I bought the siren a pair of steel toed boots

I know what it is like to sing
someone towards me knowing that there are sharp rocks in the water between.
There is beauty in destruction. There is deep loneliness when you live on an island.

I can't help but sing. It is my infatuation. I would never want to wreck a ship. I can't stop it. No matter how hard I try, it possesses me and moves my limbs with puppet strings. I have no will to reach for scissors. I can't cut myself free. I must sing, knowing the consequences.

I bought my siren a pair of steel-toed boots because she asked me for them. She was a delicate slow child who loved to sit by the water for hours just staring at the waves, documenting the amount of froth each one produced. I envied her movements, like sap in the autumn. I tried to mimic them, but I was never successful.

I am too frantic and I want her to join me in my unsteadiness, so I bought her a pair of steel toed boots. They have sped her up and she wants to rock and roll. She wants pyrotechnics and reflective ribbons in her hair. I didn't know she had it in her. Who knew a girl who normally goes barefoot could take such a quick liking to leather and metal and malice?

The Siren

Don't ask the question.
You won't like the answer you get.
Just change your direction
or you're gonna hit.

cuz I am the siren
that pulls you into the rocks
and you are the sailor
who can't see the land up ahead.
You're tossed on a sea of my thoughts
pulling you closer
closer and closer

Just try to be patient.
Please, wait for the dawn.
Just wait til the sun hits the water.
When the sun hits the water,
I'll be gone.
I'll be gone, so gone.

Cuz I am the siren
that pulls you into the rocks
and you are the sailor
who can't see the land up ahead.
You're tossed on a sea of my thoughts
pulling you closer
closer and closer.

I don't know why I go walking at night
calling your name to the open sea.
You just come closer and closer
please don't listen to me.
I'm alone on this island
calling your name.

I'm the siren.
I'm the siren.
I'm the siren.

'The Siren' © 2000-06 Robert German

Any similarity to situations or individuals real, fictional or implied to be real or fictional is really fictional and purely the fabrication of the author's very unspecific imagination. No conclusions, facts, concepts, or opinions about individuals and/or situations real, fictional or implied to be real or fictional should be based upon the content of this rant.

I left you in Scotland

I loved Richard
with every thread of my 21 year old heart.
I met him in New York at a coffee shop in the West Village.
An older gentleman was trying to get him to go back to his apartment
to look at his dried roses.

Richard was beautiful.
Pale skin
light freckles
gingery hair
20 years old
just enough baby fat to make you want to pinch his cheeks.

We exchanged words with our eyes,
sentences even.

I found myself walking him back to his hotel because
he was lost. I don't think he was actually lost,
but it was a good way to get me to walk with him.

I loved his accent. It seemed that he worked hard to not have an accent,
but it always found its way out through his words. I loved Richard so much that I changed my long distance calling plan so that I could hear his voice every day.

He loved me with that intense fiery love that can only burn for someone you've given your virginity to.

I hurt you, Richard, and I am sorry.

From time to time I think of you and wonder where you are and what you are doing some 7 years later.

I wonder if you have forgiven me or forgotten me.

I remember fighting with you in the streets of Glasgow, you stopping me from taking the train to London. I remember sleeping on your floor in that awful flat with horrible shades of green,drinking too much tea, too many hard boiled eggs, and the beginning of my addiction to cadbury crunchies.

I left you in Scotland.

are you still there?


Photography used with the kind permission of the very talented
Carrie Thomas.

Censored

What would life be like if your freedom of speach were taken away?
What if someone controlled what you were able to say and write and express?
We must value our rights and be willing to fight for them on some level if we really want to keep them. I shudder to think of a world where I could not write and say what I feel.

I'm so thankful that is not the case.



Photography used with the permission of the talented miss
Carrie Thomas.

Any similarity to situations or individuals real, fictional or implied to be real or fictional is really fictional and purely the fabrication of the author's very unspecific imagination. No conclusions, facts, concepts, or opinions about individuals and/or situations real, fictional or implied to be real or fictional should be based upon the content of this rant.

