George is my savior, I shall not want

On June 16th, My 29th birthday.
Tragedy struck my little musical world when
a cab driver peeled away with my guitar in the trunk of his car.

I went into a state of shock, something of a paralysis, really.
K and I spent days calling every lost and found, every cab company and anyone with any suggestions as to what we could do.

Unfortunately, my guitar, black swan has gone away, hopefully to a home where she will be loved and appreciated.

In an amazing turn of events, I have been given an extraordinary gift.
Hearing of my loss, a man by the name of George Lee bought me a new guitar.
I had a hard time accepting this gift at first, but after some convincing on George's part, I gave in. It amazes me how kind people can be, how giving.

I now have a beautiful new guitar very appropriately named George.
After a month of not being able to play I have been playing until my
fingers ache on a daily basis and it's the sweetest pain ever.

Thank You George. You have given me a second chance. I promise I will make beautiful music with your namesake.

Untitled jibberish(It's the bleach)

I am mopping my floor and eating potato chips,
listening to Patty Griffin, Flaming Red.

I am missing you.
I saw you at 3:30. It's 12:00.
In 3 hour is will be 12 and that is 12 too many.

How are you so full of beauty, full of energy, full of desire for me?
It amazes me.

I spent almost 2 hours in a guitar store today. It kind of felt like I was cheating on Black Swan, but then I met George and we started talking. We had a first date. We danced. We shared secrets. He is away on Sunday, but on Monday I am going to go visit him. Oh god, I gave him a name. Does that mean that he is the one?
I am about to dive head first into song.

I had to take a breath. It all became so frantic and I lost myself in the lack of sleep and the stress.
I lost sight of what I love. You believe in me. Thank you for that. It means the world to me.
I need to be brought to my knees from time to time, to understand how small I am.

I will feed you with the bit of food I have in my kitchen. I will give you my humble rags. They are what I have. I will give all that I can. I love you. Yes, I'm talking to you. Wake up. Unplug.

ask your other dad

Photo by Carrie Thomas

On Saturday I got up earlier than god intended
to grab some coffee and walk K to the train.
He was heading into the city to volunteer
for the annual center kid's pride picnic.
As usual I found it hard to say goodbye to him
and found myself bedhead-and-all getting on the train with him.

My plan was to show up and see how adorable
he was working with the children and leave.
Of course that is not what happened. I ended up
with a nametag running a table putting temporary
tattoos on children of same sex couples while
K sat across from me doing face painting.

I observed a few things.
First off,gay daddies with their children are the cutest thing ever.
Second, I don't know where these children are coming from,
but they are almost all stunningly beautiful, happy and seemingly "normal" children.
I hate the word normal, but for the purpose of this it seems appropriate.

We have been led to believe for years by the christain right that
children raised by two mommies or two daddies are bound for
a life of such depraved deficiency that they'd be better off raised by a pack of rabid wolves.
This couldn't be further from the truth.
I saw children who are loved, clothed, fed and happy.

The highlight of this experience
was a child telling me that he asked his one daddy if he could have a tattoo
and his daddy said that he had to ask his other daddy and his other daddy said yes.

Check out this article all about the "unnatural" phenomenon of gay parenting.
It mentions black swan...well sorta. Sweet black swan, I hope you are being loved wherever you are.
I miss you.

You can see the storm came through here

Photo by Carrie Thomas

One of the best things that ever happened to me was when I lost everything.
Being stripped down to your core shows you who you are and what you are made of.
It also has a humbling effect.

I lost most of what seemed valuable to me shortly before I turned 25. I spent a year of my life swallowed up in pain and very lost. I played guitar on the street for change with a bandaged hand and had conversations with the homeless, ragged and forgotten souls of the city.

I turned to music to deal with my pain and loss and found that through writing songs I could heal myself.

I have turned to my guitar in the times when I am frustrated, elated, hurt and confused.

It has been a new sensation not having my guitar. I did not realize how attached I had grown to this instrument. I needed to express my loss and the thing that I would normally use to express my feelings was the thing I had lost.

