I often felt that all I need is to surround myself with love

To that I’ve built a fortress but somehow that’s just not enough

Somebody save me from myself I am my own worst enemy

Somebody save me from myself for I have no inner peace

The more I seem to learn the less I know about myself

Someone throw me a line, somebody save me from myself

I never know just what it is that tears my soul apart

Is it the ghosts inside my head or an aching in my heart

I’d lay down the lines that bare my soul if I could only find the time

The thing about time as I grow old is that a lot less of it is mine

I must be sick inside myself because around me all is well

Somebody help me with this burden ‘fore it drags me straight to hell

Somebody save me from myself I am my own worst enemy

Somebody save me from myself for I have no inner peace

The more I seem to learn the less I know about myself

Someone throw me a line, somebody save me from myself

Sunday Scribblings - 163,Disconnected. Disconnected from your own reality. Wondering how your feelings defy logic. To be your own worst enemy? This song was recorded for the country rock act, Country Blue. Press play on the player below to listen. It's best enjoyed with a cold beer and a shot of JD....

Smoking Gun

2009-05-13T09:56:00.009-04:00

Two voices howl into the night

Which one's wrong and which is right?

Bicker bicker bicker wail

Threats of violence in the air

Like dripping carcass from the hook

One would kill with sabred look

Nervous trigger hand on gun

Trajectory of fate undone

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Bicker, Nervous, Trajectory. To listen to the reading, go to the JMike Inferno player on the screen and hit play, (fast forward if you need to).

To download these readings click on the widget below.

Bleeding Rock

2009-05-09T20:38:00.005-04:00

Sunday Scribblings - 162 - Healing. This song was written almost 14 years ago. My soul was on the mend after my father committed suicide May 6, 1995. I got the call as I was setting up for a gig in Dallas, TX. I wrote the song about 5 months later as I was trying get something, anything, out. I regret I do not have a recording to share with you. I had a demo recording, but I can't seem to find the copy. I may record it still. It's a mid tempo acoustic blues in a drop D tuning and slide guitar accompaniment. The bleeding rock is a play on familiar metaphors. I was feeling like I had a heart of stone. It's been said that you can't get blood from a stone. I was screaming on the inside to try to live and love again. To try to quell the anger that was consuming me. This song was a regular part of my acoustic repertoire for years. The message was not obvious to the listener, but it was extremely cathartic to me.

Overnight my heart was cast to stone

A man had tumbled down the walls of home

He won’t be asking why I choose my streams

He’ll always haunt me, living in my dreams

I walk alone with the family jewels

There’s only me to write the golden rules

I thought this heart of mine won’t give a drop

I squeeze this bleeding rock of all it’s got

A bleeding rock is good for throwing stones

Breaking windows in glass homes

Making good on Shylock loans

And rocking rolling stones

This rock is where I call my home

Where my dog can bury her bone

A bleeding rock will float on seas

And soar upon the summer breeze

They say a mans heart must freeze

In times of pain and suffering

But my heart’s flowing with the tears

This bleeding rock was dry for years

A bleeding rock is good for throwing stones

Breaking windows in glass homes

Making good on Shylock loans

And rocking rolling stones

Adder Suns

2009-05-03T17:20:00.006-04:00

I am tired of being tired

From here to eternity

The Adder Suns burning holes

Through paper dolls like focused

Beams from the magnifying glass

Packing eyes like carpet bags

Dark and thick as oxblood soup

Fill the mornings heavy

With black hole gravity

Who ripped my Earth from its solar bounds

And skewed its orbit so?

Defy Cupernicusian law

And pull me into you

The Adder Suns belie the moon

And lunar tidal pull

Circadian rhythm makes no sound

Without percussion’s tools

Sleeping Ursa’s winter

Without the hope of spring

We fill the lamp with oil

Never more than flickering

Sunday Scribblings - Confessions? Hi, my name is Michael and I have Addison's Disease (Adder Suns). This is actually the third poem I've published here that relate to dealing with this illness. I offered no description to "Serpentine" and "Flat" , so these are also expressions of my experience as well.

Souls to the Wind

2009-04-24T12:09:00.005-04:00

Sunday Scribblings - Follow. I follow my instincts. Or at least try to. I follow truth and honesty and try to remember who I am and what is most important to me. Always. I follow humility. I try to imagine losing what I have, my family, my health, my income, my home, my possessions so I don't become infatuated with that which I do not need. Given the global economy the vulnerability of these things is real. The excess of materialism and greed is rampant. This is the essence of "Souls to the Wind". This song is loud and impassioned. Look to the player, upper-right, and press play if you want to hear. If you like to rock, turn up the volume. I hope you enjoy!

Dark days weighing on down on our souls

How have we gotten here? How have we fallen down from our dreams?

We were drunk with the lies, taking more for ourselves than we need.