Memorial Day weekend

I had the pleasure of seeing not only a Klezmer band perform in front of starbucks and a group of breakdancers, but also got to go to a hip hop dance party. Who knew one night could be so snazzy?




I also got to see the underbelly. It wasn't where I expected to find it. It wasn't a dark alleyway or a seedy bar or a broken down part of town with the hint of freshly burned crack in the air. No, it was the human underbelly, the sins of man, the selfishness and greed. It was jealousy with its green wings unfurled. It was restlessness and lack of sleep and lack of compassion...lack of forgiveness... lack of empathy.

There is a world that exists which is human. It is based on emotion and love and hate and passion. Then, there is a world of logic and reason and business and lines. The first, though many times thought to be human, is actually the animal side. It is instinctive and guttural and real. The second is a creation of society. It is a structure that does not gel with emotion.

I have seen the two collide in shards and years of pent up aggression and doubt bubble forth with ferocious froth. I have seen fists fly through panes of glass and pain unfurl, held back for so long.

I find that ultimately the crowds of people divide. Some go left and some go right and I am there, alone, in the middle. I pick up my feet and walk away, never to be part of either group, lucky to be blessed with at least a small amount of peace with the solitary path.

I explore the world alone and I observe from the outside. I went to a dance club and sat at the bar slowly working my way through three beers and watching the space fill with people, many of them trying so hard. I felt like a statue, almost invisible, but still there. I could see them all so clearly as being water glasses with varying degrees of emptiness, hoping that if they danced close enough to a fuller glass that some of the gyration might make the excess water spill into their own.

Oh, we are simple creatures full of lust and hunger. We yearn to be held but are so scared of feeling. I look from the outside,with downturned lips, fire in my eyes, glass in my belly.

I remember the ones who fell and died and gave themselves so that I could eat popcorn and dip it in cheddar cheese. A death so noble would be exquisite.

Photography used with the kind permission of the photographer,
Carrie Thomas.

Educational enlightenment on evil yet sometimes necessary concepts provided by wikipedia.

Any similarity to situations or individuals real, fictional or implied to be real or fictional is really fictional and purely the fabrication of the author's very unspecific imagination. No conclusions, facts, concepts, or opinions about individuals and/or situations real, fictional or implied to be real or fictional should be based upon the content of this rant.

You decide

Vote even if you have no idea what I'm talking about.

to help you though.... I have recorded two versions of a song called 'The Walking Song'. Only one of them can be on the album. The catch is that you don't get to hear the two versions. haha

Fon-do's and don'ts

Tonight is the two hour season finale of the show 'Lost'. God, I love this show. As many of you may or may not know, I don't really watch television.

However, late last summer, a friend handed me the DVD set for 'Lost-season 1' and told me I had to watch it. I politely said no thanks and gave it back and was then prodded into watching it. I decided somewhat begrudgingly to give in and see what could be so great.

Two days later, I was in bed glued to my laptop screen, having only moved to maintain the minimum of bodily functions necessary to sustain my life. I watched the entire first season in one disgusting sitting, hooked like a crack whore.
I refused all phone calls and invitations for social interaction. When the last episode was done, I stared at my screen, saddened. So, deeply saddened.

What would I do now? I needed my crack. Luckily, this was just before the beginning of the second season, which I have watched religiously. Every Wednesday night, I do not make plans. I do not take phone calls. I meet with my two partners in crime, Alanna and Sioban, to partake in our weekly ritual. We cook dinner, drink wine, and adhere to a rule of no talking unless it is a commercial break.

So, tonight is the TWO HOUR!!!! season finale. I prepared a large batch of spinach dip for the occasion. We will also be doing smores fondu. In Robert's fon do's and don'ts; graham cracker, chocolate, and marshmallow are definitely a fon-do.


photo credit-Carrie Thomas

Some Props and Play

I would like to thank a few websites, radio shows, and people who have recently played or featured my music.

Thanks to Wolfe Video
When you purchase Brokeback Mountain
or Queer as folk from Wolfe Video you get
the limited edition Marlboro Man single for free!

