READ BETWEEN THE LINES!

Seems to rain
Every time I think your name
Every time I'm driving through these hills
It's getting late

Spell it out
Give me something to write about
All the time I'm driving through these lights to you
They're turning red

I know that I just need friends
And to figure out the dose
And I know it has nothing to do with you
It never does
It never does
It never does

When it rains
You're quoting from my songs again
So I read between the lines again
These lines again
Does it ever end
It never ends

Easy
Easy
Easy on me

Easy
Easy
Easy on me now

If you like
If you can bear it
I'll keep driving down to see you
Through the hills
Through the lights
Through rain
A traffic jam

Between the lines
Between the lines
Between the lines
Between the lines
Those lines

As We Roll On...

Another rehearsal, another unbelievably happy day.  As We Roll On.  With the same cast of characters.

I've been video-happy lately.  Cuz there's been a camera around.  But I'll be back to just blogging and cartoons now... For now...

Between the Lines

Rehearsal Time:  Happiest Time:  Song:  Between the Lines

-Take 2-

CAST (in order of appearance): 

SmartPhone................................................................................BleepBleepBleep

Me.....................................mysterious back of the head, on piano and mic (obv)

AP...............................................mysterious rhythmic shadowy figure, on drums

CM...............Mysterious Maestro, (OTS), on bass, mixing board, and steadycam

My Face.

Now this is what friends are for.... I feel less bonkers already.

Bloody Mary for Grownups

Okay now this is what I call seriously fucking with oneself.  I don't know I got home tonight, and like, I've been seeing this guy Brandon for a little while now... irrelevant... well.. I'll catch up about that... he's been keeping me busy... rather, I've been keeping him busy.  And waiting.  A lot.  Cuz I'm finally getting my shit together with my music.  I really am.  It's incredible.  I have a band.  They're all amazing.  I just wanna do my stuff, and it sounds so good, and one of the guys knows the owner of this place, the Bluebird Cafe, and said... he might offer us a regular spot there... Gulp. I don't know.  Fingers crossed.  It's all coming together.  But.  Anyway.  

I feel kind of tripped out tonight.  Everything, just, Brandon, asking, so many questions about me, about my past, and old relationships, and, he didn't ask if I've ever been married... of course he didn't-- and like... I was looking in the mirror, after washing my face, and I'm seeing how many lives and how many souls and how many hearts and how many just NON-HUMAN, just BASE, ELEMENTS, inhabit this creature I am... it's not just Chloe in there... it's all my, my fire, my water, my SADNESS has a SPEAR, my GREED, my MENACE, my DEMONS, my DEVILS, my SECRETS, my broken flowers, my helpless and terrified id, my capricious and engulfing lust, and these animals, and the witches... that live in me.  

I'm not on drugs, mind you. WATCH FOR YOURSELF, and tell me you can't see it too... The cat, even, she was staring at me as I was sniveling there in the mirror and then she pounced at me that wasn't me, until I said I'm sorry I'm sorry and I started crying and then she stopped but she was looking around behind the toilet and stuff for whatever it was that she had just seen...

Just watch. 

Doesn't it make nice good background ambience?  Just Like.... the ideal Screensaver?  

Relaxing?  Like a painting in a motel room?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Superhero.

I look like this.  Right now.


I play like this.  Not yet.  Not yet, no.  But.







When I think about my music... or when somebody asks... I can't call it... anything... I can't describe it... CLASSIFY.  It sounds pompous, but I don't mean this that way.  It's just... I think of myself as writing, as writing the way any of them would write.  The gods.  The greats.  I am writing symphonies.  I'm writing CLASSICAL MUSIC.  I don't know.  I'm just writing MUSIC.  That's all. 

What prevents scarring.

The demons come, they came to me last night.

When the demons come they want to ruin my face and they want to ruin my hands.

Demons are like heat-seeking missiles; they charge for the whitest light... I hurled myself against the gate, and bled, my face is covered in huge scratches and I hope they don't scar.

The demons come from the people dearest to you, your favorite light. Sometimes they are powerful and they overwhelm you, possess you, as they leave the person across the table... The person across the table says, Wow. All the pain and worries... you just made them go away... We spoke and now they're sitting in the ashtray.

Yes, you say. But you feel on edge... You feel sad... You feel exhausted... And two days later, you find yourself in so much pain and filled with so much darkness and rage and you feel them trying to siege at the person across the room. The person with so much light.

But you fight them... So you fight yourself... You watch yourself try to destroy you. The demons want to ruin my face, and to ruin my hands, and they wanted it so intensely I hurled myself against the gate, I scratched my fingernails slowly and deeply down my face, I punched the concrete and banged my head on it 15 times.

The person across the room didn't want to take on the pain; he stood there and watched and didn't stop me once.

I don't know if they are gone; I don't know if he, is now on edge, sad, exhausted.

I only know my face is covered in bruises and deep scratches. And it hurts to play the piano.

Does anything prevent scarring, can anything keep it from scarring me now...

Ludwig Van.

Currently listening to his Siete. 

Audiorgasm.

Oh, the places you'll go.

I'm antsy... I'm sort of bored... and lonely.

The town all around me is full of life and here I am in this small room, clunking away at the keys again.  Black and white and black and white and loud and soft and up and down.

I could've gone for lunch or something today with this girl Sandy I met on New Year's Eve.  She's cool.  She's got a two year-old son and she works at Rockstar Bar.

And I could've gone for dinner again with Carl Jr.

But in spite of everything I'd rather be here right now.

Good morning, Heartache

Wherever you go, there you are.

There you are, and there you are, and there you are again.

Words of the wise dictate that simple geography can't solve your problems, and that if you don't "work them out" (in some amorphous, intangible, ephemeral sense... what's it mean anyway?  Work it out like the tangles in your hair?  And where can one buy this psychic spray-can of detangler?) they'll just travel on with you.

But I know to go where the air is fresh.

It's fresh here.  It's cold here.  I have no family or friends here.  Just a whole lot of cowboys who want to get to know me. 

Boys, you can spare me the blues, I don't play in that key.