If we look inside we can find our way, truth is a path

We walk along to the edge and hold our souls to the wind

Hard times, hold our feet to the fire

Tear us apart, until we are left with our fears

How do we find our way, having nothing left but our tears?

If we look inside we can find our way, truth is a path

We walk along to the edge and hold our souls to the wind

Sleepless nights, wrench away at our souls

How can we stem the tide? Stand against what we can’t control?

Look into our hearts, find the only thing left to hold

If we look inside we can find our way, truth is a path

We walk along to the edge and hold our souls to the wind

The Free World

2009-04-22T12:38:00.005-04:00

The oath of office held to heart

Take thy vow and hold the beacon

Upon the shoulders of conscience.

Of the people, for the people

And by the people lest ye forget.

Nothing to fear but fear itself

Yet fear was your mantra and

Might was your reason.

Power is an opiate, to wield it

Is to lance the vein

And corrupt the heart and soul.

Indulge in the sound of your own voice

So that no others can be heard.

Surround thy self with yaysayers

Who tell you only what you want to hear.

Feed your ears with fat

No gristle for which to chew.

Question only those who question you

And no doubt appears in the looking glass.

Perversion of power grows like puss

Festering in the sphere of your own influence.

And as the wound grows hide it

Through the veil of deceit.

Shower fear upon the masses

Filling their vessels like

Cups of Reverend Jones' elixir.

But all do not thirst.

And some still live to question.

And through the voice of dissent

Hope still conquers fear...

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Deceit, Indulge, Oath

Pulling up Perch

2009-04-16T11:44:00.005-04:00

Timeless

Childhood allure

Casting lines into the deep azure

Tethered

Finger to a string

Whiskered blind for signs of living things

Hopeful

Endless waiting search

Setting the hook and pulling up perch

Vivid

Scales exposed to sun

Alien to air means summer fun

Memoir

Universal joy

Fishing is a passage right for boy

Three Word Wednesday offered these: allure, perch, vivid

Good Friday

2009-04-10T14:46:00.006-04:00

For 30 odd silver pieces had,

Judas gave Pilate, Jesus’ head

By Roman order he would be led

Upon a crucifix ‘til dead

A spray of thorns, his head adorns

Are sharper than a demons horns

The cross upon his back was worn

‘Neath sweat and blood his skin was torn

The road to Calvary was full

To view this gruesome spectacle

The Lamb of God would die for all

Upon Golgotha, Place of Skull

Decided to write this for Sunday Scribblings. Scary is not what most feel on Good Friday. The essence of The Sacrifice should invoke fear in most. I think that is what Mel Gibson was getting at in The Passion of the Christ.

My Soul is a Can of Sardines

2009-04-08T11:54:00.003-04:00

This weeks Sunday Scribblings is "scary". I uploaded this earlier this week but coincidentally it fits the subject. The inspiration for this is loosely based on the novel The Road by Cormac McCarthy. A very bleak and scary post-apocalyptic tale that includes a scene in a stumbled upon fallout shelter. I say loosely, as there were no canned fish in the scene, but the survivors ate the more palletable storings first.

Rectangular gunmetal free of reflection

Eternally passed for a sweeter selection

Storm cellar denizen awaiting the end

Inanimate, lonely and seeking a friend

What will it take to have someone’s lust

Waiting here coolly as skin turns to rust

Most people hope for their fate up in heaven

I pray for the day that brings Armageddon

For driving survivors below ground with me

These prisoners of fallout will set me free

Their spiraling famine means dark destiny

But before they arrive they will twist of the key…

…my soul is a can of sardines

Fate

2009-04-08T08:48:00.000-04:00

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Flirt, Ploy, Stunning

A stunning beauty
Harkens joy
Target of
Flirtatious ploy
To hesitate
Would be remiss
Deny me of
Your faithful kiss

Ode to the Yard

2009-04-06T10:20:00.000-04:00

This weeks Sunday Scribblings prompt "Celebrate". This poem celebrates spring and my love for the game of baseball. This Sunday is opening day to a new season, perfect timing!

On the diamond, as a boy, was where I want’ to be
My heroes wore the red pinstripes and played in South Philly
Schmitty, Lefty, and the Bull, Tugger and Bob Boone
Brought the title home at last and fans began to swoon
They fueled my dreams and made me crave the happenings of spring
The smell of dirt and oiled leather brings back everything
Twenty and eight years had passed and I’m no longer young
My son, as I, has watched this team, another title rung
In flowing through this arc of life, here again upon the diamond
I as coach and torch bearer to a younger generation
The batsman’s swagger, the pitcher’s wind, a duel over the pill
Will the batter crush the ball or pale to the man on the hill

Fender Bender

2009-04-01T15:18:00.000-04:00

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Crush, Knack, and Varied.

