About Me
I Was Born on the cusp of day-break A Week Before the devils birthday…2 years before 1984...18 years shy of 2 millinia after the death of Jesus H. Christ.... A Scorpio And Libra At The Same Time… The Scales Of Justice Hang From The Tip Of The Stinger On A Spring Wound Up Behind My Head. All Of My Chakras Are Open And My Third Eye Sees Visions In The In The Night That Smolder In My Heart Into The Dawning Hours Of My Daydream…
Tears And Smiles…Angels In Heaven…Haunting Images Of Hell…I’ve Walked With Jesus…And I’ve Looked The Devil In The Eye…And Sometimes That Devil Was I… I Am I… But Who Am I? I’m Just A Ray Of Sunshine… I’m A Wave In The Sea… I’m Just A Drop Of Rain…I’m Just Dying To Be Free… Cuz I’m Bigger Than My Body And I’m Just As Much You As Me…I’m Somewhere Between The Devil And Jesus…I’m Buddha Jesus And The Devil And Me…At The Same Time… Or Maybe I’m Just Crazy…Maybe I’ve Lost My Mind…According To A Book I Was Reading At The Library The Other Day…I’m At Least a half a dozen different Kinds Of Crazy …And Prone To Violent Muscle Spasms And Seizures…
I like to climb things…rocks…trees…buildings…whatever…I used to climb deer stands in the summer time…and sit way up in a tree and watch the sunset… sometimes the devil would whisper in my ear…he’d say go on and jump and just flap your wings and fly and he’d wink and then he’d laugh and i would look him in the eye and i would wonder what would happen if I wandered to that edge but then I’d see that sunset and feel the wind thru the trees and I’d wander on down to the ground again. It was all i could do to stay lost in a daydream…
The Sun and the wind and the rain and the earth and the rivers that flow to the sea…that was reality to me… school, church, everything else were just a part of this concrete and asphalt cartoon-land that the adults took way too seriously…even more seriously than football…
Reality, it was a game that was started by a god that created the earth in 6 days and rested on the seventh and commanded that everyone in the world should work for 6 days… or go to school and do your chores until your old enough to work…go to church on sunday and pay him 10 percent of your their gross income to be a part of his club…from the stories in the front of the book it used to be the blood from their firstborn lamb they had to put into the offering plate…before they invented money…the high priest would catch the blood in a basin and carry it into the most holy of holiest of places in the tabernacle of the holy spirit, which is where the gold and silver treasures were… the loot from the family of Cain…the Cainanites… that built cities in the desert because gods chosen people needed the fertile pastures by the the still waters to graze the sheep that they had captured…so god exiled Cain into the desert… and because they were special and god had picked them to lord over the sheep and slaughter them so the high priests could eat the flesh of the lambs and sell the rest of the meat in the temple markets… it seems to me that the tabernacle of the “Lord”…which means master in old english by the way… was the first slaughterhouse… and the Israelites were the first war-mongering nation…god split the land of Israel among the 12 tribes that were descended from the loins of 12 brothers of one Abraham…but Abraham actually had 13 sons… His firstborn was exiled into the desert just like his great grandfather Cain …on his moms side…because he was born of a virgin that had been kept alive and parceled like the livestock and plunder from her village… more of a prisoner of war than a concubine….Hagar and Ismael… exiled to the desert… Ismael the first-born son of Father Abraham… Heir to the kingdom… something does not add up there… Israel? America is the new promised land… the Indians were gentiles so god commanded the pilgrims to kill them in the name of the Lord (Master in old english) and claim the land and parcel and divide it into 13 colonies… and god gave woman to man and commanded him to rule over the women and all of the beasts of the field and the birds of the air… this is in the book i read at the library… it sounds like the ramblings of a mega-ego maniac here…wow. and i thought i was crazy… this is much insaner than me by far… this is what it’s like growing up when you’re the preacher’s son… it should be wrong to teach a kid that ‘reality’ is all about blood and money… but that’s what their world is…Reality is just a game… and it’s all about blood and money…
Diary Of A Mad-Man.
An alian in a strange land, with strange rules and customs...Donning a costume and playing a role...widening perspectives with each new face...He is the Invisible Man.
