Last year's ghosts

I died for Beauty -- but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room --

He questioned softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied --
"And I -- for Truth -- Themself are One --
We Brethren, are", He said --

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night --
We talked between the Rooms --
Until the Moss had reached our lips --
And covered up -- our names --

-Emily Dickinson

The Musician, the Dancer, and the Saint

Think about it, a record is really a record! A record of a period of time -one which we can give our children, share with friends, and have for a reminder of somethings in old age.

An album of work, recording different emotions and ideas and sounds and voices; "Back when I had more hair and it was black!" says the future. I think my grandkids especially, will get a kick out of listening to Grandpa yellin; I know i love it when I hear my Grandpa singing. I hope it encourages them to find their own roars - as an artist I hope this in a variation en masse as well of course.

It is the quickest way to see the inside portions of my heart, and hopefully even one's own; for no matter how much it may seem that I have my heart on my sleeve - some piece of it (even unknowingly) - is hidden in my pocket; its singing and sounds are recorded here, in the wails and moans and whispers of 'Last Year's Ghosts'.

To listen to some of the songs, and even a home recording of a new song, click here -

• The album will be for sale within 15 days
• iTunes within a month
• Lyric sheet included
• Original Artwork included
• Listen for it on WYSO 91.3 in Dayton/Yellow-springs (they are online too)
• There will be an interview with some of these songs, and new songs, performed live and played off the record on WYSO's Excursions: Wednesday Oct 20th at 8:00 PM.

Got 35 songs ready to do another album! Let's go!

Walk in a lonely Garden with a God-woman

Have I told you of yet of my reoccurring dreams? I have only a few. This one is interesting and lately I have had what may be the sequels or prequels to this dream. I have had two additions so far. The baseline is the dream which began when I was ten years old.

Eighteen years I carried the following image.

It is walled in, a room, like a ballroom but a little smaller. The walls are covered in ivy and plush with life, the center has a fountain, the ground is softest grass and I'm not sure if there is a path or not. There is a strip cut out of the walls all the way up, as if when the walls were folded to make a room the math was wrong and it didn't connect all the way; that's the entrance. There is a small metal gate there with a little latch, it might be creaky, but its texture is old and rusty - black almost I guess.

Her dress is white and I haven't really seen her face before, but she is in there and I walk in - the dream usually starts after I'm in the gate, I never feel myself opening the gate - and then I go to her and we walk around together as if on display for people to see us walking - but it is only us.

There is a lot going on there, I sometimes feel as if she is there to walk me as one visiting a friend in a hospital or mental institution; sometimes I feel I am the butler and I am walking her about before she is going to go get married, and that further we have a love that we both desire but can never be because I am her butler and she my head of house. Other times it's my wife, but I don't talk to her much but appreciate her very much, she likes the silence and we are meeting with such kabuki however it's something we've become accustomed to doing. Like the last few shows of a long running play.

The fountain I think is always going.

She has a glow about her and I sometimes have gloves on.

More later.

Karan

Muse

I suspect my muse is a reminder of pain. My muse is my grounding, my love; what keeps me attached to earth - my muse's perfume comes over and around me when I am on her firm footing. That all is, and so all is beauty, even pain, only 'pain is just another shade' my muse reminds me-and then she reminds me of the beauty of color and I become unconcerned with which color meets my preference.

I may call my muse 'her' or 'he', 'them' or 'it' - regardless, she is formless in many forms and she has her way with me. Towards her I am truly powerless, and the worst time is when I have power against her! When I can keep flying higher and look down below, bewildered that she does not want to follow me in the sky, or that she is not above me; but how will I find my firm footing in the sky? My rock in the clouds?

For there, where I have firm footing, she sings to me; there, where my stomach-turns with my higher-flying is where her song becomes what I breath; but how, how will I find rocks among clouds?

On the tops of mountains.

JL

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

Scientific progress goes 'Boink'

I request the Jury take into account the following; I present my long standing love for Calvin & Hobbes. As with most things I say I 'love' - it involves respect, awe, admiration, desire and a tint of peace. I cannot say I would sacrifice for them, so I cannot then say I actively love Calvin & Hobbes, but the strip is very close to my heart.

