Returning to the bossom of mother ocean

This evening I depart the city for a few days with K. and the lovely Mister Carpentier.
We are off to sun our buns in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.
I will return looking like a Lobster with seashells and stories to share, I'm sure. I usually spend the majority of my time swimming in the ocean.

Though, I plan to spend some time rubbing olive oil on K's fine greek body to watch him magically cook to a lovely edible golden brown.
Let's just hope I don't end up in an aloe vera tub at a burn ward.

Don't worry. I'm well aware that I am the whitest/pinkest boy alive.
I will be implementing the new full body sun condom, a part of my new line of clothing for people without pigment.

I'm thinking of calling it Robster's Lobster wear.

What do you think?

It's a Miracle. I can hear.

I'd like to take this moment to plug a product
that helped to unplug me.

I trudge through life with a long list of
deformities and shortcomings, one of which is
a curved ear canal that leads to a buildup of wax.

Eventually I start to go partially deaf and freak out,
leading to a doctor's visit involving a water pik and
a wax "gumball" shooting out of my ear.

I suddenly have superhero hearing and a restored sense of balance.

So, yesterday was my breaking point.
I decided to visit the pharmacy and try my
luck at some over-the-counter voodoo.

Let me just say that I found the magic for which I was looking.
Oh sweet mary has put her blessed kiss on
Murine for Ear Wax Removal drops.
I dislodged a wax ball the size of a small marble. TMI???
It's a miracle. I can hear.

Tonight in NYC

If You are in NYC

Out at the Center
June Edition
Thursday, June 28, 10pm
Time Warner 34 and 78 (digital), RCN 107 and
82 (digital) on Manhattan Neighborhood Network


A part of my performance from the May 19th Marriage Equality March
will be included in the broadcast. Check it out.

If you don't live in NYC,
the show will be available online
at www.gaycenter.org/out

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

Introducing K to KB

Last night I decided to officially introduce K to Kate Bush. Everytime I see this video I am reminded that the line between brilliance and insanity is thin enough to evade the perception of a KKK member on rollerskates and send him flying. I guarantee you one thing, that rollerrink has never been the same.

I would love to hear your interpretations of this small piece of cinematic genius.

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

Twice Bloom

photo by Carrie Thomas

There is nothing like a flower that blooms twice in one night
its petals opening for the moon
The sweet smell of skin
again and again
each time hotter and wetter
better than
the cold and dry of yesterday at noon.

I say yes to you and never no.
You are like no other.
As far as flowers go, you are the sweetest
and the brightest.

There is no need for a sun in the sky.
It's harsh rays only say that day has come
and I must unwrap the vines that cling to my trellis.

Yes, you are a flower like no other.
I inhale your scent, spent from the intoxication.
Oh sweet lotus hold this heart with gentle care.
I give you water and air and everything that pulses.

Coming Soon....

"Northworst Airlines"
The gripping tale of a tour, a flight, a lost guitar and a man in a turban screaming outside a Brooklyn window. You will laugh. You will cry. You will join me in never flying Northwest airlines again EVER!!!!

The Empire Crumbles

Photo by Carrie Thomas

I find myself coasting down toward the landing strip after frantically circling for so long. There were times in the last year where I consistently got 4 hours of sleep per night. I have been so focused on my music and my goals that I have not given much time to myself to just eat pudding and watch cartoons. So, that is what I am doing. I am embracing two months of laziness. Don't fret though, I am never completely idle. I am working on writing songs for the next album and I go back into the studio on the 24th to record a song which is brand spanking new called Duct Tape and Super Glue. Some of you got to hear a preview of this song out on the road.

Lately I find myself focused on something rather important. It's odd how this subject came into my head, but it involves roads and bridges. Having found myself in unfamiliar cities across the country doing shows I discovered one disturbing trend, One thread of similarity. The paint on every bridge in this country is pealing away, chipping and the metal underneath is rusting. There are cracks in every sidewalk in every city and potholes on every street.

This may seem like a simple little thing with no meaning, but for me it is a sign of a decaying empire. Our infrastructure, our roads, our rails, our streets are literally crumbling and not being repaired. We have focused all our money and resources on a war that benefits only the few elite involved for their own special self interests. Our educational system is falling apart. Our healthcare system and social security are a mess, yet we continue to funnel money into a war with no end in sight, a war that ultimately makes this country a less safe place to live.

Historically, the end of most empires came when they tried to stretch their reach too far, focusing their resources on colonizing and controlling descenting nations.
We have become so arrogant in our neocolonization of the world that Russia has initiated a move towards a cold war attitude against the United States.

The empire is crumbling as our landfills grow larger with imported chinese trinkets. Penny by penny, those trinkets are building another empire.
We have become a nation full of consumers as manufacturing jobs move overseas. What we think we are saving in sweatshop labor, we are losing in the end.
It is the way of history and the world. One empire will fall as another comes to take its place.

