ericprincessdragon

Hello, reader of these words. I’m building this website as a place to share my work directly and catalog my songs, life, and recordings.
Each entry below focuses on a particular song, with travel notes, stories, and reflections on the creative process.

  • The Challenge: July 2017 Pt. 1 – Background

    In July 2017 I was living full-time at Rad Pro Studios on 123 W. D St. in Ontario, California. I had built out one of the smallest rooms in the building into my recording space – a place to practice, write and record. I slept in a long hallway in the basement, which was an echo chamber made entirely of concrete. I would drop a mattress on the floor when it was time to sleep. At one end of the corridor we had rigged up a makeshift shower – a garden hose with a drain. Rad Pro took reservations 24 hours a day and as a late night owl I was always on call, setting up and cashing out bands at any hour of the night and early morning.

    Outside the studio I was doing occasional solo and band performances and playing with my dear friends in the early days of Xinxin. In my family life there had been an upheaval. I had spent the first half of 2017 facilitating the sale of our family home and the separation of my parents – months of work on the property, selling and trashing things, moving decades of accumulated stuff out piece by piece. Four shanty dwellings my dad and I had built over the years had to be demolished. A lot of history was taken apart. I wrote about this period in the entry for Acaso.

    Through this work I ended up with some cash in my pocket, which I used to buy a laptop, interface, a couple microphones and a few other recording and music making items – all found and haggled for on OfferUp. I had gone about five years without a laptop or any means to record outside of using the Rad Pro facilities when I was in the area. Most of that time I had been on the road traveling with just a nylon guitar and eventually a very heavy resonator I bought used for $200. I had just started recording rough demos in late 2015/early 2016 on borrowed gear, and once I had my own setup I was recording every chance I had.

    By July things had settled down at the family home and my dad and I were hatching a plan to leave California and look for land in Oregon. By the first week of August we would arrive in what would become my new home. But down in California the hard work was done and the keys had been handed over to the new owners. I was waiting for the next move.

    Sometime in June I caught wind through the local music community that there was going to be a songwriting group. The goal was to write a song a day for 30 days. I was intrigued, excited and scared. Like many others I was prolific with starting songs and ideas but not very skilled with finishing them. But I was up for the challenge and the timing was just right – I was able to dedicate the month of July entirely to writing and recording every day.

    The group was hosted on Facebook and had many members – there had to have been over 30 at the start. The guidelines were laid out as such:

    “A song can be anything! The point of this is to make a habit of tuning in to the universal creative force… so do whatever you want! Just do something, and don’t judge yourself! It doesn’t matter at all if it’s good or not. It can be a completed song idea with parts, or it can just be a looped beat idea! Quality is unimportant, and collaboration is encouraged. All genres are welcome! Hip-hop, metal, ska, trippy soundscapes, funk, folk… EXPERIMENT!”

    “We’re working with this premise: Listen to the universe, come up with an idea, and get it out of you! Stop being a perfectionist! This challenge forces you to stop judging what you make. If you show up every day and write 30 songs, there’s a good chance some of them will be really great.”

    A handful of participants were peers from the Inland Empire and San Gabriel Valley music scene – people I’d played shows with, seen around the studio, had the occasional jam with. Many others I never met in person but got to know online through the challenge. The structure was simple: the first person to complete their song each day would share their link in a new post, and everyone else would reply with their own submission. If you fell behind you were invited to jump back in at any time – you’d just pick up from wherever you left off and try to catch up. By the end it came down to a hard core group of diehards, as all challenges do.

    One of those diehards was the late Chris Swanson. Chris was part of the Inland Empire scene and his songs always pushed and inspired me. He participated in 2017, 2018 and 2019 song-a-day groups. His song Woman on his final release with the band Bodegas began as a demo submitted during the 2019 challenge. He passed away in 2023. I think about him often.

    The challenge consumed my life. It was the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep and the first thing I thought about in the morning. I began to seek inspiration in everything – every conversation, every sight, every dream, every walk. I would stay up until the sun came up almost every night recording. Some nights after recording until sunrise I’d feel so inspired for the next song that I’d push through another hour or two making progress on the following day’s tune. I could barely sleep because I was so excited to continue.

    One morning I fell asleep around 7 AM after recording and woke up to the lights coming on – one of the other residents was starting his day and needed the shower. I pulled the blanket over my head and told him to go for it. I couldn’t imagine getting up at that point. A few hours later when I woke up, I got right back to the challenge.

    The philosophy that unlocked during that month was simple: good enough. Previously if I didn’t have the perfect line or the perfect riff I would hit a wall, put a song down, maybe never pick it up again. The challenge changed that. There was a huge sense of urgency. I started to realize I couldn’t always finish a song in one day – I could, but I was getting so into the arrangements and the recording process that I wanted more time with a piece. So I decided that every day I would start something and finish something. I wouldn’t always finish what I started that same day, but every song I finished that month began during the challenge. I would record a guitar part to the point it was good enough and move on. The lyrics would get to the point of good enough and I’d move on. Keep moving. Keep writing. Onto the next section, onto the next instrument, and when I got to the end – good enough. Submit it and start mining for the next song. It was the only way to stay on top of the wave.

    I was mind blown by people like Chris who were able to balance their busy schedules and still put songs out day after day. I had almost nothing but time and I was barely holding my life together outside the challenge. Others were banging them and making it look easy. This type of communal effort really boosts the accountability and inspiration.

    In the end I wrote 26 songs that month. Some never went anywhere and I’m happy they exist as what they are. Others found new life – Forty Thousand Spirits, Flower Man, Don’t Talk To Me About Pizza, Tinder Babies, Cynics In Love and Following became live staples with The Planet Of, with Tinder Babies being a fan favorite. This was the challenge that brought the most significant breakthroughs in my writing and process. It ushered in the last decade of writing, which has been the most prolific time of my life- so far.

    July 2017 Part 2 & 3 will contain the stories behind these songs

    • Ten To One
    • Following
    • Will Hide
    • Bad Kitty
    • Young Love
    • Insomniac Stupor Rag
    • Sister
    • The Witch & The Wizard
    • Sharks Not Sharks
      • Bar Rats
      • Chasing Cars
      • Flower Man
      • Cynics In Love
      • No Body
      • Tinder Babies
      • The Challenge
      • Elemental
      • Where The People At?
      • Clip Show
      • Don’t Talk To Me About Pizza
      • Face Stealer
      • Forty Thousand Spirits
      • Hicks
      • Unplugged
      • Expressing Frustration At Soundcloud
      • Destination Fever

    1. Dust / Been Missin’

      In October 2023 we began the first round of Tim Bulster’s song-a-week songwriting group. This came at a perfect time – I had resolved to dedicate the fall and winter to writing and recording, stepping away from other obligations to hold space for that. I was also on the mend from a rough break-up that happened a few months before and coming out of a depressive spell that followed (and preceded).

