Look, son - there's only two reasons why one does anything. Either in response to something else, or because the wires have just crossed each other, and you're doing the best you can with the language you have and the madness in your heart.
In short, odes and nonsense.
I think I've finally got a passable first draft for a new song for the Hobo Guidebook.
Pass it along- I think it's a silly, fun piece!
Every good hobo has a few tips on scuffling, should the occasion permit.
Gilly is no exception. Here's his take on the fine art of coming to blows.
Lyrics
first verse
im a peace loving guy
dont want no ruckus or no brawl
but trouble comes
mebbe not today
mebbe not tomorrow
but sure as shootin
youll be pinned down
laid bare
bullied
youre a stranger
what can ya do
chorus
theres a point in everyones life where ya choose
will you be silent
will you respect yourself
its true
if ya got to fight
fight dirty
second verse
keep your back to the wall
their shoulders give it all away
before they swing
counter from the blow
feet apart and ready
just stick your thumb into their eye
i know its crazy
thats why it works so well
thats what you do
chorus
bridge (and me just being a goof)
third verse
for a group
how to fight
forget the flourish and the pride
heres what ya do
find the meanest one
scream and cuss and cry
aim for their groin to save your life
knife hidden in your boot tip
kick em til the blood drips
and run away
As you may know, I'm using the quiet time while looking for acting work knocking out a rough draft of a one man hobo musical called THE HOBO GUIDEBOOK ( for more information and to listen to the title track, click here) While I was writing and rewriting verses for a song extolling the virtues of fighting dirty, this one popped into my head.
I'm trying to find a way to justify why Gilly became a hobo, and temper some of his silly, lusty behavior with something which shook him as a young man. And then I thought about my childhood, my experiences with Modesto, CA.
Modesto is the perfect place to be a child. Lengthy exposure to its customs and sense of justice makes you angry and hunger for more. Makes you lie on your back and stare at the chipped white popcorn ceiling and daydream about leaving for good and fostering a life infused with vitality, an impolite and demanding need to be heard. That struggle to endure childhood and promise yourself that being a courageous adult in a new city is a possibility, (even when you're poor and don't feel like you're worth a damn), it burns. I spent a lot of time in bed as a kid, full of fantasy, writing scripts for the cosmopolitan life I hoped to live one day.
It's a town where being biracial marks you as a cultural riddle, neither familiar or resonant with the white kids or the latinos. You are your own ethnicity. You grow up strong, or else Modesto breaks you so harshly you give in and you cease desire.
It's a city so anonymous that the white man who assembled the first stirrings of the town was offered a chance to have it named after him, and he refused. Straight up refused. And the locals muttered, "ay, muy modesto", Spanish for "very modest". It stuck.
I'll be the first to tell you that the only reason I'm not living out my days there now is through a combination of three factors, three precepts which I learned long ago are the only way one can be successful for a lengthy period of time: 1)You must be prepared. My parents and teachers raised me to love words, and to read as if books could save you. They were right. They encouraged and helped me constantly as a kid, supporting the artistic endeavors I undertook, teaching me to fight with every last breath for the chance to create things.
2)You must be lucky. And goddamn, I was and continue to be. I'm not a smart or phenomenal artist by any stretch of description, but I was lucky enough to have these parents and teachers and scholarships and to meet other wonderful actors, directors, designers, singers, writers and musicians who helped me grow, gave me work opportunities which let me move on to new and more exciting locales. I was lucky enough to be born a man. Wouldn't have lasted long in this world if I had all the same challenges I had and have now, but was a woman. It's a cruel doctrine of male privilege, especially with the arts. I know this. I do not take it as a birthright. I was lucky enough to finally, after spending a decade tumbling through demoralizing survival jobs, to find a career which complements my acting. It's a pretty fucking charmed life. 3)You must be crazy. You have to remain terminally unsatisfied. Play ends, song's written, story's cooling its heels. And it's done. You're scrambling for the next chance to stitch something together out of nothingness because there's this sharp, wicked truth in your heart which reminds you that you don't really matter. You are an amusement to people, and at best tolerated.
