March 2009



Byron came over today to tinker with the song I started yesterday, Devotion Road. We spent hours talking with guitars in our hands and the back door flung open to the cold Spring sunshine. Hours, and not a single new lyric – but we hung around in the spirit of the song. Every song dictates its own terms as to how it will materialize, and over the years, I’ve grown to respect, rather than resent, that fact.


The opaque white fogs that ruled the scenery yesterday have given way to a startling kinda clearness. Early this evening I started writing a song called Devotion Road which is something about a pilgramage. To no particular destination.


I was floored by my first trip to The Cloisters, after years of wanting to go. Room after room of breathtaking statuary and architectural elements ripped out of 600 year-old churches and monastaries. These people created truly awesome creative works fueled by, or really, as an expression of, religious devotion. Seeking spiritual transcendence or deliverance through creative and artisanal mastery. Such a remote concept today. None of the pieces I saw at the Cloisters were signed by the artists who made them.


A residential stairway in Park Slope.



I marvel at these tidy, compact, handsome little towns in eastern Pennsylvania. The western part of the state is far more unruly.


As I sit in Brooklyn, it’s 4 AM in Paris, wherefrom my favoritest online radio station is broadcasting.


Only seven generations ago, Brooklyn was the tip of a majestically fertile island with a seven or eight little houses. Fruit falling off the trees. Oysters in the Gowanus. How can there be so little left?


Dusk at the Cathedral of Learning. When I was in college, a kid named John, who I knew from a couple classes, jumped off the Cathedral. It didn’t end well. As far as I know, anyhow. I’m feeling unusually gleeful to be back in my old neighborhoods. Everything’s drenched in a blinding sunlight that makes the freezing temps irrelevant.


Me: "But homeostasis just sounds so… Boring."

Old Friend: "We can come up with a sexier term for it. In the meantime just picture fat elvis dead on the toilet next time u think homeostasis is not for you."

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