Kisses to Flashlighttag.com and the lovely Sally Streets
Flashlighttag is a website featuring fresh funky apparel
from independent designers at prices that won't force you into endentured whore-a-tude to pay the shopping bill.

They named The Walking Song their song of the week
in their distractions section!


Thanks to Billi and Patti at WSLR 96.5 LPFM Grassroots Community radio in Sarasota Florida. Their show "All Thangs Queer" airs on Saturdays from 5-6pm and this week, Marlboro Man is one of the songs on their playlist. For those of you in their broadcast area, they do take requests.
*wink wink*

A bear hug to Bearradio.net for putting
Marlboro Man (Jefrodisiac's Italo-disco mix) into heavy rotation.
You can listen simply by logging onto the site.
They also take requests.
*nudge nudge*

Big Love for brooklynheightsradio.com
Stuart Metric, the founder, has been a big support for a few years now.
I've done a few live performances that have aired on the station and
The Walking song is in regular rotation on their site.

Scene404.com did an interview for their podcast just before christmas and has kept it prominently featured on their site ever since.

Thank You to Scene404 founder, Ryan, for all the support and encouragement. You can go to scene404 to listen to the podcast, but I also recommend exploring the site. It has a great philosophy which I whole-heartedly support. Also, their mascot Julian is totally dorky cute and I can be seen from time to time sporting a t-shirt with his likeness.

Also special thanks to out of the blue and 64events for championing my music.

I feel the love.
please note that this is not all-inclusive. I can only thank so many people and sites all at once. There is more love, just waiting to go around.

Robert

Everything is better with butter

Everything is better with butter. It's just a fact. I have to admit to an unhealthy relationship with this lickable stickable edible wonder.
Beyond what most would consider sane,I've found myself indulging in butter worship. I slather butter on mashed potatoes that were cooked with a stick of butter.

I will eat an entire stick of butter in the course of a meal.
The other day, I caught myself putting half a stick of the stuff into a take-out order of penne ala vodka.

my first realization of my butter "problem" was in a restaurant with my friend Sioban and a group of people. We were waiting for our food and there was no more bread at the table, the waiter missing in action. I slowly and almost unconciously unwrapped a little square of butter and popped it into my mouth and began sucking. Suddenly I realized that Sioban was giving me this look of absolute horror.

"Is that butter you're sucking on?"

"Yes"

"ok,Robert, seriously that's gross. You have to stop, now!"

So, as winter melts away, spring slides by and summer looms I begin to think about my body. I am bombarded with images of perfectly sculpted bodies. At times I feel that maybe I am valued just a little bit less when my little 12 year old girl twig arms come sliding out for short sleeve shirt season. At times I want people to look at me and say "I bet he knows how to change the oil on your car", but alas, it's probably more like "I bet he can crochet"...and guess what? I can change the oil on your car and crochet you a caddy for your socket wrenches. I can build barbed wire fence and I can perfectly caramilize the top of my creme brule with my torch. Yes, I own a torch.

So, anyway, I wish I were more buff sometimes. I'm ok. I'm not fat, I'm not skinny. I'm not muscular. I just am.

I must mention as a side note that I love my girls, the Glamazons. They are a plus sized burlesque troupe. They are big, beautiful and sweeter thand sugar.
I love you mammas. Sadly, one of their members has left the group to pursue higher education and they're looking for a replacement, so if you know a bigger than life broad who can hike up her tits and zip up her boots and shake her thing, well, you should let Meryl "lady finger" know right away.



photo credit-Carrie Thomas

Still with us

They walk amongst us.
We thought them gone,
They tuck their feathers under their pea coats and leave for 9-5 jobs at dawn.
Sirens sing sweet but sad songs that sink sailors ships but sometimes beside you boys in bars imbibing brew do too.

There are sirens in Brooklyn, oh believe me, do.
They're weary of wrecking ships and have taken to wrecking lives.
I have seen them with my own eyes
and felt them brush their stubble against my thighs.

Sirens are birds like pigeons cooing softly on the window sill
and still they coo and woo for you
please do look through
not one, not two
but three

the number of the sirens be.

