im starting to

understand myself in relation to my family, different ways...from brasil a lot, from being at home - the anger turned towards them, misdirected blame, but coming home tonight and talking with my sister briefly, after walking a quiet path to the house sneaking little glimpses at the sky, thinking about missing love, love and then a Full feeling of all things happening at once...
things occurring, people sleeping, kissing their kittens, drooling on their pillows, new fresh love and wild desires or candlelight writing with wet hair and dark music on headphones, crisp nights and clouds make the memory sharper (we learned that?!) and then the day of fast ideas and dogs running free in the mountains, no leash is the name of the game, and sounds taking their places and deep deep love for everyone. today it clawed a place deeper and my oh my, when the anger and hate stop for a moment it becomes quite calm and simple and the shoulders curl back a bit and exhale and things seem in their places (and you realize it's always been so)...

the time isn't the issue. it IS happening.
do not think it isn't.
places we are going, sounds off
from a distance. this is where
travel runs
a circle
completes itself
by spinning
(something you don't see), (you spin too)
dradles come with chocolate.
i'll see ya in the morning over coffee,
i always do.

new juice

Here: rediscovering what it means to be hungry for life.
the people reliably give you the wrong directions, santiago, but they are straightforward people for the most part and i like them. the city is nice. lots of plants, parks where they need to be, a large castle/hill in the middle of the city with a lovely view. there are cool neighboorhoods with madly different vibes. last night - a really shady area with a jazz club called Thelonius. everytime i hear jazz here i go insane, it has such a power and fits the mood of life here strangely but very well. last night the rhythm guitarist with all the chord changes, speaking to me in little poetic jabs.
curiosity is creeping its head back up but it keeps hitting fatigue which i have to beat down with a stick because it aint real and i aint tired and when you're hungry you dont sleep instead, unless you go so long without food that you get pains and then your stomach shrinks and you just feel like shit. i also gotta remember to be patient. there are snakes in the jungle that go so long without eating that when they finally get their prey they suffocate when eating - they are too hungry and excited. i don't wanna wake up from this mind death and then choke, but i also will be pushing the limits and digging..
good to have no phone. good to hear music on the streets, organic and i remember how music has a special way of fitting into places. puzzle pieces.
staying active...
conversation - asking questions, getting things going.
scat is something to look out for in music.
definitely going to music school.
this space from california is very good to get perspective on the things i want and don't want. perpsective on songs and habits and whatever else. but definitely not going back home, not getting into that same shit routine from the past month or more.
san francisco.
mirror television.
art everywhere.
light fixtures make the room
the solo beer under the maple trees on the red couch in the back of the patio looking at the people and taking some nice deep breaths and getting into that good place. also being pushed by lover over 2nd Heini and made uncomfortable, which is numero uno when traveling, the good kind which stretches you out a bit and gets you ready for some serious shit. will return to this blog soon with much more. juices gotta get squeezed sometimes. oh yea, fresh squeezed juices here - fresh fruit, eating well, health, peruvian beanie that i love.

whoalotsofshit

the words, when spoken, kick rocks from your shoulders and let your spine roll back like water. and the Once Familiar crawls back into the tips of your forehead. i felt it tickle and i laughed and laughed while good beats were pounding and i thought of strange ancient music i'd heard recently with nice space that made me think of being high up in the mountains with pure, crisp air.

thoughts have been stabbing into my chest all day and i've reached a nice feeling, strangely, and mike's words about rooftops in san diego with screams of love within prisms of sound. the attainment of happiness. love. the feeling of energy within a crowd all dancing to the same beat, like icicles burning through people's souls and cleansing your body while your mind gets wrapped around your heart beat but you forget where you are.

the power in decision. what you are.
a choice
ripples.

becoming.

work, reflecting back on this period will be creepy. the familiar becomes so eerie when it begins to cover itself in memory. you can dance in chains but sometimes i dance and forget i'm in chains. and sometimes i think about how i'm in chains. but i forget to dance.

this trip will be good. distance from this place will help me figure out what the hell has been happening. i'm caught in so many webs of thoughts that i can't get a grasp on what is going on. i'm very confused.
i know what is good and important though. so concentrating on that is a dandy way to go.
fuckin hell. what have i NOT been doing? what are the things i need to accomplish....
thinking about recording music almost a year ago and what has happened since then....
got a lot of work to do.

