Intrusively  

Intrusively 

 

She’s everything  
that matters to me.  

Obviously that’s not a realistic statement,  
but it’s my first thought,  
upon seeing her face. 

She’s the thought  
that persists, 
that insists, 
intrusively, 
beautifully, 
putting fuel 
on the fire 
of a heart 
that’s torn  
at the seams.

Release Day 

Self Portrait

Release Day

 

Artistically It's done,

this work is done.

Artistically this work is abandoned,

and I've cemented it.

 

Today, much of my life is given away

distilled in a way that can be consumed over and over again.

Today, is a celebration, a life marker, like marriage, or the birth of a child.

It's just an album to some, but not to me.

 

Today, I feel a great sense of accomplishment.

Today, I feel a great sense of sadness.

In a spectacular moment, a gift.

Something I have withheld, is given away.

 

I don't know if many will appreciate it,

but I know a few who do intensely. 

I have managed to put out a record,

but the real accomplishment has yet to come.

 

Will anyones life be moved?

The way so many records have moved and inspired me.

Will anyone be brought to tears, by the thousands of tears poured into this offering.

Will I be able to repay the artists who inspired and continue to inspire me?

I don't know. 

 

I don't know what it means,

and it's not something I get to decide.

It's up to you now.

You who listen, and you who read this poem.

It's yours now.

I've kept nothing.

 

Certain 

Self Portrait

 

Certain

 

Is it a sprinted epoch

or a marathon.

Is it an endless valley

or is there a bridge to build,

between you and I.

 

Should I put my cards on the table,

or double down and play it out. 

Should I call your bluff,

or play the odds on a cautious game.

 

Should I plead my emotions,

bleed it out and entice passion,

or come like a gentle light,

illuminating all that you are slowly.

or accept that you mean exactly what you say.

 

Is it a game?

Could you be uncertain?

I am certain I do not know,

I am certain we're friends

and that the emotional price paid to be so is high.

 

Free Falling/Free from Falling 

photo by Cal Quinn

Free From Falling

Free falling into the future 
I desire, then fear.  
Having no choice in the circumstance 
I then chose to fall, intend to fall,  
for however short or however long,  
and as the ground approaches 
I do not fear,
and so I am freed from falling.

Magic 

 

Magic

 

Laying in bed staring at the ceiling

as my cat yells at my closed door for my affection.

I'm thinking of the shape of a woman's eyes, how they squint when she smiles;

feeling how it feels to spend time near her.

A small hummed sigh escapes as I smile.

I close my eyes, and gently mute that heart string.

"No", I say aloud in whimper.

 

My cat is scratching at the door.

He's a good boy, but there is a lot on my mind, so I ignore him.

I think about how amazing she is,

recognizing the invasive thoughts and desire.

I recognize that this is not real, it's a chemical con,

but I dilute myself just a little more,

imagining how at the moment of my highest vulnerability, she'd whisper sweetly that she'd always known. 

"No", I say quickly, before getting carried away in fantasy.

"This isn't healthy" I say matter of factly as I touch my lips.

I balance my thoughts, talk myself down from the weightlessness.

I tell the chemicals in my mind, to calm down,

I tell the blossoming plume that we are just friends, and that's all that she has to give.

I tell the pull in my gut that, it's going to ruin a good thing.

 

My cat is rubbing his body up and down the base of the door.

I decide to let him in.

He's so affectionate today.

He's purring so loud and voicing his content as he makes eye contact with me.

Magic is a good cat, but he tires of me after a while.

He walks out to play with my housemate's cats,

as I walk out to start my day. 

 

On and off through the day it's the same.

With my cat's affections, and my heart's pet infatuation.

I get distracted; I feel the balloon swell, and pull at my heart.

I allow a smile to come to my face, and allow myself to play with the idea for a minute?

I let that feeling hold me like a soft and heavy blanket, and then

I recenter, to my life, my work, and to what's happening around me.

Is there such a thing as a stoic in love with the possibility of romantic figments?

She is a real and amazing person, and beyond that an enigma, a wonder, lovingly awaits me.

 

Shooting American Aquarium & Fort Defiance 

Shooting American Aquarium & Fort Defiance

   Just a quick post highlighting the American Aquarium Show at Magnolia Motor Lounge 1-17-2018.  Normally I would be running sound because Magnolia Motor Lounge is my house sound gig. I'd given the date to my buddy Cynthia weeks ago before realizing what show it was.  It worked out wonderfully because she killed it, and we both had a blast.  I'd run sound for the band before but I'd never shot them before.  These were the best shots from the night.  You can see a few more on my instagram page (smash that follow button).  The house was packed on a Wednesday night. The double doors at the back of the house were open and the tents that connect to the inside were nearly as full as down front and center.  It was difficult to move around and frame up shots with my trusty Prime 55 lens.  I had to post up where I could and take shots with the camera well above my head.  Luckily my Sony has a screen that I can position to see what the exposures look like for the color-changing LEDs that the club had just installed.  The best post up I could hold and have a little breathing room was actually behind the band next to the drummer. I had my dual camera strap on, with my DSLR on one side, and several fractal prisms clipped to the other.  BJ and the band slayed!  The crowd was jumping, and singing every word.  It was surreal magic.  The enigma of music was well served by their set.  Many remember years ago when they played at Magnolia Motor Lounge to 50 people; so for long time patrons, club managers, and owners of the club this show was truly special.  