Spring cleaning

Today I went into a cleaning frenzy. I rolled my pants up and got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the kitchen tiles. I lifted every piece of furniture and removed an entire family of dust bunnies from the living room and released them into the wild so they can roam free.

I took a break and went into the studio for 4 hours to work on three tracks for the album.
-open wide
-follow me home
-Marlboro Man

I have reached the extremely nit picky phase where I will focus on one tiny thing that bothers me. I am making mole hill mountains...lots of them. I'm worried that I'm missing mole hills...that some will slip through and I will be crucified for them.

After the studio, I called my mother to tell her how much I appreciate her pushing me out into the world and feeding me until I learned to hunt and gather on my own. I also apologized for being a horrible son who did not send some sort of pastel hallmark masterpiece accompanied by daisies, carnations, and other mother appropriate flowers.

I have somehow bruised my hand. At 3 am, I was on a pier in a drum circle with earthy hippy people wailing at the top of my lungs as the ships passed by. I got very intense with the drumming and I think this might be the cause for the bruise on my palm. I can not think of any other palm heavy activity that I have recently undertaken. I did attempt some sort of bastardization of breakdancing which only someone of my pastiness could muster. I was in a "dance off" on a rusted metal light boat, the location of my friend, M's very happening birthday celebration. This was my only contribution to the day other than sleeping and playing guitar.

Well, I bought a new mop, the kind you use to swab a deck. I love real mops. They make me feel like a lunchlady or a kick-ass janitor at a Midwestern middle school. ya know. I feel like I could ask someone for their hall pass or slop mashed potatoes onto a plastic tray with an ice cream scoop.


photo credit-Carrie Thomas

A note from Kim Levering

Kim Levering, Robert German, Julia Carl (taken at the Abbey in LA)
Valentine's Day 06

Have you ever had a friend that you didn't know that you had? Because you took advantage of a connection simply because the signal was so strong? I have... But these situations, real and otherwise, fantasy and what we want our realities to be, have shown me several things. I look forward and I can give no answers... I speculate. I speculate on cue. And it's the people that understand that fact, the ones who don't expect answers either, that you look to for conversation. Reason being? No answer is scripted. No future is planned. No outcome is what we want. And I respect this is in all of my closest friends. Now... I... can... Escape... with the best of them. Like I'm doing right now. But the sincerity of which I represent myself is this particular moment... and in it... I have a good friend. I am, at the very bottom line, so happy with that. I can say... that this is true... and nothing right now clouds my thinking other than this. Laugh.. go ahead. Cheesey yes... yes it is. Real to me. What about you right now? I'm happy and pleased with the genious who came up with the idea of cliche... because that's basically a snap shot right? Well... here's my snap shot, my cliche. And it probably doesn't mean that much because I have a head full of crazy... and tomorrow I'll look back at this and I'll laugh, and pretend that in this moment it wasn't real. But the cliche that I WAS speaking of is this... All we have is this moment... The future is a step forward, the past, a step behind... and sometimes can't see where I am. I feel fortunate that people, the ones, who see the direction in which I am going, in which they are going, can point out the obvious. And that doesn't happen all that often. This is what I'm thankful for... Robert is one of those people who just simply gets it. And for that, I'm grateful to even have the good fortune of meeting him. Stars align and stuff... blah.. Blah... blah. You'd want to know this guy too. Simply on the same page. Too much the same. Too recognizable. Too cool...


-A NOTE FROM ROBERT-

I met Kim Levering at a place called the Gowanus Lounge. It is the first place where I was able to pluck up the courage to get on stage and sing songs that I had written. I saw her sitting there, attentive, smiling. Her brother, Rich was bartending, or rather smoking a joint in the basement while poor Matt Katz, a fellow musician was teaching himself to mix drinks, quite unsure of where to put the money the customers were shoving at him... in fact quite unsure of what to charge for the drinks he was poorly concocting.

The Gowanus' open mic became a bit like a home to me and Kim and I grew to be good friends. She is a blessing to my life like many others who have graced me with their time and their beauty.