We need to pass legislation to stop overseas sweatshops and outsourcing of jobs. We need to stand up to our leaders and say no to endless wars that take innocent lives with absolutely no justification for being initated. We need to change our direction as a country if we are to remain a world power or we all need to pull out that credit card one last time and buy a good book. I recommend a beginner's guide to chinese.

The empire is crumbling.

Friday & Saturday

Last Friday, I was supposed to go with K. to see The Year of the Dog.
Due to a mixup on the Angelika's website, we ended up in a theatre
clutching tightly to one another with a giant bucket of popcorn inbetween as
we watched 28 weeks later. I enjoyed the first movie quite a bit,
but this one was a bit too gruesome for me.
There were times where I had to turn away from the screen and bury my head in K's chest.
It scared the bejezus out of us. I think I still have claw marks on my arms.


We slept until noon on Saturday and then went to the park to look at the swans and take in the grandeur of nature. The one thing that we both found disturbing was how much trash people throw into the park. You see a beautiful pond and a swan family and then a floating plastic bottle. Despite this, living close to the park is so great. Though we could have spent all day there, we both had things to do. We took the train to queens so that K could go home and I could get my keyboard. I then rushed back to Brooklyn to grab some things out of storage, shower and eat before running into the city for soundcheck. The usual lack of consistency and order that is the trademark of the New York subway system sent me on a roundabout journey on trains I never even knew existed into a near brush with the underworld and the mole people.

I found myself running through the streets of the west village guitar in tow, trying to get to the duplex for soundcheck. I arrived drenched in sweat and was greeted by multiple people asking me if it was raining outside.
"No, I replied. That's just my sweat."

I batted my eyelashes and managed to use my manly whiles to get a fresh shirt for the show from the very sweet official guardian of the Gender offenders T-shirts, Mister Brian Maschka.

Before I knew it, the duplex was stuffed full. The house was packed. There in the audience was K. We occasionally were able to steal glances but for the most part I was in work mode. I did two sets....applause applause. After the second set I ended up standing on top of a toilet with my guitar in a dressing room that is more like a hallway as the dragqueens changed outfits for their final number. I was given the task of holding a wig and stuffing anything into Candy Samples' bra that might be hanging out. In case you hadn't figured it out, this was the highlight of my night.

I hung out for a bit with the lovely Jeff Cubeta, and the Gender Offenders who gave a stellar performance that night.
I left on the early side knowing that I had to get up at 5am to catch a bus to New Paltz for their pride celebration. I will sleep when I'm dead.

(Coming Soon...Sunday in New Paltz)

Sins of the rant to repent

I have neglected you, my dear rant readers.
The busy-ness of my recent schedule has made it hard for me to find the time and headspace to give the rant all the attention it deserves. For this I am very sorry.

Please stay tuned for a backlog of rants
or as I like to call it rant-a-rhea.
I have extra special audio treats to share with you. The basement sessions are coming, my dears.
Some will make you laugh. Some will make you cry. Others will make you wonder when the sun will rise over the speakeasy.
There are things brewing.

Wouldn't you like to know?

I have one question for you. You can post it here or send it through email. I want to give you some power.

I have a single that I am going to release. Yes, I'm talking music. It might surprise you. Now, here is the meat of it all. Do you want me to give you a b-side, a live track or a remix to go with this little morsel? You must let me know.

I adore you

I adore you from the tips of your toes to the tips of your eyelashes.
I lose myself in your chocolate coated gaze.
My body tingles. My stomach is full of butterflies. You have plucked the stars from the sky and gently kissed them into my eyes.
I can't stop kissing you. I can't pull myself away.
I smile so hard my cheaks hurt and my mind wanders as I narily escape being hit by cars. With every pulsing cell in my body, I adore you.

The Heavens and the Ceiling Part

On Friday, I moved into my new apartment, which was an exciting albeit strange experience.
The floor had just been redone and coated with Polyurithane. Perhaps it needed another day of airing out before
I slept there, because I woke up throughout the night weezing, sniffling and occasionally hacking. I woke in the morning with a dry charred throat and the voice of an aged sailor on his sixth glass of whiskey.

I felt as though every drop of moisture had been sucked from my body.
I got up and drank massive amounts of water and took a long hot shower.
Amazingly, I rehydrated almost immediately.
I had a bit of concern since Saturday was the marriage equality march and I would be performing as both myself and Kitt & Kaboodle.

I threw on some clothes, grabbed my guitar, stuffed my guitar tuner and an assortment of cables into my bag and ran for the train, stopping quickly between to grab some coffee. Without coffee I am generally a zombie. I got to Cadman Plaza and hung out and waited for soundcheck while socializing with the other performers and doing cartwheels on the astroturf. The heavens parted and the water began to pour down. We did not let fear of electricution or slipping off the stage onto the concrete deter us from the task at hand.