mushroom bubble bots eclipsing the sun
aeroplane whiskers tying up light bulbs
wiggle room for a squid a hundred feet long smashing a boat like a splinter
openwaternoescape
thought of imprisonment - the confines of a cell, the mental effect. space and thought, thought within space.
spaceyouearthanimalcombat,whoalotsofshit

well

dwell dwell well well
-The Shell of a Former Man

12;27am - Just informed of meteor shower beginning in 32 minutes and counting. Will not watch it though would like to take part in these sorts of activities more often. Though they seem to require a molasses like patience and willingness to remain awake for long hours (which I well know I am capable of).

Professionalism and posture like interlocked fingers and a beating heart, the slouch exhibits a great deal and a tiny body I encountered Sunday evening gave me brief thoughts of addiction and a sort of anorexia which I normally do not associate with men but something seemed unhealthy about this good guy and I wish to discover more about him. Meek but daring, an enigma with no armor.

As the days wind down here I feel a strange nostalgia kicking horse-like more and more at the growing hairs on the edges of my skull. Really there has been little accomplished in this month which I had great hopes for. Overshadowed by desires for adventure, my real and serious goals were easily crushed into lines and ice cubes floating over scotch. Which begs the question of the seriousness of these goals or the weakness of the man inside them. And more, the cliche meaning of it all. And all of which I feel the need to give a big fuck you to and take the Gary Cooper path, yea, the strong/silent bla bla bla but what is all this strength talk and such. Writing seems to make me dwell in some strange sense. But it is also a great purge, a deep breath, a digesting, a dwelling in order to forgo dwelling. And in this way it is akin to the elephantine importance of music, imprisoned in time and bursting with whatever can be done within a structure or a lack of structure. Only so far. The blues - feeding us a soul in pain without the dwelling and the giving in. It is the recognition and the awareness that it will be gone, a note bent and released, a letting go, a verse and a fuck it all solo, the slide fucking the neck up and down and finishing on the up swing. Jazz - the melancholy, the groove, all exploding with life. And now more than ever I'm beginning to recognize how I am so drawn to these two genres. How I need them and they give me life and feeling and feed the depths.

What I do know about my struggles here is that they have transformed and I with them, and the enormous amount of time whining to myself and or bitching and explaining things to others about this and that has really done me very little good because it is certainly more enjoyable to let the lines dissolve into a smooth Coltrane ride which ends before the sun comes up and i can dance. This is not to say that I have not learned, through conversations with others, what it means to analyze and reanalyze and reanalyze - to the point of exhaustion - but come from under the tumultuous waters with a more tenuous grasp of the problems and situations which have confronted me. Again and again.

Why I need music, why I feel most alive on the sad nights when an instrument is in my hands, or when I am dancing to a beat and moving my body and existing within a groove, a beat, a melody because then my soul isn't sitting idly but bursting like a comet on a night with meteors taking showers in the milky way.

I am one who needs organization in order to cope with chaos, but I seem to easily allow the chaos to take hold and beckon me into its dark corners where I can feel friendly with the demons that are chiseling away at my ability to enjoy myself in the days and nights which torture in some ways but allow me to tickle extremes which I do not often put my fingers on.

And so I return, like most nights to my little room in darkness, with some jazz or some novel or paper or screen. And sometimes I'm not sure what to do. Sleep is scary to me and I try to hold tight before I leave the day behind me. Even though it's now 3:24, one day after I began writing this it's always me warding off sleep, watering something to stay alive. Lingering in a loneliness which somehow loses a taste of loveliness when I remember the beautiful feeling of sharing moments with another, in love, and squeezing the one that lets her everything seep into your chest and wrap you up and drip from the pillow into your dreams.

summmmmmmm

summertime sorrow
deeper the holes deeper the burns worms worms got lost trying to stop being normal
in the big game change ties hide up get in in in meaning get mucked up drugged up flu shots and bug shots
got spots on wet socks my walkin slips the tightropes sucker hold
light hopes fucked up from meanings, dreamings, weaving tingle swift
get to reading spark up the moving mover moving stop the foot tapping nerves asking whats more in the door slamming
real forms smacking my face my face smacking real forms my face
homeequitycreditcardebtderivativesfuckingyourlifeawaybutit'sarealthingican'tbelievebutwilldealwithsomaybegetinvolved
maybe hop in the madness rabbits hop hopes rot got nothing but fear bots
things things pilin while they inside the white room bubbling like cloud bursts in the morning after rain when the sun shatters grey matters between white and black and the door open a creek with a coffee smell seeping in as the steam wanders from the shower in your home in the future in the dark if there is one when there won't be if you can but only if and only when the whens are gone and the ifs are melting and the forever unfolding is a walk and not a flight a grass blade not a lawn beyond the yawns of sleepy times did you know its only two weeks til i see you?