Had it not been for the encouragement of her and others I would not have gone from tentatively plucking my strings to confidently writing and playing what I feel. I am nothing without my friends. They are the ones who catch me when I fall and hug me when I succeed.

I believe that life, though sometimes strange and complicated, has a rhyme and it has a reason. People enter our lives for a purpose. We are given gifts in mysterious packaging. I appreciate all of the things that I am given. If I have 2 pennies in my pocket and nothing in the bank, I am still wealthy beyond what I could ever hope for.

I had previously blogged that there is a razor thin line that separates me from the homeless man. My friend Chris immediately emailed me to make me realize that the razor thin line I speak of stretches across this country like the great wall of china. You can see it from outer space. I have beautiful souls to catch me when I fall. I dedicate my music to these amazing individuals who stoke the fires of my soul.

Homeless

The space that seperates me from the man sleeping on the street is razor thin. I feel blessed. I walk through life knowing that an unfortunate series of events could occur, throwing me so miserably low that my footing would escape me. Yet, I don't slip. I am able to walk that thin tightrope line, barely balanced.

Most homeless people probably had a mother who looked into her baby's eyes and carressed his or her cheak thinking of the possibility in that life,seeing a future of boundless possibilities.

Is she still out there, wondering what happened to him? Perhaps he had a "normal" job but had a mental condition which was controllable through medication. He was mugged and hit over the head. He missed his medication and descended into confusion. He didn't have many friends. He had just started the job. He just disappeared, into the void of the city, forgotten.

'Selling Out'-(selected lyrics)

There is beauty in destruction,
in the act of reconstruction,
in the art of healing scars.

I've sat on 42nd street
and the passing of the strangers' feet
gave the beat to my guitar.

I am not a common bum,
but I can sing, and I can strum
and turn your change into a meal.
One step from being homeless
fucked up but never hopeless
is this the way you feel?

but who's gonna pick me up?
Who's gonna pick me up?
put a dime in my paper cup,
cuz I have fallen
fallen down.

© 2006 Robert German

There was a time, not so long ago when I sat on 42nd street and played my guitar for change so that I could eat. I had lost my job, been dumped by my boyfriend of 4 1/2 year(for someone else), and been the victim of a family prayer circle at my sister's wedding. All things combined caused a bit of a breakdown. This dark period in my life is one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. You don't truly know what you have until you lose it all. This is one of the greatest gifts you can ever have.


photo credit-Carrie Thomas

SMOKE FREE ONE YEAR!!!

Today is my one year anniversary of quitting smoking.
I feel so proud of myself for making it.

Yay!!!!

Smoker's Cough

Tomorrow marks my one year anniversary of quitting smoking.

In terms of method, I went cold Turkey after having been a pack-a-day smoker off and on for about 5 years.

It was hard. My skin burned and itched and my head pounded. I was irritable and restless for over a month. I gained 10 pounds. I yelled at people. I doubled my consumption of butter and tripled my consumption of booze. I chewed on pens until they broke and stained my lips with ink.

I can now say with pride (well tomorrow) that I have gone an entire year without so much as a single drag off a cigarette. I am proud of this accomplishment. I'm going to pat myself on the back and eat some chocolate.

2 summers ago, I went on a trip to Delaware with my friend, Piia. At the time, I was at my peak of heavy smoking. We took a Carolina Trailways bus down and were unfortunately seated at the back by the very foul smelling lavatory. We snuck bottles of scotch and took pictures of each other with towels wrapped around our heads.

Does anyone remember SARS? (Sudden acute Respiratory Syndrome)
Well, Piia and I got to Delaware and immediately began to have respiratory problems. We her hacking, wheezing, phleming....You name it. We were convinced that we had SARS.

We however were not going to let this keep us from enjoying the beach. Nor was I going to let it stop me from smoking. So I was swimming in the ocean, smoking and hacking things up...Very attractive. Let me just say that a hacking smoker's cough is the pinnacle of glamour.


photo credit-Carrie Thomas