 

  Fort Defiance opened the show. As a fellow folk artist our connection was immediately reinforced by common experience and passions. These two are the epitome of #relationshipgoals on stage.  The incredible energy bursting from guitarist Jordan Eastman is matched with banjo and mini piano player Laurel Lane's wistful playfulness.  The Nashville couple brought exactly the right mixture of Roots Americana and Folk Rock to warm up the crowd.  Stomping on homemade risers that when miked up double as kick drums, a foot played vibra-slap, and a unique box that shakes by foot that has railroad spike hanging, and jingling inside. I was able to hold a position closer to the font of the stage for their part of the show.  Between sets, and after AA's set we got to hang out a bit.  They showed me their van/camper conversion, and I got to meet their dog.  Overall they were so gracious and warm that I just wanted to hang all night, but being the hard working band that they are, they had to hit the road to get to their next gig in Kansas City.  

   Overall the night was amazing. If you were there you know, and if not don't miss a chance to check either of these bands out, and hopefully you'll see me playing with them, shooting, or running sound.  Life is good.  

Digging Into Shooting Artists 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Digging Into Shooting Artists

 

    I'd been dancing around photography for years. Getting creative with shoots, and editing photos has always been a process that I've loved.  A couple of years ago my friend Cal encouraged me to start shooting, not just as a suggestion mind you, he spent time showing me his process, his gear and even let me borrow his rig a few times.  We were both so encouraged by my fast learning, and results that it snowballed quickly.  About a month ago I got my first DSLR camera and lens.  Despite having a record coming out that can always use more investment I decided that it was time to take the plunge.  I'm glad that I did. I've hardly set this thing down.  

    I've especially felt a close kinship with my fellow artists. I think there's a trust there, and that the love flows from both sides camera.  Something about it is really special compared to other types of photography for me. Right now I'm shooting a lot at my house sound gig and home bar Magnolia Motor Lounge in Fort Worth, TX.  I've got some other things in the works but my plate is very full right now with my house gig, album release, writing new material, and now shooting. It seems like my priorities are constantly shifting. I think it's a good problem to have overall, and my life feels full right now.  Thanks for checking out this post, and if you get a chance find and follow my instagram page, for more photos.

Re-Meeting the Ex 

Self Portrait

Re-Meeting the Ex

 

Druming down, pushing out

the scars of internal cuts a thousand.

Down to the red hall of love.

Where bitter becomes sweet,

and a secret fish sings my name,

beneath the sound of roaring tides.

Calling me into the abyss,

while I hold my face in my hands, 

ashamed, but glad it worked out the way it did. 

Fever of Dionysus 

Photo by Cal Quinn

Fever of Dionysus

 

An absolute fever,

a stumbling drunkenness,

a blushing poison.

Artist, creator, creation,

singer, dancer, romancer. 

Easy to dream of, easy to kiss

easy to speak on common ground.

 

What damned hell awaits this temptation.

Can the seed of commonality really be true?

Some close to my heart say it's so,

I can't help looking for some black mirror image

in the calm ponds, beyond the rushing waters of a river turned to wine.

 

I'll drink in these moments

and let Dionysus do his worst if he sees fit.

Genesis bud, or blighted end.

Bring it on baby!

 

God is This 

Photo by Cal Quinn

God is This

 

You are marvelous delight,

gold, platinum,

kitten, puppy, 

luxury, sexy,

consuming heat.

 

You think that you are normal.

You think you are less than normal.

The world doesn't owe you normal anything.

Normal is for fear.

What is one who can never share themselves?

What ghost, screaming in the night.

What god, created and hated.

 

I love you  

and I don't care what any power has to say about it.

none but time.

Again Again 

Again Again

 

I thought of you again 

We were an awkward team,

not in emotion, but coordination

like a willing spirit with two left legs

and eyes on differing horizons.

 

I dreamt of you again

our whole relationship like a dream

both in fantastic intoxicating whimsy

and being unrooted from the reality of the world

beating hearts slowing to try and stop hands atop a numbered face.

 

I felt you again

in the super market,

at the gym, in my bed.

