April Shivers

It’s so cold outside! There was that one 80 degree day last Saturday, teasing the impatient Northeast with the prospect of summer creeping ’round the corner. But it’s a deception! An illusion. Once that sun goes down and the wind blows, it gets to your bones.

And I laugh because when it’s snowing, people are begging for summer but when it’s so hot the power goes out and the AC breaks, the same dissatisfied urchins are praying for cooler days. Still, this particular cold confuses me. It’s like Mother Nature can’t let go, though winter’s over. May’s practically in a week or so, right?

This week I’ve jam-packed my schedule with things to do. I’m not sure why. But ever since i got back from Florida, I felt compelled to do so; to stop putting everything off and just jumping for once, especially seeing friends. It’s like my dad says, “Relationships need to be nurtured” and I haven’t always been the best at doing that. Though I try. I’ll give myself that.

And despite the fact that I’ve been doing this, caring for Nonna, baking birthday cakes, and trying to get my eBay game back on track, in my mind I’m still thinking music, still attempting to exercise (and now meditate) everyday, read, write, finish season 3 of House of Cards. It adds up. But I think out of these years and months home, I’ve realized I like to be busy. I’ve affirmed that for sure. Or maybe I’m feeling my break coming to a close. It’s like, since I decided I’m going back to school in fall, a grid fell over everything in my life. And I can see where everything stands and where everything needs to go. And I’m ready to move the chess pieces on the board to start this damn thing already. Pawn to E4 or whatever.

Bobby Fischer out of character with a backwards baseball cap on putting on chapstick.

Breath is everything, even when Mother Nature blows it coolly down the back of our necks.

Heavy As Fuck

There are days my mind feels like a sticky, humid swamp; Just…stagnant, filled with Lord knows what. And even though its contents are unclear, it’s heavy as fuck. It feels like a lot’s there. Lots of mud and muck.

There are days I’m not sure what to think, what kind of opinions to have.

There are days that everything is crystal clear and every breath feels like a breeze of fresh air on a warm summer day.

There are days I feel myself adapting against my will, others I stand my ground so hard I could make the earth quake beneath my feet.

And does it mean a thing? Does it all mean a damn thing?

Because we’re all gonna die and turn to dust and explode in the heat of the Sun while the planets, which we name after the gods and goddess of antiquity, silently observe our fate. Because they’re also kind of nothing but beautiful. But when we’re all dead and gone all our sense of aesthetic will be gone so what is anything? And if it means nothing, then so what? And if no one’s watching does it exist?

And even if you could pinpoint my location from this universe to this galaxy to this planet Earth, to the North American continent, to the United States, to my northeast New Jersey bedroom sitting up tired, would my presence here in this exact moment mean anything to anyone? Should it not bother us as human beings to not feel necessary. Nevermind wanting and loved, but necessary? Because what if you grow old and no one cares?

But I suppose no matter what happens, I believe in the Tao and dharma and just going with it and saying yes to life. And I think I’ve become really good at that and if not, then better than last year. But I don’t feel aligned like what I’m riding a wave. My passion and excitement comes in bursts but keeps shorting out. So how can I keep that going? Sometimes my center disappears into the swamp and instead of digging through it and driving myself insane, I choose to just lay down and wait for its light to poke out from the murky darkness.

On my lawn chair with a lollipop in my mouth, eyes closed.

Waiting for a sign as I open one.

A wink with a fermata over the top.

What Is My Bliss? …Really.

My mind moves at a million miles a minute, I swear. I’m constantly thinking about 5 million things at once. Yesterday and today it’s been: What is my bliss? No – really.

I don’t think we’re truly self-aware if we don’t constantly question everything we know, or should I say – everything we think we know.

A few months before graduating college I kind of had this profound, deep existential crisis that spiraled into about a week of depression, which consisted of: I don’t want to do music anymore. I hate it and want no part.

And I don’t know where it came from. Maybe anxiety and doubt due to the fact I didn’t have a job lined up, nor did I want to think about one. Could have been a childish response to a part of my youth coming to a close. Maybe I felt too dependent on it and that scared me. Maybe I was just tired of being in school for so long. When talking (or should I say shouting) to my my mom about it, I kept saying things like, “It’s been my life for so long, it’s like I’m not interested anymore” and “I feel like I know all there is to know, and I don’t know what to do with it anymore”.