      Writing became the main engine for processing everything I was feeling. There was one evening where I was trying to play guitar and felt so disconnected from the instrument – there was a huge emotional block and I couldn’t stand it. I started playing with the intention of letting out anything and everything I was feeling. I spent the next couple of hours improvising a handful of songs and this unlocked something in my process. From that point forward I began to put more intention into externalizing what I was feeling, which meant connecting with my body and tapping into whatever emotions I was feeling at the time.

      Dust started on October 9th, 2023 – the very first day of the writing group. I began the song that morning after reading Tim’s first email. I began singing “I’m sorry” and then it started to pour out from there.

      I was reflecting on the past, reflecting on the period of my life spent traveling, on the people that I met and places that I went, the places that I hadn’t returned to and the people that I have lost touch with over the years. These reflections… hurt.

      I have a basket filled to the top with journals, trinkets, things I found along the way and wrote and scribbled – sketches, doodles, notes, lyrics, contact information on places I traveled, phrases and translations in a number of languages, and other things which I’m scared to look at. At the time of writing this song, the basket was under my bed, and I thought it was a good reference point for how I felt about this period of my life and about this past.

      I was envisioning the dust-sealed old box of notes, physical material artifacts from this period, and I feel cowardly, too cowardly to return to them. It just hits something deep – longing, regret – the emotions that come with a past lost, a connection lost, a friend lost, with the words that haven’t been sent or said yet, the things I’ll never get the chance to say because it’s too late. These artifacts carry all of it – and they’re from some of the simplest, most wild, most ambitious, most dangerous and reckless and careless and carefree and wonderful and rewarding times of my life. I loved those days.

      “Dust” starts here:

      Under my bed
      Tucked away are pictures and notes
      Written by a ghost and left for someday
      Someday I have the strength to reconnect

      The ghost is a past version of me. There was simply too much happening all the time, every day – too many adventures to remember it all, too many periods of motion without stopping to reflect or write regularly. Even if I went through every note and drawing, there may be more lost than recovered. I still haven’t found the strength to dive into the box.

      More than 10 years have passed
      Haven’t taken one glance
      Just let the dust take it over
      The words on the pages
      Places and faces
      Phases and names
      Feel so far away in the dust

      Going into the chorus:

      I know someday I’ll go back to the places
      As they remain, everything else seems to change
      Some friends have passed and gone
      I know now how I was wrong
      Not to connect while I had the chance

      I have returned to many sites of my early travels. I love to return to places just to soak them in – to see what I see, think what I think, feel what I feel, remember what I remember. There are places I’ve yet to return to which I still intend to. And even more so I hope to reach out and find some of the people I’ve lost touch with out in the world. Those I still can. Others are gone now – people I can only connect with through memories, photos, dreams, or if I’m lucky, their art and music. I regret not reaching out to them more while I still had the chance.

      When I’m really struggling, I tend to withdraw, hide away. I won’t reach out. I remember in some of the worst of times grabbing my phone and looking at the contact list, stopping on names for a moment, but not being able to bring myself to just ring them up.

      It’s so simple. It’s such a simple action – just pressing a button on the screen. But what if they answer? I will have to acknowledge the difficulty that I’m facing. I will have to acknowledge that I’m not doing well, that I need help. But if they’re not doing well? And what if they’re not available? What if they don’t answer and never call back? More pain on top of what I was already feeling.

      I don’t know that these thoughts would even go through my head in that moment. It’s more of a general feeling of paralysis. There’s this part of me that wants to reach out, but I just cannot bring myself to do it. And instead, I isolate. It ain’t good, but that’s where I was at and that’s where I was writing from in verse two:

      Heavy in bed, I lay awake
      Thinking of you and all my mistakes
      All the dreams I didn’t share
      The words I didn’t say
      The songs I didn’t sing
      I wrote them for you and I locked them away
      To pick up the phone, look at your name
      I wanna press my thumb
      But I’m paralyzed by my aching heart
      My heart aching, but I know that someday we must reconnect
      No matter how much it hurts, I know it
      Someday we must reconnect
      I can’t lose you like the rest
      I want so bad just to tell you I’m sorry

      The song moves from the dusty past which I’ve hidden under my bed to the present where I’m lying in bed struggling, wanting to connect, feeling unable, and recognizing that I just need to do it – I have to, before it’s too late. By the end of the song, I still haven’t accomplished the task. I leave this song as a declaration of love, of hurt, of regret, of accountability, of genuine apology. If not a request for forgiveness, at least an expression, an explanation, and hope for understanding.

      The last chorus:

      I’m sorry I didn’t call
      I had no good reason at all
      I love you with all my heart
      I’m just hurt by the distance that’s grown between us
      That’s left us in the dust
      That’s left us in the dust

      Interestingly, one of the friends I had in mind when writing this actually reached out to me for the first time in a couple years that morning while I was finishing up the recording.

      Been Missing

      “Been Missing” is the sister song to “Dust.” Where “Dust” is the somber snapshot – reflecting on the past with regret and heaviness – this is a song of triumph. When I’ve managed to overcome that disconnect, let go of the regret, and make the connection.

      I was truly inspired after writing “Dust” to actually reach out to some friends from the past. I started writing “Been Missing” after a very long and deep conversation with an old friend I hadn’t talked to in years and seen in even longer. It was a sunny day and I was just getting to the beach when I took her call. We walked and talked for close to two hours – catching up, going through all the motions of reminiscing about the past, joking and laughing and getting very serious, sharing the difficulties we’d gone through and the good things in our lives. The dogs were running around on the sand. The sun was shining. After the conversation ended I took that feeling of goodness and put it into this song.

      I tried to write in the motions of that kind of catch up conversation. The questions that come with it: How have you been? Where you at these days? What have you been up to? How did that one thing work out? Have you seen so and so?

      I want to know that the people I care about are doing well. But it’s not always that way, and if it’s not, I want to hear about that too. I want to know what their struggles are, what their dreams and hopes are, what stands in the way of those things. I want to know if I can help.

      And eventually it’s my turn. Where have I been? What have I been up to? Where do I begin… There is always lots to catch up on. Many of my old friends don’t even know where I live. People will ask me how Portland is and I’ll say I don’t know, I haven’t been there in some time. It’s five hours away from me. Sometimes I’m catching up with people and I realize my life is crazy – weaving between periods of intense travel or isolation, of staying home, relationships in and out, being intensely focused on family, or music, or work, or just being far, far away for extended periods of time. So much happens in this life and I’ll often lose track along the way.