We got the word that the marchers were coming across the bridge. Soon we saw a crowd of umbrellas approaching.
Sadly, the crowd was not very big. As much as I want to say that people gathered in huge numbers to fight for their right to equality, that is not the case. I supposed if there had been an open bar or gogo boys involved that maybe it might intice people to get off their lazy apathetic asses and pretend that they care. Sadly this event was not even listed in the local rags full of picture after picture of half naked boys,dragqueens and drunken club kids.

If we care this little about our rights, then why should anything change? What does it take to unify and mobilize a group of people? When did we give up? When did we decide to just sit back and let the world happen without screaming in outrage? If we aren't willing to fight for change, then we will not get it. If we aren't doing something to make things better, then we are part of the problem. It is time for us to wake up. It is time for us to pull our headphone out of our ears, put down our cellphones, turn off our tv's and flood the streets with picket signs. We can't just sit back and let life happen to us. It is not a TV show. We can't switch the channel. We have to live it. UNPLUG and REACH OUT.

On Sunday, I slept in and started to get a little more settled into my new home. However on Sunday night I heard water dripping and was sure I didn't turn the shower all the way off. I walked into the kitchen to find that the dripping was coming from my wall. Water and formed bubbles in the paint and was oozing out of these pockets and down the wall. A large bubble formed on the ceiling and was also oozing liquid. I called my landlord and hopfully this will be fixed today.
Despite water falling from the sky and from the ceiling, I am thrilled to have been a part of the wedding march and thrilled to have a new home. Nothing in life is perfect. We all have to dig in from time to time, put on the work gloves and grab a paintbrush, fill in the cracks and wipe the sweat from our brows.

The Rant (in print)

In next week's Worcester Magazine, an excerpt of the
rant will be printed in their Bloglog section.

The rant is famous.
Crazy! Who knew?!

If You're in Minneapolis...

I will be appearing on
Fresh Fruit
May 17th at 7pm.
90.3FM in Minneapolis/106.7FM in St. Paul

As mentioned in a recent post, I am featured in the current issue Lavender Magazine.
(Scroll Down)

Last but not least and actually most important,
I will be performing at

The Wilde Roast Cafe
518 Hennepin Ave. E.
Minneapolis
May 26th at 8pm
$5 Suggested Donation(so mamma can eat)

Jesus lives in Ohio

Driving through the lush serene landscape of Ohio, I found myself
engulfed in a kind of peace that could only come from Jesus.
I knew that something was amiss when I looked in the Columbus phone book and found more listings for churches than bars, but I thought nothing of it.

Then there were the large signs that said "JESUS LIVES" "JESUS IS REAL"

We passed the giant tower that said "JESUS IS LORD"

Had we made a wrong turn into the bible belt? I thought for sure Ohio was closer to the bible nipple. Apparently I was wrong.

Right now, I am stretched atop the bed in the Dayton Econo Lodge. If you're really keeping up with my blog and obsessively checking it, you even have time to stalk me before I get to the bus station for my glamour ride back to New York.

I had something strange happen this evening. For the first time in my musical career, I had a woman return my cd. I gave her back her money as she apologized saying that she couldn't play my music in front of her children. This woman named Joel(like Noel) had sat through my first set this evening in Dayton and enjoyed the music so much that she ran to get cash and buy my cd. Apperently, she started listening to the cd after leaving the show, midset and got to the song, Marlboro Man, which totally rocked her world and not in a good way.

As I was packing everything up and getting ready to leave, here came Joel with cd in hand and a kind of embarassed look on her face. I gave her back her money and took back the used CD.

I found myself in an odd place this evening where I feared that speaking my mind and being who I am would offend people. I've never set out to offend people. I've only ever tried to speak from my heart without filtering or lying about who I am and what i feel. I changed a lyric mid-song. I don't live to give you head suddenly came out of my mouth as I don't live to make your bed.

I changed my setlist as I heard the woman working in the cafe talking about how the proximity to all the bars made this place the perfect location for her to minister to people. What better place than the street with the tattoo parlor and the sex shop? This is where she would bring people to Jesus. Pictures of Jesus hung from the wall next to a nude painting of a woman.

Where does the line exist between integrity and self preservation. I don't want to be run out of Ohio with pitchforks and torches and in fact I was received well by the folks of Dayton. It saddens me a bit that someone like Joel liked my music until she heard one song that conflicted with her beliefs. Suddenly I was the devil in CD form, come to corrupt her children and lead then down the fiery path to hell. If Jesus lives in Ohio, then maybe it is fitting that the devil lives in Brooklyn, a blonde boy with a guitar, now branching out to other states to tempt the holy through songs laced with sin.