Like others, namely TinTin, Asterix, some DC/Marvel, and especially Archie, Calvin & Hobbes were some of my best friends. I spent hours upon hours upon hours in their world when I was younger. As with most things I was so intimate with, I sketched them and they instructed the artistic muscles in my hand when I was young. I loved Spaceman Spiff, and the various gruesome Snowmen, and the talks and the everything. I would get really really excited when I saw a collection - it had that twinge when I saw it - a whisper in my young head, serious as ever, a reflex - "I have to have that" it said.

As an adult, a fairly young adult, I've taken on new things, poetry, music, little internet videos (which i swear are actually bad for my mind), video games and exercise and quitting smoking and a philosophy degree, etc. etc. etc. However I cannot say that these texts, Calvin & Hobbes included, do not somehow effect my present as so clearly I see them in my formation. Plus! With older eyes, different sides of the comics become hilarious. I can't wait to give them to the next generation someday...whose attention span I pray, is not ruined by twitter and typing in short script.

Selah.

The Love Movement

Hip Hop

Wrap me in your marrow, stuff me in your bones

Sing a mending moan, a song to bring you home

-Devendra Banhart

Just finished writing this

Tough day. So I took a lunch break. Maybe it's the absence of a lot of school work, or the over extended patience with myself trying to quit smoking for the umpteenth time. Whatever it is, i can say two things, I've not been so dissonant in a while, so it's fun; fun particularly to watch myself react and respond to it. My response time is not only improving, but my response is improving, my reaction is less - or feels less, and I think I have a good gauge judging by my immediate surroundings. Regardless, the point is the second thing I can mention - I wrote a song, fast, really fast, and I like it and I have no idea where it comes from. I birthed something is all, but the conception and gestation went by before I realized what was happening.

This hasn't happened for sometime, but man, it feels good. It's not one of my best songs, but it's a nice song, and it's not (in my opinion) as good as the other one I am working on whose title is yet unknown to me but whose first (maybe second!) verse/verses are done - and it's on par with the other other one - that one I might abandon to put my fire into this new son and daughter.

I'm listening to it now as I type. I dig the lyrics a lot. The melody is nice, I'm going to have to work on the guitar's swell and fall - it's flow could simply be better, though it's not bad now at all. Keep in mind I am on the precipice of a solid summer cold, and even then it's pretty nice. This has probably been the one thing besides my love story that has kept me in any kind of hopeful mood about my existence today.

Tell me what you think of these lyrics @ www.facebook.com/thefreshwater - - just send me a message.

We'll tentatively call it "Pretend like you know"

------------

Don't pretend like you're okay, i know it's hard to go on feeling this way/ It doesn't have to be alright, i'm two steps ahead giving up my good fight.

So go on, pretend like you know, you're always pretty when you're lying// Go on sweet girl I know you gotta go, cause you're the only one still smiling

There's no moment right now, the future ahead is just your head headin' out/ The past is what the present sees, the present is a moment you can never perceive

So go on, pretend like you know, you're always pretty when you're lying// Go on sweet girl I know you gotta go, cause you're the only one still smiling

[instrumental/Bridge] - Go on, I said go on, You're always pretty when you're lying, Go on sweet girl, cause you're the only one still smiling

Cannot tell you how I've been, your words aren't defined like mine/ Listen now, try and understand/ I pray your one man army doesn't work this time

So go on, like you know, you're only pretty when you're lying// Go on sweet girl I know you gotta go, cause you're the only one left smiling

You have to watch this of the day

Moments from Everynone on Vimeo.

I have a hard time understanding how anyone could not have an emotional reaction to something like this. Also, oh my gosh. Nothing but silence is required when a balance is struck so well; when Art, Philosophy, and Spirituality are glimpsed at their essence, which when seen, is seen to be the same thing - reflections off the same diamond. This echo's of God for me.

Karan