Erase – Milosh
from his as yet unreleased (but highly anticipated) fourth album

listen over and over and over,
until your beautiful heart
heals
and all the space between us
is gone

After a couple years of working hard to collect my thoughts, and gather inspiration I’m ready to get it on. I’ve proven with Sunday Soul that I can produce a deeply personal mosaic of electronic music, live performance, and improvisation every week for the last six years. I have a track record of breaking down boundaries, live performance, and stand the test of time as a pioneer in electronic arts.

I’ve really given my art a lot of thought lately, perhaps way too much thought, and the conclusion I’ve come to is that I want you to book me. I want to come to your city, your town, your club, your country and perform live bélle âme électronique for you and your crew. I don’t want to compromise anymore. I no longer want to place myself behind the “decks” at super clubs where people were hoping I would play some other sort of music. I want to show up prepared to be completely myself, open my heart, and challenge you to feel something, to give yourself to the music, and to trust me.

Maybe this looks like a Sunday Soul tour, maybe it’s afternoon events, maybe it’s beaches, fields, and renegades. Maybe it’s something to do in the very clubs I feel so uncomfortable in. I am as ready and willing to challenge myself as I am to challenge you. But none of this can happen if I’m sitting around my little treehouse waiting for the right moment in time. And that is why I want you to book me.

Listen to the Sunday Soul archives
Listen to my original music, and recent re edits

Download these long and lusty sets, add them to your iPod and travel with me, take me with you. Open your hearts and feel the love in me as it flows through you. And then email me and book me.

I wanna get down with you so baad.

Limitation

noun
1 a limiting rule or circumstance; a restriction
a condition of limited ability; a defect or failing
the action of limiting something
2 a legally specificed period beyond which an action may be defeated or a property right is not to continue

I have always applied limitations to myself as an electronic musician. Initially I felt opressed by my limitations because once I learned the basics of my first synthesizer, drum machine and sampler, I felt that if only I had more devices, more sound sources, more raw material for sampling I could make much better sounds, and thus better music. Since I couldn’t get more than I had, I had to get clever, and work hard to make the most of what I had. Years later I found myself sitting in a room or two chuck full of keyboards, rack mount synths, piles of drum machines, a big expensive mixxing desk, and all the time in the world to work on music. Guess what? I didn’t get anything done. I was overwhelmed and over supplied. I required some degree of structure in order to make simple decisions about what things to use, which devices to play, and so I imposed limitations upon myself. By limiting the number of devices whcih I could use in a particular project I Was able to turn my attention to those devices, and make the most of them. Once that was complete, I could then record an unlimited number of live tracks in addtion to the limited number of synthetic devices if that’s what I wanted to do. This really nourished my work. The limitations became a source of even deeper creativity and inspiration.

While I have always talked collaboration I have to admit that as a person more often possessed by a visual image, or complete work in his mind, the truth is that when inviting anyone to collaborate with me either they were really only there to play a single instrument, sing, or else they were sadly being invited into traitorous cooperation with the enemy. I’ve never been very patient as an engineer, nor as an art director, I’m a very good producer, but somehow that’s different because I’m in charge, and the task is not to collaborate, to agree, or to have a dialog, but rather to use the performer(s) to solicit the performance material required in order to go off on my own and complete the project. As an artist, I have such a meditative, and painterly process that I have not yet found a way to allow another person into it. But it’s what I’ve always wanted.

I would describe my relationship with my partner Moonbeam in dubtribe sound system as very very close. Certainly as a band we collaborated in the best sense of the word. We shared our duties and responsibilities, and then when it was time to perform we let loose and really let our heart’s show. Still, in the studio, it was like pulling teeth to get me to let go enough to play, to create in a non serious manner, to simply jam and patiently wait to see what we came up with. My head has always been so muddled with music, lyrics, sound, words, and pictures that for my nearly inhuman ability to continue talking long after people’s gnat-like attention span has long since passed, that I have never really been able to put my creative thoughts into words. Thus, it comes out as music. Perhaps if I were a more traditional musician – with an expert’s knowledge of any instrument – then I might better understand the rules of scale, key, signature, notes, and the language of the musician. I have collaborated with other drummers, and played bass and guitar with other musicians, but of a true collaboration, I’m not sure I’m there yet.

As a promise to myself for the coming year, I will open up my heart a little wider and invite every creative and talented person I meet into my studio for at the very least an afternoon of possibility. I want to collaborate. I want to discuss the rules, and then break them together. I want to go further than I’ve gone before. I need to mix down the last of these 22 tracks which have plagued me for more than three years now, and begin a free adventure with some of the amazing people in my life right now.

I needed to examine these words tonight. Typically I assume I am operating with the primary definiton of the words, but when I Really look at their possible meanings, I discover that I have been holding myself back, playing at being disabled, and absolutely conspiring with the enemy. Tonight I tear off my cast, and chuck the crutches aside, and stuff the enemy codes of “I can’t” and “I don’t know how” and “I’m scared” and “I won’t” into my mouth, chew them up wildly, and spit out the disgusting wad of useless paper into the recycling bin.

Let’s start with a horoscope shall we? If you remember as far back as a year ago I was heartbroken, never to recover, and had lost my way. I got called out and given a thorough pantsing by notorious soothsayer Rob Brezsny in his I’m about to take my vacation year end horoscope for cancer (of which Mr. Brezsny is one too.) He said you’ve been sitting at your desk too long, hidden away from the world haven’t you? Indeed I had. He challenged me to go forth and collaborate, make a mess, fall in love again, and skin my knees and try my hand at the monkey bars. And that’s exactly what I did. I deleted my journal, wrote you my sweet goodbye note, and then I galloped off to live happily ever after.