I don’t think I feel this way anymore. I actually ended up crying in my room for a long time listening to Saves The Day’s Sound The Alarm, so music did get me through it after all (which I really resented at the time). I am still currently pursuing jobs in the music industry, I listen to music everyday, I still write songs, play guitar, etc. I think I just had a crack-up. But there are days (many days) where I catch myself making excuses when it comes to my own songwriting pursuits: Oh, I don’t feel like going to that open mic today and I don’t want to record this week and I don’t feel like going to that show. I almost feel like I’m sabotaging myself (which apparently really is a thing women tend to do according to Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes). I am I really lazy and harming my ambitions in the long-run, or am I just generally not interested and should just accept that fact and move on to something else?

All my life I feel I’ve pushed myself (or have been pushed) to do things I sometimes didn’t want to do, and sometimes when I did them, I’d feel really glad that I did. But I don’t know what this is – this feeling of hesitancy and closeted introverted-ness. I cringe at the fact at lugging my guitar somewhere. I like performing, but it’s mainly the fact that I have to go somewhere to go do it. And then that annoying question always lurking in the back of mind: Is this really all worth it?

I like doing things if I can anticipate a positive end result. Maybe that makes me spoiled? I’m not sure. But that’s the way I like to do things. But to be a musician is such an unknown. And I might I sound like a baby going on about this, but I’m really battling these feelings. Does it matter at all? Does anything matter at all?

And I got business cards with my songwriter info on them, I got a new feedback suppressor for my guitar. Why not use them, right?

I guess these thoughts are plaguing me as of late because there was an open mic at a place near me last night, and I decided not to go. To make myself feel better, I decided to go to my friend’s show instead which was in the same town. But then as the hour ticked closer and closer, I became less and less enthused and wanted more and more to just stay home and read or something. I didn’t like how that’s what I felt I really wanted. I felt like I was bullshitting myself – I should have pushed myself to go. Have I just been home for too long and that’s why I feel this way? I’m too comfortable here? (For TNG fans: Will Riker much?) I ended up getting a headache and went to bed right after dinner last night, anyway. So maybe I needed rest and I’m just making a big deal out of nothing.

The place I go to has a weekly open mic and I played it at the beginning of the month. It went great. The next week I had an interview scheduled for the next day, so I decided not to go, opting to go to bed in order to wake up well-rested and prepared. Then yesterday came.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is if I feel at peace, is it worth disturbing that peace to go and pursue something that disrupts that peace in a way? See, I hate the idea of wasting my life. And honestly, right now, I don’t feel that I am. But it’s the thought of the possibility that I am that creeps up on me. What if I could be doing more? But then for what? Why even push myself if it leads to nowhere? Do I just think music is my bliss because it’s been constant in my life? What if it’s not? What if I’ve transcended past that and it’s something else now? What if I’m just wasting my time pursuing some childhood dream? What is my bliss, really? Is there something more or am I just following a shadow of what I think I know?

Has anyone felt like this about anything? Let me know in the comments, y’all >>>

Peace and love,


The In-Betweens

No more games, no more projects.

I’m removing the restraints, deconstructing the dam.

Let it all flow, the waterfall I’ve been bottling up.

Every excuse I get, I’m gonna put it right here –

even if no one cares.


I’ve realized I have nothing to report on my increasingly sad life

except the fact that I’m home all the time,

enraptured by quality television.

A stagnant purgatory of a 21st century making.

I force myself to regurgitate specific times of my day,

but it’s all really pathetic jabber – nothing monumental or important.

My funds flushing away as I still refuse to give up “the dream”.

As I get increasingly fatter. But what is body image, anyway?

This is just a vessel to hold my spirit.

Life’s short.


I’m sorry I can’t pull more passion forth.

Thankfully not in love and I guess this is what the in-betweens feel like:

Indifferent apathy.

I’m rattling my cage though. The wave must crash, the sun must rise, the moon must wax and wane.

Get in my head, my soul. I want to tell you all about it one day.

This is rest before the unknown beginning.

It will make for excellent storytelling.

C’mon, Time – I hope you’re on my side.