Waiting - first draft of new original song and thoughts on depression

Hey.

I was in the doctor's office the other day.  Nothing wrong, just finally making a check-up and finding my own physician in New York City.   And I'm talking with the doctor, just summing up what I've been through medically in the past.  She stops me halfway through, asks me when's the last time I saw a psychiatrist.

And her tone is obvious.  You really need to see a shrink.  Do it.

I've never had a positive experience with therapy or pills.  It feels like one drawn out magic show where I know all the tricks and it's not entertaining and I don't want to watch it.  I know I've inherited a lot of biochemical triggers and habits which lead to depression (another reason why I will never have children)  But  I haven't found a pill yet or a mode of therapy which engages me or helps in the long run.  Instead, I live off these little highs and lows from creating things or writing or doing plays or making music and when I'm running ragged or lonely or have a lot of free time on my hands, I hide by sleeping.  I'm not a cutter.  I don't binge eat or drink or have a relationship with anyone at the moment.  I sleep.

And sure, a lot of that habit is rooted in fear.  With every second, I feel insignificant and ugly and convinced that I'm not going to be loved again.  I fear that I won't be able to make a creative impact and that I'll never have much of an artistic career.

And then I make a song or do a play and that muck clears for a brief window. And that's why I do it.


Here's the song.  It's called Waiting.  It gets a little loud at the end; just a warning.

LYRICS

First Verse
I spend the hours in my bed
Close my eyes, the shutters drawn and tight
This humble bargain that I've pled
I lie, pretend it's all I've wanted, right

The silence, see it crumble and wither
Gone awry, senses are reeling, pain to deliver

Chorus

I keep waiting
I keep waiting
for the building
to burn down

I keep waiting
I keep waiting
for the building
to burn down

Second Verse
What came first, being bitten or being shy
Haven't seen the sun for days and days
You can't hurt me if I don't even try
Spend my time in a still malaise

Forgotten what it's like to be needed
Damn the lot, entropy crying out to be feeded

CHORUS

Bridge
Now, will I find serenity
Among the ash and misery
 - the char and chill  -
come what will
as sure as every story ends in death
can't turn the pages, hold my breath
 the day will come
 Damn you, start living -
 don't keep waiting
I keep waiting
just keep waiting
I keep waiting - why am I still waiting?

CHORUS

Faking - updated draft of original song and a meditation on Delusion

Hey.

I did some more polish over the months on my original song "Faking", and you can check it out below.  I'll post lyrics, too. 

Here's the inspiration behind the song.

Playing this song today made me think about a topic I've been racking my brains about these past few weeks: delusion.  Mainly, how we humans cling to delusion and blanket ourselves in its downy, lush embrace in order to stay alive and sane. We delude ourselves into thinking we will never die, that we are indeed special and unique and glorious and that we have worth.  Delusion whispers to us, tells us that we will find that love, that career, those bold, striking moments which will make our future biographers wet with desire.

I'm an actor.  Poems and songs and writing is just other random fluff I do.  But it's all centered around acting. Constant, unflagging delusion which leads me to open up in front of people.

But why?

Who should care?

There are millions of people who have done it and do it and do it far better than I.

I guess it's because I really don't have anything left.  I'm not gonna be rich.  I'm not going to have kids.  I'm not skilled in any other field which can help out this broken, mottled world.   I will most likely not find love.

So, it's me and this delusion.  That writing words down, singing them, playing other people will produce some benefit for me , for whomever looks at them.

First Verse
When the money's run out
and the day grows still
sleep sickness masking your sorrow
got a jealous heart, it's a bitter pill
in search of strength you can borrow

Chorus
but hey, what am I   - a dreamer who's been faking
someday this world's gonna love me
gonna sing along to the song I've been making
til then I'll sing to the wall.

Second Verse
When the riots start
and the blood fills the ether
doesn't make much sense to give up
take a proper job, sell insurance
pretend that you never wanted anything other than this
because your pension's gone, love's commodity shattered
streets are filled with the dead who've been torn up and battered
there was anytime at all when the fight truly mattered
it was now
(please speak)

Chorus

First verse again, and chorus.