24

- ate good sushi. want a quail egg right now
- cool leather jacket. changing image. suit shopping. 100000 a yr in la.
- didn't see alzheimers but talked with it. jeopardy and the future. how is it still going on.
- ate a lot of good cake with budweiser.
- learned you can keep moving. the chains are pretend. nowhere is permanent. NOwhere is permanent. know where is permanent.
- remembered cycles. that some people want a job right now. that i want november 4th and my woman
-forgot about wanting and time and got the wheels rolling again.
-yelled at grandfather for being republican and didn't let him speak. too harsh. tried to figure out football and make myself fall in love with it again.
-got lyrics down for The Drips and mike's got some good new riffs. middle finger nail is definitely deformed.
-remembered what it was like to just jam endlessly. no beginnings and ends. listening to it all
-ate a fantastic bagel and watched the godfather.
-looked up yoga classes and thought about discipline while flossing my teeth.
(the thing with it is that you can't plan it, when you start thinking about it you gotta start doing it. otherwise you end up putting everything off "til later" "til later" "later" L'ater la'ter lat'er ;atr
-ben turned 24 and i realized shit we're kinda old

headlight bike man

In the fog the light was burning and i shot past with a crisp breath where the hip hop was weaving with 60s psychedelic acoustics and synth samples like ice cubes melting in coffee with steam sweating into itself. but like all hell this has been all hell until the victory last night which was not so much glory as it was inconvenience getting me hard and then fucking itself until morning. and the day has been nice and i've felt fine. no aches and pains, no regrets and dark imaginings (tho they come inevitably). oh delightful drugs and you're grasp. oh my weaknesses. oh fuck it all.
quite to the point this evening since it has been a serious hiatus from writing. the thought has depressed me for weeks or even months - writing on this blog or anywhere. i've tried in notebooks and wherever but it rarely gets passed a few sentences. my mind barely reaches a conclusion before i am bored. and then on to the next thing to occupy my time. that's why a cigarette can sum it all up. the excitement of the spark, the drags, the burning, the end, and then you smash it out. watch how people put out their cigarettes. it can show a mood instantly. throwing it, stepping on it, crushing it. but the writing is nice and feels a little sexy with chopin and loneliness. writing is only sexy when you're alone. in public it's akin to masturbation or juggling a soccer ball. but alone, in your bed, at night, quiet, just a sprinkler going off outside and your strange soul.
a change in expectation is necessary for me. what it means to enjoy the day. what it means to feel good in the day. i am bored to the absolute core which is not nearly as much of a problem as feeling absolutely trapped, caged, ready to blow. and so i just use blow to wiggle around a bit. or whatever else comes around. and then it all comes in a circle. i feel even worse. maybe it's just a way to make myself feel worse so i can justify feeling worse. or doing nothing. laziness. am i getting done what i want to get done? only at work. outside that im pissing it all away. maybe i exhaust myself at work and then use snowballs and candy and scotch to try to give myself a little danger and feed the little dragon of boredom. keeping myself bored. wanting the things that make me sad, bored, pissed, whatever. a strange dark cycle that must be broken apart. immediately.
mad men - people want to be told what to do. badly. who knows. ill use a lot of situations as excuses. it shows up, its there, its friday. no white princess snow woman last night. inconvenient sexiness. i tried to want it. the inconvenience. i eventually ended up on the drum set and it ruled my night.
this week had some fantastic days. rain and deep greens in the grass, radiohead with the water splashing all around my car and the fog wrapping everything up in winter lingerie. and i gave myself some rest, stopped drinking coffee and took my chimarrao from the cabinet and began the routine. i would sip it all morning and read. this felt nice and good. it was simple and the day followed naturally. only friday was shit because i was weak. hating yourself. hurting yourself. this is the lowest.
but then saturday. and i began feeling good during the day. because i got a small grasp on my mind. it happened at 4am and i saw my thoughts hop on a bike and start heading somewhere. and i took the ride for a bit and then i said fuck it and sat on a stone and watched the sun slowly awaken, proud in the morning and for a little while i felt the energy flow through me. and it felt nice and i took some of my confusion and spit it into an arrowhead bottle. then i walked to bed and lay there and watched That Thing You Do while my heart was pounding. and i fell asleep to one of the catchiest songs ever created because how the fuck do i know the lyrics to this song and all the parts.
and on saturday night when the jamming started, when the guitar was in my hands and when i was feeling the drums out or singing it all felt....it was all that mattered and i didn't want anything else. i had my eyes closed on the drums and i was riding. like this big headlight in vicious darkness with the crisp air shooting down my lungs. and ive felt fantastic ever since.
and there's this piece of me missing though...