      The part I love most about reconnecting with old friends – the discovery that though much has changed, much is the same. One friend says “No time passes in the hearts of good folk” and I am so grateful for this. When I can reconnect with someone and it feels like we’ve just picked up from where we left off. Sure there are things to catch up on, but the understanding, openness and love has been there all along – across great distances in space and time. We can still be ourselves, silly and ridiculous, deep and thoughtful. And receive each other as friends. I cherish these connections.


      Been Missin (Original Demo)

      Been Missin’ (Live from home)

      Where you at 
      These days 
      I’ve missed you 
      Since I been away 
      Tell me now
      What’s changed 
      And what’s remained the same 
      Let’s take our time
      Catching up
      Before we get to reminiscing 

      Have the years been kind to you
      Have you done the things that you wanted to
      And when you did how good was it
      Take me there I want to know what 
      I been missing 

      Where have I been
      Where do I start
      Some years happened to someone else
      And I lost touch along the way
      Between everywhere and nowhere

      Do you
      Remember the last time
      Last time it was just you and I
      I do

      In the grand scheme of things
      It was less than a blink
      But in these brief human lives
      It was a long long time

      Now talk to me I want to know what
      You want today everything that
      Stands in the way of your dream
      I love you and you know I believe

      Though much has changed
      Much is the same
      Our bits are as dumb as ever
      One second we’re on the ocean floor
      The next we’re in an uproar
      Our laughter scores the night
      And sleepless voices jam til sunrise
      You don’t stay up like this 
      But you’re not surprised
      We did the same thing last time

      Last time it was just you and I
      And when we did 
      How good was it
      We’re here today I’ll never forget
      What I been missing
      What I been missing

      P.S.

      I still struggle. I still withhold and isolate. It all goes in phases. I still haven’t opened up those notebooks, revisited those trinkets, revisited that past. And I still haven’t reached out to some of those whom I dream about and write about and think about. Some of them are gone. Some of them I’ve lost touch with, lost contact – I don’t know how to find them. And others, I just have no good reason at all. But sometimes I pick up the phone. Send a message or make a call. And when I do, it’s good. No time passes in the hearts of good folk.

    2. The Challenge(s) – Overview

      Something that comes up across many entries on this site are songwriting groups and challenges. What this means is essentially an organized period of group or individual songwriting with set deadlines and accountability. Participating in these groups and challenges has been essential to my creative development over the last decade.

      Writing requires that I maintain a level of close connection with myself. More specifically, writing songs has become a process of connecting with my emotions – allowing myself to feel deeply and reflect, while opening up to whatever creative ideas come through that connection. Often I am too occupied, stressed, exhausted or distracted to allow this process of feeling for long enough to externalize it in a meaningful way. These groups provide a gentle but firm push to return to feeling and creating. The accountability, the community, the deadline – together they consistently push me beyond what I could usually summon on my own.

      I do write all the time and finish songs occasionally on my own. But I’ve found that doing regular blocks of intensive writing like this brings a necessary balance to my creative life. I can go months without the focus to sit down and finish things, and then reach a point where all the inspiration, insights, little notes and voice memos I’ve been accumulating come to a head and make their way into raw material for these intensive periods. Something about the group brings enough of a social atmosphere, spirit of support and accountability that changes what I’m able to do.

      Over the last decade I have participated in the following challenges and groups:

      Note: I will be updating this list over time with hyperlinks to entries detailing the background behind each of these challenges and each of the songs. Some of the songs have their own entries already and will be linked in the list below.

      July 2017 Song A Day Challenge – The one that started it all, 26 songs written and recorded during my last full month living down in Ontario, California – mostly recorded at Rad Pro Studios.

      1. Ten To One
      2. Following
      3. Will Hide
      4. Bad Kitty
      5. Young Love
      6. Insomniac Stupor Rag
      7. Sister
      8. The Witch & The Wizard
      9. Sharks Not Sharks
      10. Bar Rats
      11. Chasing Cars
      12. Flower Man
      13. Cynics In Love
      14. No Body
      15. Tinder Babies
      16. The Challenge
      17. Elemental
      18. Where The People At?
      19. Clip Show
      20. Don’t Talk To Me About Pizza
      21. Face Stealer
      22. Forty Thousand Spirits
      23. Hicks
      24. Unplugged
      25. Expressing Frustration At Soundcloud
      26. Destination Fever

      July 2018 Song A Day Challenge – Second round of the song a day challenge, recorded at home in Port Orford, OR

      1. An Uplifting Indie Pop Song
      2. His Royal Mop
      3. Little Dreams
      4. Easy Quick Song
      5. 13th (Unlucky Day)
      6. Monster
      7. Unplugged
      8. Eight Plays (For the Ukraine)
      9. We Thirsty
      10. Water > Gold
      11. UFO
      12. Hearing Loss
      13. Missed Connections
      14. Men And Ladies
      15. Trash Day
      16. Mind Game
      17. Tails
      18. Stanky Town
      19. Our Lucky Ears
      20. Crow
      21. Expiration
      22. I’m Silent (As CO)
      23. Tree Sap
      24. Tongue Dry As A Bone
      25. Songwriter’s Hangover
      26. Casual Encounter
      27. Milk & Cookies

      February 2019 Short Songs – Song A Day Challenge –

      1. Not Doing Anything
      2. Ol’ Moon
      3. People (Scary)
      4. A Walk In The Park
      5. Dreamer
      6. White Glow
      7. One Way Staycation
      8. Been Here Too Long
      9. King Struggle
      10. Man Children
      11. Wah-Wah
      12. Demon Girl
      13. Jet
      14. V Day
      15. Me & The Gang
      16. Everybody’s Band
      17. Birds N Bees
      18. Somewhere New
      19. Da Hero & Da Foe
      20. Something Different
      21. iBabies
      22. Go On
      23. Om Busted My Lip

      July 2019 Song A Day Challenge

      1. New Moon In June
      2. Salt Of The Earth
      3. Arms
      4. Them Good Days
      5. Keanu Shrinks
      6. Big Goals
      7. Family Tree
      8. God Damn Those Dudes
      9. Shortie
      10. Bane
      11. Let Me In
      12. Fickle Tickle
      13. Little Cocoon
      14. Walk Far (You’ll Find Him)
      15. It’s A Trap
      16. Dirty Bleeding Heart
      17. Rude Bear

      Tim Bulster’s Song-A-Week Groups

      Round 1 – Fall 2023 (Oct 8 — Nov 27)

      1. Dust
      2. Mints
      3. Undertow
      4. Halloween
      5. Another Day Another Dime
      6. Acaso
      7. My Opinions
      8. Been Missin’

