People-watched by people watchers

Jonny Dub and  Ben Blaise of         "Electron Transfer" Your partisanship is not a party at all Shooting each other down and each of us will fall Mr. government is filing for divorce While Mrs. Business pins us to the wall ( chorus ) In the Burning flame, Of each heart of ours Rests a soul of peace, Ending the cry of war As the embers warm from red to blue If you raise that gun, then you die too Your so-called reporting is at best a sham People been saying the world would end Since the day that it began You surely will manifest what your mind is on When the beauty that you missed Is really and truly gone ( chorus ) Oh Mr. government didn't have to go Take a hiatus, take a break and leave us all the fuck alone You were here to protect when we sign up and serve Now I can't feed my kids and I can't find work While the richest get richer and the poorest get poorer The classes divide we can't see through the boarder It's like we...

Shadows of little mariachi men on my curtains as the Sun says, "Good morning." They play me a jig in a sense that joyous occasions are on the horizon. Like today is going to be a good day. The kind of day to be proud to wake up to instead of waging war over every extra second in bed. But as turn and exit, the spiral takes hold, the dominoes tilt, the day swallows me whole. Still in darkness, my mind stumbles around like a lonely drunken soul at rock bottom, I come to. Current circumstances do not resemble this desperate tragedy of an image, but in an artist's mind, hues can be worked to illustrate pain and suffering in a beat. The smells of heavy chemicals now waft in my olfactories, the taste now color my lips, in Perry-blue and Minaj-purple. She wants to be a rock star, she wants to pose for those people watchers and feel righteous in her apparent differences. While she waits for her next application, his eyes burn through me, his pupils shift and lens focus,...

About a music video by Matt Alber and my day on 07/10/2012. "End of the World" His lips bounce behind the super 55. Eyes wild but sincere. His voice sang to me. Well obviously, he's a singer but it meant more than just recorded lyrics and songwriting skill. He sang....to...me. So the man sits, tension release, while the gray, aged barber plops warm, shaving cream around his cheeks and chin. Soothing, compassionate, and gentle, the cream spreads, the blade glides, his mind swims. There is an ecstasy, in being caressed by the touch of another that can calm your heart and clean your soul. In the best of plutonic experiences, the barber's shave is at the top. The story changes when another man, dressed in 50's attire, floats by making eye contact the whole time. A connection after a new-man transformation, ditching the extra hair and beard. Their eyes lock and the 50's man extends his hand. Matt stands up from the barber chair and dances with the 50's ma...

Sometimes I ask myself, What am I doing here? Where am I? Am I doing the right thing? And lastly, What is home? Traveling all over Austin and neighboring towns, I'm always on a mission. Off to that place for a party or over there for work. Going here to drink coffee and there for live music. Always moving, always conversing....And for what? An illusion of comfort. That I am not alone down here.....My original plan of happily ever after with Mr. Wonderful did not blow up in my face already. I fill my days with assignments and duties so that I'm adequately distracted from the understanding of how alone I actually am. I wonder if my family remembers the way I would sing in the evenings to those old steel strings that still need to be changed? I wonder if my friends from the past remember the trips to the beach and sand in our sneaks from playing frisbee on the shore? I wonder if my bestest still knows how to play cups like our late night tournaments over straight espresso shots...

The paint is flaking creating new images and faces. Stories and sagas in timeline on the flat chips and broken slits revealing the paint of a previous era. However, the young ones can't see the struggle these walls have seen. The fist opens, the eyes cry, the lights fade. No twitch or abduction of the pointer or index. The joy that was living and breathing now lay..... twitch-less.  If such an adjective existed past the simple understanding of such hyphenated words. The naive, sponges lay in front with no briefing on what these walls have seen. Don't tell them my story, that's for me and the OSB. 

Drawn in by whistles and waves They flood my fingers to shake and praise The forum so tight and narrow No where to stretch out......Frozen still. Like the air I breathe brings joy if exhaled Like the essence of love escapes my lips once I blow my kiss to the balcony But in short, I thank them more for the three way love triangle. They love me, I love this and music happens

As though I could dream forever, floating not knowing, my senses amplified. Strumming the notes to my every chord, dreamed up all while working for forever. The world melts away, no chatter, no buzz…. or people, or distraction. Sinking into the ocean of your blues and whites and how I got here is still a mystery. How Ill stay here could be destiny. The farther I float from your warmth and sun, the sadder it all seems to be. When every particle I’ve needed for happiness lies in your blues and your whites. Like a skip to old 45s, If only, I could wake up to those eyes…..

To struggle in rays of the setting sun, the world seems bleak and tragic. We fight to fit the standard imposed on us by superficial, critics on power-trips. Are these jeans faded enough? Does this shirt go with these shoes? And my hair, I spent too much energy on, Is it perfectly disheveled now? Is this living? Day in and day out, a reminder of how I ought to look and how I ought to sound, where I should have risen to by 25 and for what? So I slip into societal norms undetected, unnoticed. Like herded sheep in a plastic consumeristic field to be shaved and shaped into their ideal image.... The world delights not me. Twisting, turning, evolving towards falsification. The dreams of those to become alien to who they are or once were. Craving acceptance by means of conformity. I've lived as a sheep exceeding two decades and I require more from this life than that. More than just looking the part, or sounding smart, or pushing for a fresh start with their preplanned destiny. I am th...

On March, 10 2012, I was cast as Buddy Holly in the Buddy Holly story. It has been 6 weeks since then and the transformations are becoming progressively escalated. The man I portray is fierce, confident, secure in who he is, gentle at times, but a real icon in American history. In most other realms of my life, I mirror these same qualities. However, when I am standing in Buddy's shoes, that confidence flees, that security is hacked, and fear trumps fierce. Partly due to inadequate line memorization and self-doubt of lyrical/instrumental confidence.  This challenge overwhelms me at times. Expected to know everything full-time school has exposed me to but also the play responsibilities and at times, I feel like 3 different people in one day. I speak politics in my government class, SHIFT, lab procedure where I'm injecting severed DNA fragments in a gel electrophoresis for a majors level biology class, SHIFT, fly home to immediately zip up to Georgetown, now I'm Buddy Holly. ...