On Being Found

I have a beautiful mind
Don’t we all
It’s easy to say why
I’ve let mine languish
But I won’t say
I’ll spare you
I’ll spare me
It took years
to quell my fire
and more to wonder why
But, if even one soul has the vision
to see the slight spark upon the mountainside
then I am not lost


my dear friend
mid fall
all the fruit is rotten
all my bones
are on the outside


can and shall obey

Its been a while. I took some pictures while I was gone. I’ll show you soon.

Taken with my iPhone at The Milwaukee War Memorial.

The Milwaukee War Memorial Building.

In the meantime, please check out my new blog…

can and shall obey|a music blog

new scene

I recently moved to Wisconsin from Chicago. I have a lot to say about it, but not today. Instead, here is what I’ve seen so far.












black and white fire

Last night I took some photos of my roommate spinning fire poi in our alley, with my iphone… (click on the pic for a full view)

art. coma. hangover.

I planned to write, I planned to paint. I planned to do anything other than nothing. Sometimes it’s harder than it sounds.

The constant ache to create is endless; desperate, fluttering birds in my gut. Each time a bird is set free through self expression, the whole world seems just a little more tolerable, slightly less crushing. And, the beauty of it all becomes so obvious.

But, sometimes they get stuck, when life (or doubt) blocks the road, strangles the flow. The sky gets dark, the stars go out, years pass. Half the birds die, the rest hide and I get sick on rotten feathers.

The storms eventually pass and I see a hint of burning sun in the distance. I feel the birds scrambling to escape as the doors to my soul creek open, slow as mud. They tear out of me like zombies, painful and bloody.

My instinct is to push back the mutilated mess before it stumbles and splats onto my paper or canvas. But I have to let it be, let the resurrection begin. So, I’ll suffer through this ugly purging and force myself to get it all out.

One by one, each bird will be livelier. Sharp bones will grow skin and soft, soft feathers. And one day, it will all be so satisfying again.