      Round 2 – Winter 2024

      1. Gutter Baby
      2. Pretzels
      3. The Funky Jake
      4. Paradise
      5. Can’t Abide
      6. Summer

      Round 3 – Fall/Winter 2024 (Sept 8 — Dec 21)

      1. Off The Wall
      2. No Box
      3. Climb And Fall
      4. Ring Any Bells
      5. Heaven Is Wasted
      6. Bringer Of Badness

      Round 4 – Winter 2024/25 (Dec 8 — Jan 13)

      1. Past Times
      2. Perfect Time
      3. Good Company
      4. Venom
      5. We’re Sinking

      Round 5 – Fall 2025 (October – Nov)

      1. Only The Lucky Grow Old
      2. Needle Out
      3. Sweetheart
      4. Gregory
      5. Nazare
      6. Heart

      Round 6 – Winter/Spring 2026 (Feb 1 — Mar 9)

      1. Only Murder
      2. Something Beautiful
      3. Fallen Giant
      4. Werns
      5. Maytag Land
      6. Our Golden Days Have Passed

    3. Ring Any Bells

      In our song-a-week group there are no rules about what we can submit each week other than it cannot be a previously completed song. Otherwise anything goes – an instrumental, a set of lyrics, a one minute acapella sketch or a fully fleshed out five minute production. The point is simply to write and submit something new. But in week four of the fall 2024 group, Tim brought a surprise. That Monday he sent this:

      “Here’s something I’ve always wanted to try — this week, we’re all going to write a song with the same title. I opened one of the internet’s finest random phrase generators, clicked ‘generate’ and it gave me, ‘Ring Any Bells?’ as in ‘recalling a memory; causing a person to remember something or someone.’ At the end of this week, we’ll have 14 different versions of a song called ‘Ring Any Bells?’ I vowed not to spend too much time searching for the perfect song title. This is what the void has bestowed upon us. Rejoice and be glad.”

      I was blindsided – I was already working on the song I intended to finish that week – but I took on the challenge just as many others would. My first reaction was that the title felt a bit too cliché for my taste. But I’ve found before that constraints can push you somewhere you wouldn’t have landed on your own – I talked about this in the Maytag Land entry – and this was no different. I sat with it through Monday and eventually my mind landed on past lives, which sent me back to a memory of a gal who once told me she’d had a vision of us together in a past life, in which we had held some importance. In her vision we were a king and queen and ruling together long ago. Then, as hippies do, we performed a crystal ritual in the back of a van to verify the vision. The results were inconclusive.

      I’m skeptical of past life recall – I haven’t heard anything particularly compelling to suggest we’d carry memories across lifetimes, and personally I don’t have any indication of having lived before this one. That said, I’ve lived enough of this life to feel like I’ve had several in one. I find the territory interesting to write from. This was also a period where I was reading and thinking a lot about death, mortality, and the nature of consciousness – you can see that thread running through Fallen Giant and Undertow.

      I wove in some core memories from my own childhood – sitting out in the sunny front lawn pulling petals one by one, she loves me, she loves me not, and an old birthday photo – then let myself wander into fantastical territory, imagining past lives, ancient temples, a kind of epic and magical existence I can’t claim to remember. It was a fun departure before returning to my earliest memories of this life, which are not particularly epic or magical – watching too much TV, playing video games, playing in the yard. From there back to the present, musing on the possibilities of a distant life and ultimately landing with focus and gratitude on the simple things we have today – a vision, a dream, a conversation, a connection.

      It’s quite a different type of song than what I normally write, and I’m grateful the challenge of the title pushed me there. I wouldn’t have found this one on my own. Not everyone in the group took on the title that week but in the end this was just one of ten songs written around the title “Ring Any Bells”. I always enjoy listening to the submissions and reading lyrics every week but that week was particularly interesting, what with the collective bell ringin’ and all. I’d like to share some quotes from other submission emails:

      “I gotta admit, when I read your assignment I definitely said, ‘(sigh of exasperation) goddamnit, Tim’, but I made myself have an open mind and I actually had fun with this.” — Theresa Bird

      “I too was chafing a little bit this week with the assignment but it kind of put the screws on me in a good way.” — Lazarus Pearl

      “It made me nervous and excited, which I enjoy leaning into. The lyrical theme constraint made me musically constrain as well.” — Micha Silvius

      “I love hearing all the different creations generated from the same seedling of an idea. I feel like it also pushes me to write my best songs because I know there are listeners on the other side who are going to really dig into my songs because they are songwriters themselves. It adds a little pressure to sort of bring my A-game.” — Jack Isenhart

      Here’s my “Ring Any Bells”

      You say you remember what came before
      What you stored in the core when you were four
      Before picking daisies and tearing them apart
      Saying he loves me he loves me not
      Before the melancholy gaze you gave
      That camera on your birthday

      Were you something else entirely?
      Were you the first to crawl up out of the sea?
      Seems like something you would do
      Were you a cloud before the sky turned blue?
      And whatever you were
      Were we together?

      Tell me does this ring any bells?
      Am I on the right track? Have I gone too far back?

      Yes you say you had a vision of me
      In an ancient temple I was a king
      When I spoke folks listened
      When I stood they kneeled
      You stood by my side and we lived a long time
      You were my queen and my guide
      Into the afterlife

      You ask me does this ring any bells?
      Tell me to ask a crystal if it recalls
      Me being a king and all
      I have to laugh
      Still I ask

      You say we were in a temple, I was your king
      But I was just a kid from Temple City
      Raised on TV and video games
      Before that I can't recall a thing

      I can't say that it rings any bells
      But I love to hear the stories you tell
      I know just as little of before life
      As I could ever know of after life
      But speaking on the in between
      I'm grateful you're my queen
      Hey when I call you my queen does it ring any bells?

    4. Can’t Abide

      Work Work Work Work Work

      I started working at 13. A few days a week after school I bused tables, delivered drinks and food, took drink orders, cleaned and vacuumed at the end of the night, and handled cash at my uncle’s restaurant inside the El Monte Airport in the San Gabriel Valley – now renamed the San Gabriel Valley Airport. The minimum wage at the time was $6.75 an hour. For a 13 year old that felt like real money – enough to buy almost anything I wanted, which at that age was mostly CDs and music gear.

      What I remember most from that time was the feeling of being in the real world. School felt like a false reality, full of tedious drama and conflict from students and teachers alike. Work was different. People treated me with common respect. They spoke to me like a person. I was building actual skills, meeting actual people, having actual experiences.

      I worked in restaurants and a cafe through high school and into my twentieth year, from my uncle’s place to a local cafe where I learned to make coffee and espresso, and eventually Rod’s Grill, a 50s diner in Arcadia that operated for 70 years before closing in 2024. I worked there from the age of 17 to 20.

