Dear James

Dear James,

When you go down on America this Spring, at one of the three shows in, Vancouver, Seattle, Portland, I hope you consider walking the ghost, playing some rarities. Undertaking the thought of playing dead, playing some b-sides, beats and other rhythms not usually heard or seen. Constructing Gaudi buildings- architectures of fire and sun. Of harmonies, both and discordant and wise. With sounds and moods, crossing the borders of the deaf and the blind. I ask this not as a demand, but rather as a request. I ask because you're my hero not because I just want to shoot my mouth off. I want to go home feeling like I am on top of the world. That I've been skin diving with a sweet señorita who can always see my soul when she looks into my eyes. I know what I am here for as I am just an honest joe who at times thinks he is some English Beefcake, and yet in truth, I am simply not so strong as I look. Thus, I drink from your watering hole and fill myself, my life up with the green peace of serenity. With chaos and delight. Living a life of love in all these moments of music and truth. And at the end of the shows, I will leave my things by the door, but keep the memories with me, as I dive into the fall with the knowledge, with the feeling, the embodiment of all sensations that it is always a pleasure to meet all of you.

Morning

a dash of morning presence on my soul
to stay with me, where ever i may go
to follow me, this morning, its color, its light
the memories of the forgotten, the memories that seem so right
as to begin this day, with all with their rays
the soft pinks, the reds and the grays
such is the morning spool, the weave, the cloth
a tapestry of time and time again
sights and sounds, in a stillness
subtle movements that are so often lost
in the depths of the day, in the depths of the soul
are found, all is here with me now, and in time
may travel with me, in all that i know