Syllables - first draft of new song

Hey.

Been cleaning house a lot lately, music-in-my-head-wise.

Songs I started to write decades ago, but was never confident enough to finish 'em.

This song's title was based on one of the first  plays I wrote in college:  Syllables.  Language has always fascinated me.  Its ability to cloud reason, trigger deep, primordial responses.   I'm a bit of a drunk walrus with words, and I like tweaking them around.  It's why I do what I do.

Lyrics:

To the untrained eye
you think that I'm broken, on my knees
lacking intuition
barely listening
Better hold on tight
you're never gonna know the blow
that knocks you down
fills your mouth with copper
that's what I'm talkin' bout.

Chorus
And all I've known
are syllables you press upon me
more sound than sense
those syllables you press upon me

2nd Verse
For a moment, weakness
your body looks good and ripe
I won't give in , though
damn your beauty
masking hate
I'm such a fool to know you
oh, release me from torment
what other wretch could love you
tell me truthfully

what other wretch could love you
tell me truthfully

Chorus

Bridge
And it's coming out of the woodwork
your admission all your words were noise, fickle poise
'Stead of  "sorry" , you laugh, such a rude quirk
Any one could see I loathe you, love you
Leave me

3rd Verse
This bitter game
this heart of mine
this bond's been broken
what have I done
an errant choice
this pain, awoken
and you don't stop the grieving if the grieving is hard
don't stop the grieving if the grieving is all that's true
stop the grieving if the grieving is all that's left of you
and you don't stop the grieving if the grieving is hard
don't stop the grieving if the grieving is all that's true
stop the grieving if the grieving is all that's left of you

Chorus

Cold Missouri Waters - cover of James Keelaghan song

Hey.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a huge sucker for folk music. 
One, because I'm an incredibly mediocre guitarist, and quite a few folk songs are grounded in pretty simple chords.
Two, because they're wonderful ways to immortalize a story, a person.  And my voice has always been best suited for a quiet, somber song.

When I first heard this song, it unraveled to me to its core.  Such a perfect depiction of loss, survivor's regret. And, it's based on a true event: 

The Mann Gulch Fire

I made Jenn play it over and over again for an hour and a half, and each time, I kept weeping.  Sure, I was a bit of a wreck at the time, but there was just something so remarkable about how the song was constructed.  I wanted to get into my blood, find a way to make something half as creative and raw as this. 

The narrator of the song is Wagner Dodge.  He died five years after the fire from Hodgkin's  Disease. 

Ride the Ferry - new song

It's been over a half an hour since I recorded this, and my hands are still shaking.

This is good, guys.  I think it's the best thing I've ever done.  Special thanks to Carole for spurring the conversation which led me to joking about riding the ferry to find that special someone.

It's full of glorious stereotypes, but it's also full of that Jara sass and love.  I know I normally self-promote these brazenly with no sense of shame or purpose, but do me a favor.  Forward this like crazy.  I really like it, and I think other people will, too.  Post comments, shout it to the winds!

Here are the lyrics:

Chorus
I'm gonna ride the ferry to find my love
I'm certain this'll be the time she'll find me
I know I'm strange wearing fate like a worn-out glove
But nothing else will ever bring me liberty
This moment, wind whipping waves along the ferry
May bring my love, the one, the one I'll marry

First Verse
Oh, Manhattan women never want to talk to me
Cuz my clothes aren't pressed, I don't invest in the ticker-tape game
I'm just a fool in jest
Oh, and women down in Brooklyn think I'm rigid and lame
I still eat meat, not a tattoo to my name
 - don't smoke cloves -
Never liked the taste

Chorus

Second Verse
Oh, Bronx ladies, you've got it going on
But with a heavy heart, not smart enough to ease your pain
You need a stronger man
Oh, and women from Queens, there's something in your genes
You're always running from work to play - next Saturday for coffee -
Come what may?
You've got a tightrope class!