      During that time I was getting out into the real world more and more. I started studying music at Citrus College at 17 and outside of work and school I was playing a lot of music, often gigging on the weekends and going on adventures further and further away. I talked about some of these times in my entry for Our Golden Days Have Passed – and I will write in more detail about these times in future entries. I was taking less hours at the restaurant and eventually stepped away altogether to focus on traveling, just a few months before I left for Europe on a one-way ticket.

      From that point on I never took on a regular job again. Over the next year and a half on the road I sustained myself through minimalist living – couchsurfing, hitchhiking, sleeping outside, “dumpster diving” – and work exchange wherever I could find it. The summer of 2013 I worked across Ireland on a farm and homestead and in a couple of hostels and guest houses. In one summer I worked with horses and sheep, cleaned rooms and bathrooms, made beds, pulled weeds, painted sheds, helped prep and serve dinners and more. Hours of labor in exchange for a place to stay, food, and whatever else came with it. I continued seeking similar opportunities as I kept traveling across twenty-odd countries over the next few years. I did small money gigs here and there and even turned down opportunities for steadier paying work to keep moving.

      Those experiences changed something fundamental in how I think about work, time and money. Living simply, traveling on almost nothing, what I needed to be happy became pretty clear: food, shelter, people, nature, music. That’s about it. If I gave a few hours of my day to sustain a lifestyle I loved – even without making much (or any) money – that felt like a fair trade. I started to understand the difference between basic needs and higher needs. There are many things far more valuable than money.

      Traveling and returning to the US made this even clearer through contrast. The sense I got from many people I met across Europe was that their jobs were a means to an end rather than the end itself – people prioritizing close relationships with friends and family, meeting up daily as a matter of routine. My mom worked two jobs for most of my life and vacation wasn’t part of our vocabulary. Many Europeans receive nearly a month of paid vacation per year. In the US many can’t afford to take a day off even while sick. In the United States there seems to be more of a cultural expectation of devotion to the job.

      In the years before I settled in Oregon I earned occasional money teaching guitar lessons, performing and touring, doing temporary farm work, running live sound and production gigs. When I first arrived on the Oregon coast my first paying work was yard work, painting and planting for a local business – found on Craigslist. Soon after I started to find there was a real need for audiovisual skills in my area. I was unexpectedly offered work running tech for the county and simultaneously started getting more and more requests for photo, video and audio work.

      These were skills I had been developing for years with no intention of making a living from them. I took pictures and made videos, recorded and made music because I loved doing those things. And then I found I had a role to play in my community – skills that offered something beyond just making money. In recent years I’ve worked on community events, supported small businesses, venues, theaters, community groups and artists.

      I don’t work in the traditional sense. I’m a gig worker, an independent contractor, and I’ve had to establish a business entity for some of what I do. But ultimately not much has changed from the days of working farms and hostels across Europe – I’ve only continued with that same understanding of work and time. I put in countless hours into projects that don’t pay: my music, this archive, supporting friends and family, supporting community, looking after the dogs and cats, improving and building at home.

      I still travel often but the minimalist life on the road is behind me. I have real responsibilities, bills and debt to pay, and I need to earn some amount of money. But I don’t often seek work – through close connections with community, family and clients I keep my expenses low and find enough regular gigs to make ends meet and then some.

      Can’t Abide

      I recognize that for years – working odd jobs, living outside conventional employment, often broke or close to it – I could be perceived from the outside as someone who just needs to get a job. I resent the idea that the primary meaningful way to contribute to society is through holding down a job, that the J.O.B. has priority over all other forms of work and effort. I’m not lazy. On any given day I’m usually stretched thin juggling multiple projects and responsibilities, paid and unpaid, with no regularly scheduled activities and no real routine. It’s a chaotic way to live and at times I lose the balance and suffer consequences. But overall it works for me.

      In the hook I wrote: “I don’t think that a job brings us closer to God.” When I say God I’m not necessarily referring to the Judeo-Christian God. I’m talking about divinity, truth, deeper fulfillment – things I believe can be found in nature, in loving relationships, in acts of service and kindness, in our own motions towards self-actualization and genuine self-fulfillment. There are jobs that bring people closer to those things, but a job in itself is not divine. I think it’s important to distinguish between the job and the work. The work I take on needs to offer me something beyond money – I need to be building skills, contributing to something worthwhile, growing in some direction. The more time I spend on money gigs, the less time I have for the things that feel more essential.

      Can’t Abide was written during Tim Bulster’s song-a-week challenge in February 2024. I picked up the guitar to work on something else, started playing the main melody, opened a new project and had most of it within a couple of hours. I wrote a placeholder for a verse, told myself I’d come back to it, then listened the next day and realized I’d already said everything I wanted to say. That clarity – knowing when a song is finished – was something I was actively working on at the time. Around then I wrote in an email to the songwriting group: if you write what’s true to you, you can’t write badly. I still believe that.

      There’s a deeper root to all of this. Two family stories that came to me through my dad, both absorbed as a teenager. Both of them died when I was still a child – I wouldn’t hear these stories until years later.

      My dad visited my uncle on his deathbed and nervously tried to make conversation. My uncle wasn’t interested in small talk. All he could tell my dad was that he had wasted his life – he spent it chasing material things – and that it meant nothing. I didn’t feel my dad was trying to teach me a lesson when he told me this. He was expressing something that had hurt him deeply, almost from a place of trauma. But I took it as a lesson directly from my uncle to me. Like he had lived an entire life to arrive at something so that I wouldn’t have to suffer the same course and outcome.

      The second story was about my grandfather – my dad’s father, who came from Cuba, lived through the revolution, spent years working for nothing in labor camps before escaping to the United States. He worked hard his whole life and at some point was doing quite well. But through a series of misfortune and the weight of his habits and addictions he died sick and nearly broke. My dad told me that at the end he would ask to borrow small amounts of money to bet on horses at the racetrack. It hurt my dad so much to see his father die that way. I took it as a warning and another lesson – that a life built around the pursuit of material wealth is a dead end.

      Looking at what I have today – the skills, the community, the family and friends, the creative work, the home, the life I’ve built on the Oregon coast – it’s in many ways more than either of them had at the end. I haven’t been so focused on chasing money or chasing things. Everything I have came through community, family, friendship, art and travel – through the things that brought meaning to my life.

      I believe I am destined to lose everything, sooner or later. Even if I manage to keep it all to the end of my life, I will still have to let go and say goodbye. I suspect that what matters more in the end is how our efforts in life move through the world – through the people we’ve known and loved, through the art and stories we leave behind, through the work that will outlast us.