I have been paralyzed for the last week. Slowly, I have been forcing myself to move.
Wiggle Your Big Toe
It feels like this is the end of a chapter. My ceiling is patched. The leak is fixed. I am in love with an amazing man. I'm not sure of what is next. It doesn't frighten me. It is just the way I would expect it to be. I have seen so much, been given so much and lost so much that I am smoothed over by the sand and the waves. I give myself over to the ebb and flow. I surrender.

Freaking out

I am freaking out.
I am totally freaking out.
enough with this calm zen bullshit.
enough with optimism and the it-will-be-ok attitude.
The most valuable thing in my life is gone and
I don't know if I will ever see her again.
I'm not Ok.

Ride on, Ride on

I haven't slept well for three days.

On the night of my birthday, the cab that was taking me back to Brooklyn pealed away with my guitar still in the trunk. With the help of K. we have called every cab company in the city. We've called every police precinct. We've filed reports and frantically paced.

I woke with a startle at 3:30 am and started scrubbing the tile in my shower, just trying to get rid of the nervous energy. I feel disoriented and foggy and unable to breathe or swallow.

I am worried about black swan. I feel sick to my stomach, to my head, to my crawling skin. I want to claw at the walls, claw at my ears, my face, my eyes. I want to curl into a ball and cry until there is no moisture left in my body.
I can't though. I can't get a single tear to come. I just feel empty and numb and disjointed.

I don't know what to do.


"Ride on, Ride on Friends of the black swan. Ride on Ride on. Do you know where she's gone?"- Tori Amos' Black Swan

A prayer for my black swan

Please bring her back to me,safely.
I need her.
I am sorry I ever took her for granted.

Amen

Petra, I feel you

Having a history of falling for men who were no good for me, I feel a special bond with a girl named Petra in Germany. Her story is both fascinating and tragic and not mine to tell. Sweet Petra, like bacon and famine You are in my thoughts daily.

Read her story

Alone with 8 million

From time to time, generally though not exclusively with the changing of seasons, I feel blue and alone. There has been this weight in my chest for about a month now. It is the weight of undeniable and monumental loneliness.

During these "blue periods" I step back for a second and laugh. How is it that one can be sifting through a city crammed to the gills with people, 8.1 million to be fairly exact, and feel alone? I ride subway cars, sardined with business types in their finely pressed and starched suits, rushing to the important jobs that make the world keep on turning and churning. These people make the decisions to buy and sell and play chess with companies and people. If you make under $100,000 a year, consider yourself a pawn.

One thing about New York is that things are constantly shifting and changing. My favorite place to get a sandwich in NOLITA before it was even really called NOLITA by anyone other than realtors, bread and butter, is now a Cuban restaurant. My favorite German Pastry shop is god only knows what. I just know it closed. My very first gig was at a bar called "the rising", which is now a Mexican restaurant. My very first open mic was at a bar which is now a clothing store.

This change also applies to people. I think New York is a really hard city to forge and maintain lasting friendships. Someone can be your best friend one day and then the next day, they move to another neighborhood, still in the same city mind you, and you never hear from them again. I think of Astoria, well queens in general... It's like a foreign country to me. I never go there and I have no reason to do so.
Friends have moved to queens and have never been heard from again.

I guess at times I wish there were something I could hold onto like a rock, but although New York is built on Bedrock, it feels more like sand. The tide comes and goes and sweeps people away and brings them back or they get caught in the current and are lost forever.

I was having a beer with my friend, Carrie, the other day and ran into a group of friends. One of these friends has just acted weird towards me for almost a year now. This occasion was no different. I can't fully explain in words, but I had confronted him about how hurtful he was being. He is someone who I have valued so deeply. Well, all of the group said goodbye to me when they left, except for this friend. He went outside and acted as if I didn't exist. It cut me to the core. God, I am a stupid sensitive little creature.

I think this experience sent me face first into a puddle of blue. The one good thing I can say is that I do have a remedy for the seasonal blue periods. It's my guitar, black Swan. Last night we had a really in-depth conversation about the end of the summer and I ate Ecuadorian chicken and rice and contemplated buying a ford escort. So, I am not alone after-all with 8 million. I have black swan and fatty chicken and in the end, who could ask for anything more?



photo credit- Carrie Thomas