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. 

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

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. 

Commandment II: Push. (a.k.a. Pushy Girls)

Nobody likes 'em.

Trouble is, nobody likes to work with 'em either.  Or work period, really.  Especially with girls.  They wanna just hang out with 'em. 

So henceforth, if you are a girl, who likes to work, and wants to get things done, you're gonna have to be a little pushy, and ergo, you're gonna have to get used to not being liked once or twice in a while.

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.