Nobody loves you, because you're the type of person who sings three seconds of a song you're writing over and over for hours until the exact, impeccable wording is revealed. You're the type of person who will drop everything, passport in hand, to work on a project. Nobody will love you because aside from the efforts you spend making things, your mannerisms and personal effects resemble a monk's. You can pretend to care about people, and you may even help them from time to time, but you have a sickness. Ultimately, you are selfish, and any sane person who is filled with altruism, who seeks a broad, well-balanced life, will come to their senses and stop chasing success.
But that's not you.
Nothing gives you as much peace as the endorphins making things does.
**For those who are in Modesto, or a town like Modesto, here's my advice**
This advice is only for those who are unhappy. If living there brings you comfort, love and care, you've already won. If you are unhappy, you need to ask yourself: what can I sacrifice in order to have the life I deserve? The only thing I remember from former Mayor Lang's economics class in high school was the concept of opportunity cost. Essentially, what you lose when making a choice. I saved for over two and a half years in order to have the funds to move to New York City. Damn near broke me in the process. I was crazy enough to do it, lucky enough to be able to do it, and mentally prepared to adopt for a spartan lifestyle all for the ministry of a better future.
Also, know that moving doesn't change who you are. I'm still a pretty plain, humble guy in New York City. I'm still chubby, still dress like an alien just discovering the concept of clothes. I'm still painfully shy when I'm not making things and have to behave with the world. I just get a chance to make more things more often. I get to act Off-Broadway on a weekly basis. Every day is growth and experience.
Here's the song!
lyrics
ive travelled all across this nation
but the one place
ill never shine again
its a whitewashed town
modesto
california
place where you settle
'mong the culdesacs
grey women
ruddy men
chorus
and part of life is lettin' go
grab a shovel
fill the earth
and you dont look back
youre not as brave as you think you were
dont have the strength or the money for a new attack
why are you still breathin'
weight of ruin upon your back
its always modesto
in your heart
second verse
arrived there
with my wife and darling son
held my tongue at the notions
neighbors plied
took a job at the winery
it wasnt fun
my families faces
my only comfort
while the noose was tied
chorus
bridge
ran as fast as i could
when i got the phone call
by the time i arrived
the intersection
choked with glass and rubber
two sheets on the sidewalk waving
in surrender
I landed back in NYC late Thursday night. It's been a rough month. I thank everyone for their love and gifts.
This song I'm posting is the opening number for a musical I'm writing which I plan to perform and produce in the near future. Gonna call the show THE HOBO GUIDEBOOK. It's about the American mythos of the hobo. Why it exists in our narrative, and what it really means. I'll play a charming hobo named Gilly, who will spend an hour and half with the audience, talking about his wild and fascinating life thus far traveling across the nation, living on his own terms. He's compiled a list of his knowledge into a book he carries with him, and through the course of the show, divulges some of the tips, tricks, and tales he's learned through hobocraft.
It'll be vulgar and sweet and actually contain at least 80 percent factual knowledge - just like me!
This opening song teases the audience with what's to come. I'm playing it on my new guitar Huckleberry, but for the show, I'd like to get someone to custom make me a cigar box guitar with an electric pick up. Something really homey...I'll call it Smokey.
Again, thank you everyone. I'm still feeling very anxious and scared and sad at times. But I've got theatre to do and things to make and friends and family to love and that's what matters.
LYRICS
First verse
introduction
pleased to meet ya
call me gilly
most folks do
ive lived a rather sort of storied life
and ill share
in my travels
ive collected
words of wisdom sure to help
whenever you could use some picking up
listen well
CHORUS
its the truth
no denying
keep an ear to the ground and a heart that's ripe
find the spark
of creation
in my hobo guidebook
its my work
my life's purpose
wrote it down as it happened
and it suits me fine
there is art
there is humor
in my hobo guidebook
listen well
SECOND VERSE
'fore you leave here
youll discover
how to win your lovers heart
or how to end a fight you didnt want
guaranteed
make cheap liquor
'void the police
how to frame a life worth livin'
find comfort in a single day
'fore the night makes ghosts of us all