monk trane

gaudi in spain and mozart at 8 (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/8180648.stm)
and Bird, Monk, coltrane, davis....
the construction, musical architects
chiseling music, tearing apart the structures from inside
from out
playing with the whole mess

recording. the space of sound. each section with its own place.
the discipline. absorbing the material.
practice. coffee. work. everywhere work. don't stop working. then you die young. though you might anyways. theory. history.
being inspired again.
love smashing me all ways
i see her naked wrapped under the jazz
triads stroking my balls

think about clapton's first sight of hendrix.
underground jazz clubs, jamming all night

if you just let things pass and don't dwell then they slip away and, of course, you might miss some things and maybe the big ones will claw on a bit longer which can for certain be a good thing...but maybe you'll just drift along and life will be nice and slippery like water

stick on stars

the times are strange, like fog in the summer on the beach on a hot day and earthquakes that you can't feel while you're working. doing funny things. illegal and downtown brown. talking the heads. no braces for crooked days. i'm made up of phases and this blog is sometimes not good, doing too much writing is not good, cus i tend to go inwards and it soon becomes boring, but fascinating cus you can keep peeling away. but in the end you get somewhere that doesn't seem to matter much. then you keep pushing outwards and you lose yourself and then that becomes boring. everything becomes boring to me i think. at some point. then i start boiling in phases again.
the machines turn, the gears churn, i get caught up and learn about some things on somedays.
people are telling secrets near me. gossip like. it's strange.
hanging around all men or women.
hanging around in the workplace.
hanging around at school. - the way you keep your friends and make them. the way you talk and what you do.
hanging around at home.
where's home?
at home.
but this isn't your home anymore.
time to get away.
this music is too good tho. this upbeat stuff.
these beats and this feel good.
but it's fresh. this is what i'm heading towards. i want the fresh.
like coca cola in the 1950s.
man, the tides crashing in the corporate cultures, where are the waves?
i'm losing it.
i'm losing my edge.
-lcd soundsystem
family issues and formations of people, quite feelings in the night, a pillow and nightmare kleenex. wet dreams, stick on stars on the ceilings.

jesus

you're such an asshole.
if you don't sing it out you got nothing.
oh well

look

there's still a lot of confusion with this living.
but people are going on with their lives and that is big.
some inspire, some scare, some get you working, some get you sad, some get you happy, some get you livin. when somebody is free around you that is big, even if they are sad. when somebody is happy around you and it is scary you should beware. their smiles are often made of paint.
phases come in phases.
simple realizations are shit out after a complex digestive process which includes a great deal of gas and discomfort.
--i will not be happy with my existence unless i am playing music, unless i have the time to dig into it.
figuring out the self is strange because you always think you know and then you realize you never really knew. but then you realize you always did.
being alone, being uncomfortable - you are forced to come to terms with what it is you want. At some point this happens. What makes you happy? What do you want to do? What do you LOVE? What will you not be happy without.
music, music, music
So, in your mind you form a Want. Then you begin to create a movement towards something. Perhaps a movement towards nothing, but perhaps towards something more exciting. an alarm in the morning and a boxing on mondays; a book a week and less time on the internet. more time at home, less time at home. more guitar, more blues, more singing, more running, more research, more recording.
my Irvine years were special because i hated where i was and that forced me to chew up a couple pieces of What I Was.
At some point i will realize more powerfully that this is all really happening. that I'm living and breathing right now; that there is no such thing as tomorrow and no more waiting and no more growing. there is the doing, there is the deed, there is the action of the moment. beyond this we touch only the robes over a naked body.
time drowning in my laptop
time drowning in my drive
time drowning at the gas station.
more discipline, less seriousness
get to it xandre
you lazy