While driving in the evening rush
I heard the sound of metal crush
Preceded by a moment harried
It seems my right of way had varied
I, singing in my Dodge Daytona
To a song that’s titled “My Sharona”
One hit wonder called The Knack
Pay witness to my auto whacked…

In My Mind

2009-03-27T13:58:00.000-04:00

This weeks Sunday Scribblings topic - Aging. For this I submit one that is already written. Conveniently, it comes ready made with the music. Hope you enjoy.

These bones grow old, they are not surrounded by
The dreams and the vibrance of youth
In the day I never knew hindsight, never saw beyond the horizon
Only lived for the here and now, just today, just today
And the thoughts of who I might be one day
Now I’m staring in the mirror at a man, just a man
Not a boy with wings and a prayer
For I have tied so many strings and accumulated things
I am a locomotive with a train hitched to my back
There are no roads to take only endless miles of track

In my mind I’m still eighteen
Except for the places I’ve been
And the things I have seen
There’s been a lifetime in between
But in my mind I’m still eighteen

Every morning when I wake I am always in between
The things I’ve done and the things I dream
I am the fulcrum, at one side is the weight
Of who I am, the other who I might be
If I might make it to another day, just one more day
At dusk do we sleep in the dark of Eternity
Or do we open the Gates of Infinity
It seems too much to ask for we never get an answer
We just put our faith with ministers and mystics
While we blind our eyes with sleep at the end of a day

In my mind I’m still eighteen
Except for the places I’ve been
And the things I have seen
There’s been a lifetime in between
But in my mind I’m still eighteen

In my mind…

Cedar Groves

2009-03-27T08:56:00.001-04:00

Asleep in cedar groves

Aromatic beds of quilted needles

Under the din of a conifer shroud

Doe and fawn await to greet the sun

In the infant rays of day

They slowly make their way

To the meadows alive

By the death roads of humanity

Asleep in cedar groves…

Another mornings fill

Renders a days retreat

In this glinting vestige lies

What remains of the Garden

And the eyes of the ancients

Gaze upon their imploding world

All of this I see while rolling by

In the cocoon of a mechanized world

Asleep in cedar groves…

Blue Emotion

2009-03-25T09:49:00.000-04:00

Late entry for Sunday Scribblings "I come from..." after I unwittingly linked myself to this weeks topic. Woops! Better come up with something quick....

Blue Emotion

I come from blue emotion

Trickling through cracks in ancient granite walls

Breathing new air upon erupting pure springs

Gravity is my governance

Choosing paths of least resistance

While leeching mineral essence along the way

Scouring the hillsides

I lather in aerated falls

Slithering around primeval fauna

Lazing under canopies

The songs of life are choral

Lifting me onward to the sea

Serpentine

2009-03-23T16:31:00.002-04:00

Life

Wraps around your torso like a boa constrictor

You can breathe out but you can’t breathe in, breathe out

Each breath shorter than the last until your lungs thrust upon your throat

Deprivation breeds a high, a numb buzzing in your ears

You know the end is near, and yet it passes ever slowly

More slowly than the moment last, until you hover in a dream

Like death all around an angel on a battlefield

A witness to the carnage that can never touch you

And still…..

you breathe

another breath

to greet the dawn

of a new day

Flat

2009-03-20T15:57:00.003-04:00

Flat. Like the coastal plain reaching forth into the shallows of the sea

Though the present place of being thrusts upward to the sky

Here am I, mired in the valley of mud

Winged of spirit, wanting to embrace the sky

My tail, once vestigial, now growing into the silt below

Dreams can place us in front of our deepest fears

And we live there in slow motion, unable to run

In the end we wake, to realize the thought not real

But how is it now, that I am awake?

Still not able to run

My Musical Identity

2009-03-20T15:48:00.001-04:00

When the Music's Over

**thunk thunk** ...uh is this thing on?

There's Always You

Every Grain of Sand

Pushing Through - Segue to Reborn

Origins

Like Dream Paralysis

One Minute of Joy

Slow Black Death

Good Friday

A Sort of Letter

The Path of Least Resistance, Part I

The Grave Robber

Room

The Essence of Woman

In Spite of the Obvious: Thanksgiving

Creative Beauty

Little Saigon

Deep Ether

Departing Alice

The Longest Night

Narcissus

Song for Brad

Crime

Silence

Call Me Son

A Summer Moon

One Word: Humid

Patronize Darkness

Drumthwacket

Hole

One Word: Palm

Requiem (One Way Home)

Toys of the Mind

Iron Horse

One Word: Surf

One Word: Event

The Edge of Night

Officer Ed

Wind Chimes

Gotham Dawn

Waiting for the Fall

Apollo XIII

Enemy

Smoking Gun

Bleeding Rock

Adder Suns

Souls to the Wind

The Free World

Pulling up Perch

Good Friday

My Soul is a Can of Sardines

Fate

Ode to the Yard

Fender Bender

In My Mind

Cedar Groves

Asleep in cedar groves

Blue Emotion

Serpentine

Flat

My Musical Identity

thunk thunk ...uh is this thing on?