Only the crazy people can see me...They speak to me from a place of clarity and serenity, awakened from their busy, melo-dramatic dreamworld...Momentarily, for only brief strains of time, they escape their dreadful nightmare to entertain my presence. Their perspectives, usually askew with paranoic hallucinations, become clearer and the light of recognition shows in their eyes as they meet mine. Their heads, bombarded with the meaningless chatter of monkeys and mad-men have suddenly become as silent as a chapel as my words echo in their dome...the laughing lunatics, the homicidal maniacs, the necropheliacs, insomniacs, pedifile preists, guilt ridden frequent mastorbators, closet homo-sexuals; the junkies, the johns, the dicks and the harry's...somehow they all find a reprieve in my presence.
I feel, that to some, I am somewhere in between Dr. Phil and Jesus Christ..."I am the High Priest of the Crazies! Come! Confess your sins to me!" ...the proverbial sign around my neck reads...Why Me? I don't know...Maybe it's because they know...that I'm crazy too!
Or, maybe it's because most people are too pre-occupied with their own meaningless existances to even acknowledge anyone elses... much less a crazy persons existance...after all, who really wants to talk to someone that is so stuck in their own world that they spend most of their time talking to themselves...mostly lamenting of what they lack, nostalgilizing about the past, and ranting and raving about petty offences that have been committed against them...Feeling judged and victimized, catagorized and critisized from all sides can take its toll on the cerebrum...being ostrocized and marginalized by the gentrified socialites can wreak havoc on the head of a tender hearted human being that is malajusted to this crazy, fucked up, in-human world we're living in.
Love is the awareness of the One universal soul we all share, only by tapping into this egoless state of mind can we truly understand another and be aware of the suffering of another...Awareness is the first step to healing.
Childhood…
I was a weird kid. Anti-social troublemaker, never was able to take established institutions and the authority structures that accompanied them seriously. As soon as I got home from school i would drop my back-pack off on the porch and dissappear into the woods behind the house and wouldn’t come in until the sun went down. My mother worried about me, my dad spanked me alot, my teachers punished me on a regular basis,I could count on one hand the number of times i saw the light of recess in the fourth grade, my little sister, to this day, still thinks I have some sort of anti-social dysfuction. I’ve always had an aversion to money, never really liked the whole concept of currency, have always tried to find a way around it. Don’t get me wrong, I like to have it, I just resent the fact that my life is expected to revolve around it.
My father always had a guitar around when I was growing up. He kept it in the laundry room and would take it out and play a few songs every now and then. It was the first thing to go to the pawn-shop when times got tough. He lost more than one guitar to the pawn-shop. When I was around 15 or so I started to take an interest in learning to play. He taught me a few chords, wrote out little fretboard graphs on index cards and showed me which chords went together to make a key. The first song he ever taught me was stuck in Lodi again. For my 16th birthday he bought me my very first guitar, it was a Harmony acoustic. I started making copies at the library of lyrics and chords that I organized alphebetically in a 3-ring binder. It was like learning to ride a bike, playing and singing at the same time. It wasn’t long before I was composing my own songs, it seemed to come easier than learning other people’s songs. I started out playing in church. My dad was the preacher, my mom was the youth leader, and I was creating a niche for myself as a praise and worship leader…covering the latest christian songs and christianized parodies of skynyrd and what not.
When I was 21 I sold my motorcycle, bought an old orange pickers bus, an extended cab Ford 350 Econoline for 400 dollars, fixed it up and converted it into a mobile apartment and headed to Nashville, Tennessee. Spent the next two and half years off and on, busking on Broadway and Second Ave. worked a little here and there…joined a cult for a little while…ended up in New Orleans just in time for Hurricane Katrina…It was crazier than Mardi Gras by far…Got into some minor trouble with the law…ended up with some outstanding warrents…hit the road running and didn’t look back…hitched all over the country with my backpack and my guitar…traveling aimlessly…a mis-placed mis-fit in an alien land…looking for signs of life…found it everywhere I looked, brothers and sisters wherever I went. So many kind people I have had the priveledge of meeting on the road