      “Can’t Abide”

      ^ Original Demo ^

      ^Live from home version^ (video below)

      I don’t want to trade my time
      Just to make a dime
      Off a dollar made for someone else

      They say I don’t want to work
      Like I’m just a lazy jerk
      Who only wants to take and give nothing to the world

      Well I don’t think that a job
      Brings us closer to God
      And all the money we make
      Means nothing in the end

      If I’m gonna take what’s mine
      Then I will take my time
      I’ve got dreams to fulfill in this life

      I’ll work for what matters to me
      I’ll work for my community
      I want to leave the world a bit better than I found it

      I know deep down
      I can’t abide the nine to five
      If I’m to live my life
      If I die broke I’ll walk that road
      I’ll go chasing the light

      I don’t think that a job
      Brings us closer to God
      And all the money we make
      Means nothing in the end

    5. Timeless Expanse

      I often remember a series of dreams after waking. After a long night of dreaming especially, but also during shorter bursts. The dreams I was having during the days around Stephen’s services were getting extremely vivid – emotionally and spiritually charged in a way I don’t often experience. I believe those qualities are always present while dreaming on some level, but everything intensified during that time.

      I’ve been thinking about what may have led to this specifically. Grief is too broad a word for it. I think the fundamental thing that happened in that time was that I gave myself a pause – to sit with my feelings, to feel them, to be with friends, and more deeply to be with love. Losing Stephen cracked me open. It opened me to loving my friends more consciously, to trying to love him – which then means loving something without an obvious physical form. And perhaps loving something greater than any one person. Something eternal. Or something simpler. Right now eternity feels quite simple to me. I was feeling the timeless quality of the present moment – not something vast and distant, but something immediate and close.

      The night after the viewing I had one of the most vivid dreams of my life.

      In the dream, from the point I could remember, I was at a house party. It felt like LA. I felt a bit anxious and out of place, so I was quietly making my way out when I bumped into a guy while passing through a doorway. I apologized immediately and politely, but he was angry and had violence in his eyes. He would hear nothing of what I spoke. He and his friends pursued me as I tried to make my way out.

      I could feel many eyes upon me. I was clearly an outsider in this place. I could sense how badly they all intended to stop me – these men intended to hurt me. With growing intensity I tried to escape, outside and inside, and they followed. Then when I was cornered, a stranger showed me the way out, showed me the way to safety.

      I found myself in another house with a couple of old friends. I felt much safer, but not at ease. I could sense these men were still looking for me. Still in pursuit.

      With some intention I walked through a doorway – and suddenly I was standing inside what looked like an observation deck. A round structure built of what looked like bronze or brass, possibly copper. Roughly 30 feet across, with large windows all around.

      I was scared at first. I felt trapped. And then I realized – there is no time here. I had never been without the burden of past and future. But this was a place outside of time. And with that realization I no longer sensed that burden. No past, no present, no future. It felt eternal.

      I was no longer scared. I felt a deep contentment as I looked around and saw an environment unlike anything I had ever seen or imagined. In every direction – a vast expanse of what looked like mountains made of clouds, or clouds made of mountains. I didn’t recognize what I was seeing as purely solid, liquid, or gas. Whatever it was, it was also colorful – like sunsets, like all the colors of sky mixed together, all around me in every direction.

      I didn’t want to leave this place. I didn’t want to wake up. So I thought – I must take this in. Make the most of this.

      Some grand question came to mind. Without speaking, I asked this question directly to the timeless expanse.

      The response was immediate. A rumbling like thunder’s roar burst and tore through the atmosphere. It was like no sound I have ever heard, yet I could understand it in words right away.

      I remember everything about that experience – the fear and the contentment, the colorful clouds of mountains, the rumbling, the sense that I was not in one place, that there was no gravity, that I couldn’t tell whether there was glass in the windows or only open air. I remember being overwhelmed. I remember being humbled.

      I don’t remember what I asked. And I don’t remember the words that sounded in my head when the answer came.

      I seemed to wake up.

      Outside now. Bird songs and wind in the grass. Deeper gusts and the tree chimes. The grass dances before me. I sway with it, moving with it, dancing in the wind.

      Deeper still – in the distance – the sounds of people, my brothers and sisters in this world, ripping and roaring and cruising along their way.

      Funny sounds of chickens and frogs
      And dog barks here and there all around me
      Closer to my heart — Loki rustles in the grass
      Om is chewing rubber
      Streams of wind, like strings, crescendo from every direction

      An interruption. A motorcycle ripping down the road. Taken out of it.

      I held on to the moment for some time. I was talking about dreams, but the music of the moment overwhelmed me. So I wrote it down. I spoke it.

      I took something inside me – a feeling, an image in motion, a thought, an intangible idea – and I wrote it down, and I spoke it, and with that gave it a tangible place in this world.

    6. Musical Snapshots

      Recently I’ve been developing a concept I’m calling the musical snapshot.

      The idea is this: whatever I play or compose or improvise in a given moment is an expression of what I’m feeling at that time – some instinct, some inspiration, some emotion I may not even be fully aware of. I couldn’t have played or composed that particular idea at any other time, in a different place or state of mind. So any piece of music I write is essentially a snapshot of my creative and emotional state at the moment it was made.

      Of course there are other factors. The environment plays a role – the people around me, the conversations happening nearby, the ambient noise or quiet outside. What I’ve been practicing or listening to at the time makes its way in. So many things influence the expression, both consciously and subconsciously. But the core idea holds: the music captures something true about that moment, whether I understood it at the time or not.

      This means that returning to any musical idea is like time traveling. There’s a time capsule waiting – a connection back to a past version of myself, back to wherever I was, whatever I was feeling. When I listen back to an old voice memo or an old recording, I’m hearing something that past me left behind. And when I write about it now, I’m entering into a kind of conversation between that past self and whoever I am today – with hindsight, perspective, and hopefully a bit more understanding than I had in the moment.

      I arrived at this idea while thinking about the storytelling potential of a live set. I started arranging my songs not just alphabetically or by project or theme, but by the period of life they describe. I’ve written enough songs now that many different periods of my life can be told in song – different places I’ve lived, relationships I’ve been in, periods of travel, periods of staying still. Looking at them this way I started to see stages my life, with certain chapters more fully written than others. My childhood, for instance, is a notable gap – only recently have a couple of songs started to cover that territory.

      While thinking about performing songs in biographical order, I started to think about the fact I’m most always most excited about my newest song (finished or in progress) – and I landed on this idea that the newest ideas are closest to who I am and where I’m at at any given time. If I wanted to give an audience the most present and authentic version of myself, I should open with my newest song.

      Then I pushed the idea further. If the newest completed song is the most current snapshot, what’s even more present than that? Improvisation. Whatever I play in the moment, unplanned, is the most accurate expression of where I am right now. That’s what led me to the concept of opening a set with an improvisation – before any prepared material, before any rehearsed songs, just whatever comes out in that moment.