Like a ghost, friendly,

Lovely, yet haunting all the same.

 

I saw you again 

in my photos,

marked with hearts as my favorites.

The smiles you gave me through the lens,

contrast the tears of last memories.

 

I loved you again

in that place that holds belief

beyond reason, or stress

beyond anger or resentment 

walking with you on an undisturbed beach.

 

I died again,

first as I fell in love with you, and your family,

and now as I regret.

Love was given, but only affections returned,

and there's me, not understanding the difference until now.

Crush 

photo by Simone Nicole

Crush

 

She sways in the wind,

breezes gently sing through her branches,

and the rain applauds her golden leaves.

She loves the rain,

and knows the way to the currents below.

Her roots are wild,

her heart knotted.

She stands upright yet twisted and unique.

She is the center of a world without edges.

and I am...

well,

I just am.

She inspires 

this moment,

while I dream.  

Buddies 

photo by Cal Quinn

Buddies

 

I love weird people

they make the best buddies.

It feels good to hang out with my fellow weirdos.

I love artists that are a little more than slightly mad.

They make great dark confidants,

kinship always with the dark ones.

 

I love my friend who makes turkey noises,

and smiles as big as the sun.

I love my poet buddy when no one else understands.

I love my punch dancing, dog loving, engineer buddy.

No one can make me laugh like that one can.  

 

I love my redhead tattoo artist/rockstar friend,

my ridiculously amazing writer friend,

my intense lawyer drinking buddy,

who uses colorful, and gruesome imagery to describe his days in the courtroom.

The nihilist guitarist,

the bearded embodiment of kind heartedness,

the always chasing her babies mother who has listened to me time and again,

Greenie the cute monster spirit,

the always busy and ever personable producer,

musicians passing through with hugs and stories,

and a father I'm very close with.  

 

I often feel very alone in this world,

more often than not.  

Yet

I am very lucky,

to have such a diverse group of friends,

though most don't know each other at all.

 

I write this to remind myself.

I write to reach out

and somehow, despite my strangeness

a hand always reaches back from somewhere.

All That Can Happen 

photo by Cal Quinn

All That Can Happen

 

Poetry is the art of the constantly lonely,

those reaching out aimlessly into the culture void,

to touch someone in a slightly more profound way

then the crowded spaces of bars and shopping centers afford.

 

Poetry happens when there's nothing else 

When happy alien smiles surround a mind 

stuck a in repetitive loop of self reflection, culture reflection, meaning, life, and utter destruction.  

 

Poems are written

and shared with a cherished few

to keep the heart beating through heavy blankets and sleeping-fan noise-makers.

Isolation is starting to to rip at my heart now,

and the sound of it tearing is percussive angst.

Affection is easy to come by, I just don't care.

I'm not put on fire, by benign touch.

I am not put on fire by casual friends.

If either are there without intent, and love.  

It only adds to the weight that tears me apart.

A poem won't save me, or anyone.

A poem is just what happens.

Reading through the ones I let loose on the world.

I realize that I am likely that friend on the fringes that doesn't make it.

 

 

Flying Fish 

photo by Simone Nicole

Flying Fish

 

A flying fish is contradiction, yet there they are

apart from myth, a real creature. 

An image of transcendence,

in bodies locked to the plane that birthed them.

 

I wonder what birds think of flying fish,

maybe an easy dinner.

I wonder what other fish think of their behavior,

maybe just that it's strange, 

or maybe they never notice or care.

 

Locked to the water that doesn't understand

pushing to experience a sky that wants to devour.

This is the state of the dream in 2017.

Stuck between open breezes, and cold seas,

believing the butterfly effect of dancing these dual dimensions

will carry others to the top of the world.

Love and Time 

Love and Time

 

Twisting away like a clock a-fixed in an open space,

drenched in thin amalgams of tears, yours, mine...hers

pushed forward with every beat of the body drum, ba dum, ba dum

Death looming in the candle lit spaces of the mind

casting shadows on every thought and desire.

 

A whale sings from the flaming center of my being, through the clutter of mental machines.

A masked creature I created rips down systems of cultures impositions and suppositions.

Both are revered and feared. 

 

You, a fish swimming in a cool pool

of easy waters, calm and lovely.

You were made to be loved.

 

I can hold my breathe

but can never be like you, Fishy

at best a whale and a fish

can jump through the air and dream of flying.

 

Fishy we did dream,

the dream every dreamer must believe,

to be bigger than ourselves, above glistening oceans

and to be better than the world that bore us,

pushing past impossible impasses.

 

We did it, we actually did it.

I remember.

I'll always remember.

I wish I had died mid-air glorious, and foolish

in heated blood, wonder, and sex

in pure imagination dancing with the stars.