supposed to be

she should be in the midwest where there are hot rains and white winters, where she can jog, inhaling crisp air.
she should be home.
he should quit his job.
he should leave the country.
she should stay in the ocean.
where somebody is supposed to be, where they are comfortable, where the air blows your life like a ballon instead of sucking it up like a lemonade through a straw. where somebody isn't supposed to be - where you find your why's and what's and whatever's, with the stretching to fold you into your bed in the evening and wake up hungry and unsatisfied. where you are - licking from the plate, hanging on, sucking up smoke, fingering a dream or two, drinking vermilions.

is there a state where we really know the comfort we need... or want? i know that i can depend on my constant shifts in perspective, my waves of insecurity and white waters of certainty. i know i can ride and sometimes i realize something is good. sometimes i realize that that something is bad.

there's a glorious rain outside my window right now. i'm warm and i've done nothing all day.
it has been wonderful.
good night.

some

are wild.
they hold odd notions in their crowded souls, pushing away columns and stones and antiques, making room for the new and fresh...
But this is an overcoming which is no good, albeit for a time it serves its purpose.
i often throw aside the most important things, forgetting what makes me love myself.
i must be happy with myself. we must love our Self. ourselves. so we do something here and there. i talk to Louis and try to learn spanish. i realize i can be more direct, i can be more secure and blunt. i can say what i want to say. i can walk with my back straight. i can smoke grass in the afternoon and play piano to the ceiling with a microphone.
we all deal in different ways. perhaps it is boring to treat everyone the same, to expect the same, to get the same same same same all the fucking time. let's adapt. let's use different words, let's transform, let's go somewhere new...let's do this and that.
i will always be pushing forward even when i'm drinking coffee in the morning at the breakfast table. something is pushing me, even when it stops. it waits. i know not what it is. but it goes. and goes and goes.
i love life
and i love my koala.
i wish her good morning and i wish all my friends and all the good people a strange and fantastic day.
...pushing slightly into the cushion of the extreme...

foodanddrink

as it fills up, the ground floor spills to the weeping iris where an old man is 40 and the child in the back with the lego tower dreams skipping in her tiny shoes is too alive for the world. she's the one with an empty palette, he was the one with the uniform and now he can't hear his wife with the walker when she sits 2 feet away. an alcoholic at the bar, maybe a few. main method of busboy transportation=bike. there's food and wine. i'm a pig sometimes. i can pour 30 glasses and nobody will say a word. i'm learning.
people don't stop. entitlement. unfocused frustration.
the sadness of the confusion of people's anger.
the love in the eyes of one or the juice swimming through the territory.
low and loud conversation everywhere. with foodanddrink.
business, for the hell of it, celebration.
always with the bastards.
terrible people with terrible minds.
glass of whisky to cap the evening.
and some wine to stain tomorrow

a plate of food

most people are a bunch of words and some bodies.
i can see me that way too.
then somebody gets to working and they become a lot of body (a lot of strength discharged, a lot of skills acquired...) OR a lot of words (selling you this, being nice to you when you spit in my face...) OR a little bit of both or a little of neither.

The focus might become the accomplishment of a task. A duty performed.
a movement from here (|) to here (|).
one feels good moving, discharging, creating, serving, discovering..

but then, who really changes and when? most people just stay the same...a few things change here and there - they talk differently, they discover new things, but ultimately it's just the same old patterns and games. to truly change - that takes serious work, serious discipline...even if it is perhaps a discipline of letting go, shedding, shape-shifting, shift-shaping..

so many patterns in the mind, and they slither around, hiding themselves in new circumstances like snakes in holes. i catch them often and i go at them with more vigor. though sometimes i get low, and i wallow. but part of the trick is avoiding excessive seriousness. then you get jaded and torn up like injecting poison into your veins.


making a plate of food - you get a little patience here, a little urgency there, a little drive and force heated up, a little ice to cool things down, a sprinkle of spice on the edges, a soft center on a bed of something strong.
and a glass of vermilion wine