Chorus

Bridge
And I've tried my luck
With girls from New Jersey
But getting them to Old New York's
Like moving to Tumbucku
And I've pined for girls
Down in Boston, California.
(what good is pining, see?
Just play the lottery
You'll win more)

Third Verse
I know I'm not a treasure, not a Mr. Right
My qualities are slight
I might have lost the human race
But I still run, I still have fun
And if Staten Island doesn't bring romance
And if my heart never wins this game of chance
I'll take a breath
Until my death
I'll grin
And then I'll do it again

Chorus

Succulent - original song

suc·cu·lent  

adj.

1. Full of juice or sap; juicy.

2. Botany Having thick, fleshy, water-storing leaves or stems.

3. Highly interesting or enjoyable; delectable: a succulent bit of gossip.

n. Botany

A succulent plant, such as a sedum or cactus.

---

 Hey.


Thanks to Michael Irish for playing the jazz chord featured in this song.  I've been living with this song and no way to make it sound like a brooding dirge until I heard him play an E maj7 one day during rehearsal.  Just goofing around.  And it all clicked.  There was such a primal beauty and savage overtone there which made all the lyrics I've been storing around for years finally come to life.


The song started swimming around my skull in 2008, which was a strange year.  There was a least a dozen or so of my friends either cheating on or being cheated on by their spouses or boyfriend/girlfriends. 

And I didn't understand it.  I've never been tempted to cheat.  Hell, let's face it.  I'm not a pretty face.  Nothing to look at.  Any good, panty-dropping qualities I may possess are buried deep, deep down under a host of other flaws.  Hence, temptation has never found its way to me.

But I've always wondered what it's like to be that person.  To have temptation in front of you.  To be found desirable and to forsake what you currently have in order to chase that pleasure. 

So, this song's told from the point of view of someone making that choice.  In order to cope with a world they don't understand or enjoy.

Here are the lyrics:

Another morning, by your side
As long as you are still and sleeping
there's a chance for peace we're keeping
-shower, leave -
Another grim parade.
Cars pressed together, headed -
Quotidian rituals we've dreaded
But we muster on
We never try to dream

Don't I deserve just a little bit of fun
I'm nowhere close to living
the way I wanted to
This world is breathing its last breath
and pleasure's the only currency that's as good as gold
(truth be told)
But I love you madly
I'll make you feel so right
Someday
This succulent lie, yeah
This succulent lie, yeah
This succulent lie
This succulent lie

Another message
I've sent to voice mail
The only crime that you've committed
is the fact that you've admitted
that you know me too well
Another mouth to feed
Leaving work for my appointment
Futility masking disappointment
Smile til it hurts...
I'm gonna have a son.


Don't I deserve just a little bit of fun
I'm nowhere close to living
the way I wanted to
This world is breathing its last breath
and pleasure's the only currency that's as good as gold
(truth be told)
But I love you madly
I'll make you feel so right
Someday
This succulent lie, yeah
This succulent lie, yeah
This succulent lie
This succulent lie

Another lobby
Another hotel key
Another pseudonym, cuz I'm hiding
Oh, yes, another woman in the bed I'm riding -
- shower, leave -
Another promise, that I won't keep
Someday, we'll run away and we'll be married
(the truth is like a secret long ago I've buried
which I can't speak...
I really don't know how)

Don't I deserve just a little bit of fun
I'm nowhere close to living
the way I wanted to
This world is breathing its last breath
and pleasure's the only currency that's as good as gold
(truth be told)
But I love you madly
I'll make you feel so cheap
Someday
This succulent lie, yeah
This succulent lie, yeah
This succulent lie
This succulent lie

Greg's Story - original song

Today is Greg Cohen's birthday.  I owe a lot of my artistic spirit and cultivation to him.  Without him, my twenties would have collapsed into a self-pitying mess.

Greg and I met while working together at the Queen Mary in 2001.  He cast me in a production at the Long Beach Playhouse, and 10 plays and 10 years together, we've become fast friends.

Greg's still one of the few people I know whom I aspire to be when I grow up.  He's managed to pull off the impossible trick of being grounded as a adult while remaining eccentric, creative, and kind.