the face on the milkcarton

oh poor little runaway
ridiculous with her unchanging dolls face
she thinks everyone is watching her
but she only sees herself

but maybe you've seen this face?
this torn up funny sign?
strewn about your least favorite cafes
restaurants
college bars

the post office, the crime blotter, the milk carton, the mirror

the photos you took
your photos
your dreams

Commandment III: Get Yourself an Office

Everyone needs a workspace.  Not everyone has the money.

How to get an office in Nashville for no money and free perks: 

Clearly what I mean here is some privacy and internet.  I tried the library at first but there was something sterile and depressing about it... And I couldn't go on certain websites.  No I don't mean porn.  Who would look at porn in a library.

Now I've found it.  A dully named and service-light but ambience-heavy coffeeshop, with filthy coffee, and cute servers that never charge me for coffee anymore.  I get to sit here and enjoy the free wi-fi and the free coffee for hours and I am nothing but welcome.  I could sit here all day.  I could never leave.

Swear by it; live by it; get your work done. 

Because happiness never feels the way you think....

Does it?

I'm not sure... well I am sure... I'm sure what's missing... I'm not aiming for cryptography here, well, I am by nature ambiguous (never ambivalent, though), but really, I got ho's in different area codes, that read this shit.  I insinuate; they infer.  Humans are born with the ability to communicate on such a sophisticated level, these languages, systems of infinite combinations of patterns of strings of constructs of sounds made by closing the back of the throat, rounding the lips, flapping the tongue, and exhaling.  Sometimes through the nose.  And sometimes the mouth.

We also, naturally and by nature, kinda think everything's about us.

And sometimes it's got nothin' to do with ya, Sally Mae!  In fact, this is all fake, okay?  I downloaded those music from youtube, and I'm really a man.

But for story's SAKE.

I don't think there's any possible way Brandon (which is actually his real name, which is kinda dumb, but kinda not, for reasons that I will shortly address) has seen this blog, because he doesn't read, and because he doesn't care.  And he's the only one I've said anything bad about and it hasn't even been bad.

But if I can't keep it real here, what's the point?

I wish I was born here in Nashville.  Or somewhere nearby.  I wish I knew the same people my whole life.  I still could've pursued music, it's the perfect place for it... Granted what I do now is a little different, but songwriting, singing, and playing the piano, is always music.  It couldve gone any direction, stylistically... or would it not have?  I mean would I have come out the same person somehow, regardless?

Ughhhh if a tree falls in the fucking forest.

I'm just so sick of starting over.  I'm so sick of reinvention.  I am the phoenix.  And I am one thousand years old. 

Girl's Night, Dressed to Impress

See.  I can have fun.  And I can have friends.  And I can look hot.

World, meet Sandy, my new friend.  Last night we fucking went out.  The woman knows how to go out.  I went to her place and she lent me clothes and we fucking WENT OUT.

I'd told Brandon I'd meet him at this bar (not the Rockstar) and I came with Sandy.  And I danced with Sandy all night.  In front of him.  And then I went home.  :::devilish laugh:::

But seriously.  Rehearsal in the morning.  Had to.

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.

One-night stand or no demand?

So I met a guy here last night.  And by "met a guy" I mean met a guy that I'm actually kind of into, went out with the guy, had drinks with the guy, and slept with the guy.  That's what I meant, by "met a guy."  So now I'm gonna have to retract.  I didn't in fact meet a guy.

I met a guy.  At this bar downtown.  I went there after spending the day bar-shopping.  Which is like window-shopping and bar-hopping combined... as in shopping around for a possible gig at one of these places... which was kind of a bust, I think... Right after Christmas, depressing lonely Nashville Christmas, when no one was on point or seemingly interested in answering my questions... For the most part, they've been pretty helpful down here, so far, even though a lot of the helpful advice has been-- ya want a gig?  You should play country then... Sigh... Anyway.


I went to this bar downtown after the day bar-shopping-- not looking to shop, just wanting a drink for a change.

And this guy Brandon introduces himself and I go sit with him and his friends, who were pretty cool, with some exceptions, naturally, and they were just about to leave to go to a party at one of their places, and invited me to come along.

The party was kinda nuts, I mean the people were kinda nuts, it was Brandon's friend (uhhh insert name here)'s place.  He's a musician, like everyone down here (except Brandon) and there were a lot of weird little jealousies and rivalries and weed and booze and weird sexual dynamics and mismatched seeming couples and like, in other words, a party...

But the Brandon guy- cool as hell.  And cute.  And me- wasted.  And... something... And actually, whole night- kind of a blur. 

All I remember is that at one point we were making out in the kitchen, and then, he's giving me a ride home, and, I thought we'd been flirting and like, making out in the kitchen, but, maybe I made that part up, because he just goes- "Is this your place here?... Okay, good night." 

???

Maybe it's like, a Tennessee thing?

Is that it? 

I don't know if he asked for my number even, but whether he did or not, it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference, as I currently don't have a phone. 

Actually... come to think of it... I think we made plans to hang out...

And, I don't bloody remember them for the life of me.

Goddamnit.

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.

I. Explore your Surroundings.

...so here I am again in a new town.  Here I am again.  In a new town.  Again.  In a town again.
  I have uncharacteristic high-hopes for this place. 

I mean it can't possibly be worse than Utah.  (Can anything?)  Though Utah, driving through Utah as the clouds cast glorious shadows over the rolling mountains, en route to a chateau in Park City for skiing with Milo... could understandably pass for God's Country for the godfearing Mormons.

Mormons are all really really nice.

But people here in Nashville are really, REALLY, REALLY, nice.  And they drink.  And there's music. 

So I'm spending 30 out of the 200 or so I got to my name to spend tonight in a roadside motel.  Gotta at least get one good uninterrupted night's sleep before pounding the pavement and knocking at doors for employment opportunities both musical and not....

Well farewell Utah, and good night Nashville, and good night dear sweet readers.  Tomorrow I'll explore.

xo
CvD