Multidimensionally 

Photo by Cal Quinn

Multidimensionally 

 

Is there anyone like you? 

Even similar to you? 

Does she exist? 

Is there anyone like me? 

Even similar to me? 

In how he loves you? 

 

No, 

there is not. 

 

Is there a world where unique or rare is valuable? 

No, 

there is not, 

Well, mostly there is not. 

 

I’m stuck in this dimension,

but belong to another. 

Where holding you is common, 

or even taken for granted. 

Maybe I should be glad to be stuck here then. 

Where a smile slips through time, and brings down my world. 

Where you do not spare me 

tiny, tiny moments. 

Nearly insignificant moments,

wherein the universe is mine,

because your glance gave you away.

The Medium is the Message 

 

Photo by Cal Quinn

     I've been thinking about, and preparing for the release of my album/collection a lot lately (release slated for February).  I have some special things planned, but I've been thinking a lot about how best to organize release.  Author Marshall McLuhan comes to mind with his famous idea "The Medium is the Message."   Simply explained the idea is that each medium, independent of the content it mediates, has its own intrinsic effects which are its unique message.  The message of any medium or technology is the change of scale or pace or pattern that it introduces into human affairs.  Whether or not this particular idea applies in this instance doesn't negate the fact that the medium definitely is embedded in how the content is experienced, and in the case of art, this effects it's core nature.  

   So far my work has existed in limited live performances, which is my preferred medium, and briefly as a few song EP in CD form.  If i were to, for example, release my album in vinyl record format only, the format itself is the experience.  The way you interact with it is the message.  Additionally that sends a certain message to the world about my identity and the actual experience of listening would require a certain amount of investment from the listener, most would not bother, but those who did would be more likely to enjoy the experience because of their investment.   I set up my live performances for a certain amount of investment already by playing in mostly listening environments.  In contrast, if I released the whole album/collection as a set of performance videos on Youtube or spotify's new video feature before physical copies are available, that would be experienced very differently and the medium itself would be the message, as well as signifying completely different priorities and embedding it's nature on my work forever.  Embracing the digital age, instant distribution, and visual content mixed with music.  I would love to have everything come out at once in one huge explosion of content but pulling that off in a way that doesn't sacrifice quality will be difficult, and it's possibly unreasonable for an independent artist to undertake on a first-ish project. 

Super Self Destruct Awesome Man  

photo by Cal Quinn

"Everything in moderation, including moderation"

  -Oscar Wilde

 

 

Super Self Destruct Awesome Man

 

I don't give up.

I cling on 

I fall off, then get back on,

win, binge, or purge and then keep on failing.

I've been improving over the years, by never settling for it being enough.

I fail all the time, sometimes worse than others but

I don't give up.

 

I have to be careful though,

Even this kind of self-motivational pride is a repurposed extension

of the manic addiction at the center of my mental illness. 

Addicted to certain pains, and depression because it can feel like something at least.

Addicted to love, learning, limerence, self-help, and emotive self-destruction.

 

I've several times watched all the movies that make me ugly cry in a row without sleeping,

or listened to every piece of music that inspires me for days on end, in pitch black darkness forgetting to even eat.

I smashed my most cherished possession, to force myself out of music, after a break up,

then built an instrument from scratch to re-assert my need to use that mania positively.  

I waited to die after three days with pneumonia sleeping on the concrete floor of a warehouse I broke into.

I did not expect, or want, to live through the third night, but woke on the 4th day in an fear-driven adrenaline rush determined to survive.

Realize that this is only the stuff I'll admit to.

 

When on the downswing, this looks as mentally ill as it is,

but on the upswing things look and feel like motivation, passion, intensity, love, and life purpose.

All I've learned is to do is tame it some,

and in doing so have more good days overall,

though I feel dulled, like a lion at the zoo.

The daemon stares out from behind calm eyes,

a mythologized personae of mania built from a dead dream. 

I feel his pull on my ribs

and we make our deals,

especially at night,

we make our deals.

 

 

 

When Reason Peels Away 

photo by Simone Nicole

When Reason Peels Away

 

Whenever I drink

and that frontal lobe goes to sleep

I think of her.

When reason becomes blurry

I think of her,

and I just feel,

tears inside for lost potential,

and loneliness in the deepest caverns of my soul.

In the place that only she has touched.

 

I love her, it just is.

It's sad,

yet not at all.

Kisses Love

taboo, gentle, warm kisses

from here,

while you are there,

forever.

Ansonautonomouseditedcalquinn 5
Photo by Cal Quinn

Summary

Welcome to my blog. The format is pretty loose here, so one post might be a technical layout, and then a poem, some photography, a tour update, or a life story.  It can read like an open diary at times.  Thanks for checking it out.  Updated about every other week.