Who's living?

The 9 to 5ers. Keeping with the man and making money. The ones with the bonus, always an incentive. To keep you wanting. Then retirment comes maybe you're 60 or only just 40.  That paycheck and raise sure feels good though.  Not quite the boss but wotking towards something.  Dear god does a vacation in the middle of Januray sound nice. But are you even relaxed? It's a nice controlled life. Then a tragity, perhaps a death makes life ever so fragile and even more real.  Maybe it's cancer or a job layoff.   Either way the flatline feels more like a pulse.  Maybe you are living.  You will get married and have kids but still stay awake in the dead of the night sometimes wondering.  Always wondering, when it's quiet and when you are alone.  In your cat in the hat neiborhood with your perfect lawn and your name inscribed coffee mug.  Your perfect shelves stocked with your things at Walmart.  That you buy because it's what makes you comefortable.  It's a comforting life.
No matter the cost.  It's worth fighting for and paying for.  You get married and have kids. Raise kids which is a great joy. You find love in a hard place or get divorce which brings much understanding.

Then you have the dreamer.  The no sky's the limit seekers. The ones lost without a map. The ups and downs of constant personal strife.  The booze hits harder here, the reality of death is much too clear and often not a threat.  You feel everything here perhaps the world sometimes. There is no paycheck.  There is no god.  There is nothing but silence of nature and perhaps your art.  It is the loniliest place on earth.  No one comes to visit and family even turns away in lack of understanding.  You control nothing and wouldn't want it that way for life unfolds before the seeker. You have horrid delusions of depression and a disposition about life you think no one understands.  You are an artist.   Sculping away at your craft only unfolding before you.  And only you.  It's personal until you receive affirmations that what you sown has found a way.

Now tell me who's living?

To Be Sown.

In 3 months my first album has sold under 1000 units.  It may not seem like a lot to you but to me I am very grateful.  The goal with this album was to create honest and real pieces of music from scratch. To avoid auto tune and to record in under 3 takes. This we have accomplished with To Be Sown.  Here's to the next 2 albums currently in the works and for genuin, honest and real music.

https://itunes.apple.com/album/to-be-sown/id830744910#.UxbT-9oe7MY.email

A Place Called Home.

There's something nastolgic about airports.  The way people pass in a hurry, I always wonder where they are going.  There's the traveling to a new place or maybe a familiar place.  Within hours into a missile through different time zones and 35,000 feet from the world.  I love every second of it.

People with venti coffees and rollar bags.  People looking tired and dated usually the ones sitting up at the bar before noon.  There's nothing special that happened today with a layover as slow as molasses, I get to people watch in Detriot.   It's a sleepy town,  the energy of people is low.  Not low as in depressed, low like easy going.  I can feel the moment I leave New York that time slows down. It's very subtle but it happens the moment the plane lifts from the ground something happens.  Then you land somewhere and there's space and slow moving people.  All my familiar things.  There's the waitress that is sweet and attentive.  A coffee takes at least 5 minutes here.  It's nice.  I am never rushing.  New York is a lot of rushing just to wait, here you kinda just settle in to the natural flow of  simpler times.  The difference between the 2 sometimes confuses me.

It takes me 2 days to snap out of New York but once I do it's a beautiful thing. It's almost like I smoked a joint in what feels like a high haze the sky becomes bluer.  Like each minute I can feel and it's long.  I sleep better. My 8 year old self surfaces again and from deep within I am happy mostly because I am home. It's all I have ever known.

Going home is crucial, some people try to erase that side of themselves as if that's possible.  It's a giant reminder of where you came from and where you are going.  I'm just lucky cause I get the best of both worlds.

When I was a Morgage Broker.

This city breaks you down.  It's like concrete that's wet, your feet never quite make it.  I still think of memories of days I didn't need to think as much. This city is a bomb.  A game.  A stream of people just at best, trying.  Falling in love then in hate with it.  Dealing with the ego and peoples "stuff". I wonder what the world is like to not want something, badly.  Or only want certain things, badly.

I was a mortgage broker once.  Sitting in a cubical field so deep you get lost.  I had to mark what row I was in with a marker for the first 2 weeks.  I drove in and watched the sunrise and home when the sunset. Then I didn't want much, I wasn't happy though.  It was a nice world to live in when your just kinda living.  Doing the normal, following what you've been taught.  I loved the money.  We had office potlucks filled with taco dip and something in a crockpot.  I sat in meeting that allowed me to daydream.  Ate lunch at 12:15 and took a 30 minute break.  For me I always took an hour.

A woman one day that never moved from her desk, fell asleep.  This woman that never said a word and never ate lunch.  One day I watched her.  While the work pilled up, I couldn't keep my eyes off of her.  That day she fell asleep amongst the work week.  That was the day I thought I would die not doing what I love.  If then and only then, I wouldn't want to sleep for I would miss it.  That's the thing about dreams, you always think the grass is greener.

I just know one thing, life is short. In this consciousness for what we know you must do what you love.  You take the bad and the good, realizing it's only part of it but totally worth it in the end.