      In the performances I’ve done since developing this thinking I’ve been playing my newest songs in roughly reverse chronological order, keeping the spirit of the snapshot idea in mind. But the full biographical storytelling set – I haven’t fully realized yet in a live setting yet. This is all fresh territory, concepts I’ve only arrived at in the last few months.

      As for the retroactive writing process itself, the best example currently in this archive is Acaso – a song written about the house I grew up in, which integrates a piece of music I originally called Temple City Theme, an instrumental I wrote while traveling that I eventually dedicated to the city where I was raised. It’s a slightly different flavor of the process, but the essence is there: old music, new words, a conversation between two points in time.

      The clearest examples of this process in my catalog are the Alice songs – recordings made during a period living in an Amsterdam squat in 2014, which I’ve been slowly writing about from the distance of a decade. That’s a whole entry of its own – coming eventually.

      For now this is the framework. Many of the entries on this site were written this way – old music, new words, past self meeting present self somewhere in between. When you read them, that’s the conversation you’re listening in on.

    7. Our Golden Days Have Passed

      This is the last song I wrote for the winter/spring round of the 2026 songwriting group. It was written during an extremely emotional time. I was mourning the sudden death of a dear friend – Stephen Reed – and I had returned to the LA area, the place where I spent the first 20 years of my life and a few more on and off after that.

      I took two trips down and spent nearly a month there consecutively – more time than I’d spent down there in seven or eight years, including flying home for a weekend in between. I was returning to people and places I hadn’t returned to in far too long. I knew that I had to. In this time, I had to reconnect.

      The relationships and conversations that came out of that month were long overdue. Some of my oldest and dearest friends – people I’ve known for half my life, people we were brought together by music. We played in bands together, played countless gigs together. There was a period for me from about 18 to 21 where my life revolved mostly around this community. We were studying music, working whatever jobs we had, but most of our free time revolved around each other. We played cover gigs, corporate events, fundraisers, weddings, country clubs, bars and restaurants. Beyond all that, we all had original projects going, playing bars, clubs, house parties, pizza spots and more. When we weren’t playing we were together – piling into cars to go on all sorts of adventures day and night.

      We were young, idealistic, naive, lucky. Life felt simpler then. I’m not sure we knew quite who or what we were. I know I didn’t. But somehow none of us have changed all that much. We’ve aged into our 30s and 40s now – still young, but no longer living wildly and freely and recklessly. The gigs and hangouts no longer feel endless and playful in the same way.

      I drove by Rad Stop – the first building a group of my friends began renting, which turned into many things over the years. First a rehearsal studio, then a bike shop, eventually a warehouse with many rooms used as artist studios and residences. It was one of my main home bases when I was visiting and spending time down there between 2014-2016. I stayed in several different rooms throughout the years. It was eventually condemned and demolished. Rad Pro, the successor to that space and the place where many of my early recordings were made – where I lived, kept space, and ran live sound for bands – has since moved and the original location is all boarded up. But Rad Stop is simply gone. When I drove by it was the first time I’d been in that area in eight or nine years. Where it once stood there is now an empty lot surrounded by a fence. In between the cement cracks there are weeds reaching up to the sky.

      I had a conversation with my old friend Ivan that I keep coming back to. He told me he’d been quite sad thinking about the people we came up with. He wanted to put on a concert in his parents’ backyard like he used to, invite bands from back in the day – but he quickly realized that three of the bands he thought of have all had members who passed away at tragically young ages. Stephen is just the latest in that string of three. Ivan said that they used to feel like we had so much promise, so much potential, all of us reaching for our dreams. But we’ve lived long enough to see the end of some of those dreams, the end of some of those stories. To him it appeared that those were golden days, when we were becoming. But those days are gone and now we are what has been.

      I replied: that’s bleak, bro.

      I told him I don’t feel that way. For me the growth has not stopped. I’m still learning, still crossing boundaries and finding myself on the other side of good things. I still believe in our potential – individually and collectively. We are still here and our stories are not done yet. And even in the case of Stephen, the actions of his lifetime are still ringing out in ways that are truly powerful and surprising. His work and influence on earth is not done. His story is not done.

      But still I was definitely feeling Ivan’s sentiments. It seemed like many people I visited with were struggling – with their work, their living situations, their relationships and the grief of losing our friend.

      Friends told me they wished I hadn’t left. They asked if I was coming back to stay. I told them no. Leaving one gathering, a friend asked if I was heading back to Oregon. I said yes. He asked when he would see me again. I said I don’t know.

      I’m writing this at home. I just stepped out the front door and into the forest. I feel no worry for tomorrow, little stress from the day. I’ve managed to find myself in a place I genuinely love, living a relatively simple, but fulfilling, interesting and peaceful life in a small town by the sea.

      But I carry complicated emotions around it. Deep gratitude for this life sits right alongside shame and guilt when I return to that place and those friends. In order to find this life for myself, I had to the old life behind.

      This song became a meditation on these feelings, these thoughts. Giving into some of the bleak and fatalistic feelings of the time and all that comes with the idea that our golden days may have passed.

      “Our Golden Days Have Passed”

      I left pieces of my heart in chunks down below
      Hit the road to save my soul
      To build new life I let the old one go
      I didn’t mean to abandon you
      I didn’t mean to abandon you

      Is it too late to say I love you too
      Is it too late to show my face in this place
      Where we once built a home now it’s an empty lot
      Gone without a trace fenced up and blocked off
      Now there’s just a few weeds reaching up J
      ust a few weeds reaching for us

      Our tribe was broken up spread out and beaten down
      And I feel like an alien when I come around
      Until we’re face-to-face and we start digging in
      We’re all struggling

      What started with a dream ended in death
      The best of us is gone we are what’s left
      Becoming has past now we are what has been
      Stuck in the present
      Our golden days have passed
      Our golden days have passed

    8. Body

      This song began on February 2, 2025, the second day of FAWM – February Album Writing Month, a worldwide challenge to write a song every other day totaling fourteen songs by the end of the month. I had just rediscovered fawm.org when signing up and found that I already had an account from 2015. Here I was nearly ten years later attempting it for the first time.

      I was traveling by van in Tasmania. I drove out to stay the night near a small town called Evandale, where I was going to meet an artist named Kier Stevens for an interview the next morning. I found a lot near a small river where people camp their RVs overnight. I got there, walked my things out to a little gazebo and made myself a camp meal – lentils, rice and tuna, pretty standard camp cooking throughout my time in Tassie. Afterwards I took a seat at the edge of the gazebo facing out towards the road, played guitar on my camp chair and watched the sunset. The melodies and words came all at once. By the time the sun went down I had worked out the changes, melodies and most of the words.

