Steady on my grind...!

I pressed pause on this blog when my creative life started to run me over
and the world started to fall apart
in small desperate chunks
I didn't think about winding it up again
until I realized this would have been a great place to explain myself
and my process maybe
and definitely document all the fun I've been having
in so many different directions
with so many different people
who are family to me
in some small atomic way.
(You really should have been there.) 

The Spring 2018 TED Residency
The Black Americana album (almost done recording)
The jazz album  (getting mixed and mastered)
Eyal Vilner Big Band
and the epic hang after the gig that feels inevitable with him
because Eyal is just that cool
Finally, a novel idea
Brooklyn Americana Music Festival
New York Hot Jazz Festival
Swimming lessons
Manicures and pedicures
and facials and beauty boxes
and blue eyeshadow
and red lipstick
and exfoliating
and moisturizing
and all kinds of yoga
Doctor visits
My eyebrowist
My accupuncturist
My ever present Fitbit,
clocking 5 - 7 miles a day
just walking around in this beautiful idiotic city.
Getting my body back
Getting my bearings
physically
mentally
spiritually
Cleaning house
Decluttering
Organizing
Fingerpicking and flatpicking
and being horrible at it
and doing it anyway
because I love it
even though it doesn't love me
Taking lessons with Booski in Hoboken
Gigging with Hill and Sharp
Trying not to kill Caleb

And my grandmama.
And Hamiet.

My uke
My banjo
My parlor guitar
More new songs, coming at me like shrapnel
as ideas implode in my head
at all hours
and I scramble to get myself out of the way
so I can hear it clearly enough
to write it all down
the way it wants to be written down
whatever that is.
Walking down the street singing to myself
over and over and over
under my breath
like a crazy pants
until i can whip out my phone and sing into it
in front of strangers
like a weirdo
and then taking it apart when i get home
catching lightning in a bottle
messing with my A&L to help me out
and when it can't
singing all of it back to myself
until its complete.

Feels like I'm carrying cut glass in my mouth
when a song is stuck in me that way.
Any second, the blood will gush
if I don't handle it delicately enough.
And if I don't get all the shards out of me,
it could get stuck in my throat.
I have to get it all out of me.
All the songs
All the poems
All the librettos and plays
All the scripts
All the books
All the pictures
All the movies
All the talks
All the ideas
Everything.
I want to leave it all here
I don't want to take any of it with me when I go.

In this moment of desolation and abundance
I stride forth like a cold white walker
in a dress that's older than my mum
looking like a Drum magazine pinup
with a head covered with kink
full of ideas
and a mouthful of cut glass
A banjo strapped to my back
A pretty dog at my feet
MPB on my arm
And God, directing my steps

I believe I'll run on and see what the end is going to be.

In the meantime
winter is coming
time to vote
pray
hibernate
travel
and stay on my grind