Monday, February 7, 2011


Last night I went to Seryn's Album release show. The night started with a forceful push from myself to talk to the gluten of people inside. I picked faces I recognized and recited routine how are yous. I pervaded aimlessly asking, "what am I doing?" I made awkward exchanges with people I knew that knew me, but couldn't remember my name... I don't like speaking in groups or being asked how I am enjoying the last couple of days of snow. I don't want to have to peddle through vapid topics just to keep a person interested on the off chance that we might actually relate on something. Why do I continue? To build relationships? Relationships, company, friendship, community, family? People to experience life with? I guess never putting in the effort to clamor with others will never allow you to sift through the multitudinous crowds to find people you identify with. If it is necessary to chew the fat sometimes, then I will do it. As much as I hate feeling the slimy bulk between my teeth, I know it leads to FRANDship.  

I am happy with the "family" I have accumulated thus far. I have some really beautiful friends whom I am learning from everyday. Still, I feel a need gather and reach for more.  I want to be interwoven with the walls and the seats that support me and let the words she or he speaks be mine and vise versa.  I think that is part of why I have this acclivity to write music. It is a way of moving through people.

When Seryn started playing there was no need to be received, seen, or revered.  There was sound and an acquisition of shapes and hues that a few seconds ago I would have perceived as a crowd of assailants. Each stepping over the other to reach the pinnacle of ascendancy, mounting a giant human pyramid. Instead, they all became part of one conglomerate body functioning in oneness.  

Vocal Therapy

Smoke transpires out of incense.
The aroma finds my nostrils,
but not the wispy white exhaust
that spirals upward to dissipate.

Light softly illuminates
the ruddy wood floors, casting reflection.
My sister's paintings cling to paper walls
as I sing with her, ascending and descending.

My spigoted mouth is stretched agape.
My larynx reverberates and pours tremor.
It floods rampant with movement
and becomes placid with control.

Like foals footing rocky cliffs
we leave imprints in the snow,
encouraging anyone to follow what we found
along the arching palisades.

Poised and angelic become our
our tawdry nature, now playful and wise
Renewed with enduring grace,
We ride the sweeping hums.

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