      The next day I did the interview with Kier in the park. On the fourth I recorded the original demo – I was staying with my good friend Josh, who rented a room with two beds at a little bed and breakfast up in Ulverstone on the north coast of Tassie. While he was off working during the day I set up and recorded the demo in the room, playing his 1950s jazz guitar and trying not to sing too loudly.

      Original Demo:

      The most recent demo came at the end of that visit, already into March. The bones are from the original but if you listen to them back to back you’ll hear some differences – new layers, new vocal takes, guitars, programmed parts, percussion, drums, synthesizers. Most of what came after the Ulverstone recording was done in the van, most of it in one very cold night where I felt a massive burst of inspiration and stayed up till the sun came up just working on this tune. It was too cold to play guitar so any ideas that came into my head I would program with the keyboard on my laptop. By the time I was done, the sun had risen so ferociously hot that I couldn’t sleep! That was rough on the body. The most recent mix was done on the plane flying over the Pacific in the middle of March on my way back to the US.

      I wasn’t able to balance the FAWM challenge with traveling, living out of the van, doing interviews and gigs and other recordings. All in all I think I only wrote three songs that month. This was the first and the best of them.

      The song is about something I was feeling at the time – that I needed to get more into my body. It’s been a lifelong pattern for me to spend so much of my time either focused on external activities and pursuits or otherwise internal. I am a very mental person. I spend a lot of time in my thoughts. At times I feel like my body just hangs from my head. I take care of it with basic maintenance, I try to eat well and sleep when I can, but the serious thoughtful intention I put into my body is a fraction of what I put into my thoughts, my creative pursuits, my skills, my travels, my studies, my people and so on.

      A more specific realization at the time of writing this song was that I was coming out of a period of maybe five or six months where I was deeply concerned with mortality – exploring the philosophy around death. I read several books, listened to hours of lectures, interviews and podcasts, and wrote about half a dozen songs concerning death and mortality in one way or another. These thoughts go in waves for me, something that has come and gone since I was a child, but this was a particularly deep and productive time. I feel I managed to move the ball forward. I was sitting quite comfortably with the topic by the end of it.

      But the thing I felt most strongly by the end of it all was simply this: I possess the antidote to any concern, any worry, any fear around death. I am alive. I have a body. I am a body. All that rumination, as useful as it may be for writing songs and gaining perspective, is not really all that productive in itself. What if every hour I’ve ever spent worrying about death had been spent instead just focusing on what I can sense, on being truly alive, engaging directly with life in a visceral way, using all of me and not just the words sounding silently in my head.

      I believe my death does not concern me. The only thing I should be concerned with is life. And so this song is a manifesto, a meditation, a reminder – to be present, to seek presence and stay present, to seek comfort and fullness within the body as it is. Not to get too carried away with the external or the internal dialogue.

      It’s been a year since I wrote this. I’m still largely concerned with the externals and the world of my thoughts. But I have felt much more at peace within my body in the last year. I guess the declaration stuck.


      “Body”

      I’ve been running from the void
      What did that bring?
      But sickness of mind
      And so much long lost time
      I will ditch my bags
      Try to sit still
      I’m not used to being in my body
      I’ll get used to it

      Body heals itself
      Unlike mind
      Which left unchecked grows sick with time
      And I got used to it
      Now I want peace inside

      In the body
      Coming home
      Take some time find peace inside

    9. My Opinions

      My Opinions began with lyrics written around February 2022. I don’t remember a specific incident that inspired them – the inspiration just seemed to be all around me. The earliest recording was an acapella voice memo I made while driving in the rain, awkwardly hunting for a melody with the lyrics in my mind. By mid-March the melodies were mostly worked out but I’d only written about half the song. It wasn’t until late 2023 during a song-a-week challenge that I finally finished it.

      Revisiting it now while writing this entry I went back and listened to those early demos. The earliest full version had this bouncy, upbeat fingerpicking feel – faster, more driving, more attitude. At some point I settled into something more laid-back and lost that edge. Listening back I think I prefer the earlier version. I might go back to it.

      This is a satirical song. The narrator is someone whose personal identity is so intertwined with their opinions that they can’t separate the two – and yet they have no real awareness of where those opinions came from in the first place.

      I used to think I was writing songs like this to point a finger at what I saw wrong in the world around me. But I think it’s more honest to say that these songs are cautionary notes to myself. I’ll take on a character, point outward, but really I’m processing something I recognize in myself. A frustration, a dissatisfaction, a tendency I want to keep in check.

      In this case I am writing about somebody whose opinions have gotten away from them – yet I am beaming with opinions about having opinions while I do it.

      An opinion isn’t a preference and it isn’t a fact. It’s a subjective hypothesis about a matter, based on the best information I have – with ignorance, limitations and blind spots built in. We are limited creatures. Limited by our senses, by the information available to us, by our ability to understand that information, by time and space. There is only so much you can learn in one lifetime. I believe there is vastly more that we will never know than anything we could possibly learn.

      How could I possibly take my opinions so seriously? What troubles me isn’t that we have opinions. It’s when the opinions become our identities. When disagreeing with someone’s view feels like an attack on who they are. At that point the opinion can no longer be examined – it has to be defended.

      My opinion is not my identity. I don’t put much stock in the idea of a fixed personal identity in the first place – but that’s a whole other opinion to dissect.

      I believe that many of our strongly held opinions weren’t arrived at through any deep process of critical thought. They were inherited, learned, absorbed. We heard something, it fit with what we already believed, we adopted it, forgot we adopted it, and now it’s ours. People will fight over a difference in opinion. They will hurt people. They will hurt themselves. People have killed over a different opinion. And a lot of those opinions, if you trace them back far enough, came from somewhere they can’t even identify.

      I’m not exempt. My opinions are suspect too – all of them, including everything I just said.

      My Opinions

      Where do we go when we die
      And more importantly
      When we die
      Where do our opinions go
      I hope that they live on and on
      In the hearts of those whom we had the chance
      To get up on our soapbox
      And mouth off to

      Please tell me
      Tell me that it’s okay
      To stay here holding on to
      These words in mind for all time
      I call my opinions

      In my home the news plays day and night
      And it shows me just exactly what the world is like
      The newsmen speak so plain and truthfully
      So you know it don’t surprise me
      That when they talk they always seem to speak
      My opinions
      My opinions

      Where oh where do we come from
      And more importantly
      Where do these opinions that I call my own come from
      I don’t know I may never know
      But what I do know Is that I seem to think much better than
      A lot of other people

      Please don’t tell me
      You’ve got it figured out
      When words fall out your mouth
      Are silly words
      That differ from my own
      My opinions
      My opinions

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