In his 2009 edition I’m about to take my vacation horoscope for cancer, Mr. Brezsny has this to say:

At first I had to laugh at this silly horoscope. Does Brezsny just send people born in July out into the wild at the end of every year or what? Typically I might balk without consideration, considering we’re talking about astrology here, but in the last year I met an astrologer who has changed my mind about the stars and the celestial bodies’ effect on the human experience. If you haven’t met astrobarry yet, please visit his web site now — I’ll wait, and be here when you get back. Barry came to the debut of my three month residency at Space Gallery this year and was gracious enough to be my first speaker. We were all amazed, delighted, and impressed. I’m not going to try to paraphrase what he had to say about his own skepticism with regards to astrology, or any of the wonderful talk that followed, but what I hope is that you just followed that link and spent some time with him yourself. It’s time well spent if you like to read, and it’s even better in person.

Anyway, so now that I’m not laughing, I have to say that as the end of the year approaches I’ve spent some time reflecting on the last year’s activities and what I determined is this: 2009 was not the year of collaboration, experimentation, and endless love, rather, it was preparations for a journey. It’s not like I was going to suddenly spring forth from my cave a transformed being, ready for action, your reaction, and an interesting wig to wear along the way. No. But the year was not lost, not a moment was wasted. I spent every moment possible in the wild mixing music, writing songs, meeting people, dancing, kissing, making love, traveling, praying, meditating, teaching, learning, reading, doing yoga, teasing, poking, laughing, and smiling. I put a whole new look together, made a ton of new friends, re edited classic jams, and made a pile of progress in the studio. Still, my life feels somewhat small to me. Love walked in, pursued me wildly, and then walked out, then walked in, then walked out, and finally walked in and back out again (I am dizzy too) and what I learned (only last wednesday) is that the problem, whenever I am disturbed (even in my intimate relationships) is me. Ugh…

The world still feels so small to me. Restricted by very poor finances, distracted by amazing afternoon sex, delighted by the necks of women who don’t even like me, and inspired by my eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, I feel as if I am about to burst with joy. I am, it turns out, a good deal happier and more resilient than I was a year ago. And so I will leave you again, just for tonight this time, with this thought:

Yes, this year I will travel into the cosmos. With two albums coming out, Dubtribe reunion concerts in full swing, solo bookings piling up, Sunday Soul transmissions at what feels like a creative zenith, not a soulmate in sight, but a dogpile of associates, and a magnetic force which seems to drive every woman I meet wild with desire for beautiful, amazing, poetic, sexy me, I feel my ruck sack is about as packed as it’s going to ever be. I’ve got my helmet on, and I’m ready to take flight… just clap your hands twice and say “yeah” and we’re outtahere.

The next quiz I wrote was a single page, eleven question test which I produced because it had been a couple years and when I reviewed the questions it turned out that I wasn’t even like me anymore. So I revised it and we had some fun.

Now it’s been a couple years again and I thought I might revisit the quiz. Once again it turns out that upon taking my own quiz, I’m nothing like myself. This just cracked me up. I took it a few times and managed to figure out what the “right” answers to my silly questions were, but it’s a dubious compliment to one’s self at any given time that upon taking a compatibility test with yourself that one wouldn’t pass, or even connect with their own Q and A.

In the spirit of looking for my people, and as I prepare to re approach this site as a place where I might actually begin journaling again (December 28th is closing in fast!) I thought we might best begin by re phrasing these questions and seeing where we’re at.

So let’s begin shall we?

Take the quiz

A word about results:
I tested the code for the quiz myself by taking the test and was not surprised to discover that I am my own soulmate. In order to make a more exhaustive test I went back through and answered differently on purpose. In this example my result was an associate. Then I went back and did a third test where I answered some of the questions as opposite as I normally would. The rest of the questions I gave the “correct” answer. The result was again that I was my own “soulmate.”

I find this slightly odd. In my opinion my “soulmate” would be my identical match, and nothing less. So perhaps this quiz is not the most accurate measure of soulmateness. But the point is to have some fun, and enjoy my sense of humor and for the thrill of the results. Not to actually determine our life long compatibility. I mention this here because last time I offered a quiz not only did some curious people find they were my “soulmate” (and let me tell you, they got pretty excited about it,) others actually cheated and took the test several times in order to secure the result they wanted (see – I’m just like you!,) and still others — whom I’d really hoped would be my soulmate — were pretty discouraged by the outcome. I believe that we are here to love, nothing else is real. This is supposed to be fun. Do me a favor and don’t cheat. Take the quiz and post your results here. I’m dying to know, and hope it spawns some wonderful, heart warming conversation.

Have fun!

Lately I’ve been watching the weather in Zanzibar. Whenever I’m traveling I set my weather application in my iPhone and on the dock of my laptop to display the weather of the city I am traveling to. I like to know what to expect. In my meanderings through the yahoo weather predictions for New York City, Atlanta, and Philadelphia lately I’ve been disgusted. middle thirties, rain, snow. It’s winter, what else do I expect — wait, is it winter yet? To warm my heart up a little I have taken to adding Zanzibar as my median example of what weather should be. In Zanzibar today it’s 86º. I lay back against my chilly white cabinets and sigh at the thought of warm, clear, blue water, wearing nothing but shorts, the smell of clove and nutmeg in the air, and the easy smile that only sun can bring…

I’m ready. Let’s go.

At first it didn’t seem special — at least not much more special than the amazing feeling of riding in the passenger seat of a 2010 Lexus convertible — and Bryan selected our destination in the onboard computer. The computer, like all the other navigation computers of modern cars, has a map, and a series of buttons, and when you push them a voice comes on over the stereo system speakers and tells you where to turn. The map changes as you drive, and if you’re available to watch, you can see where you’re going on the little screen. It’s neato the first couple times you do it, sometimes the experience of programming a destination is so daunting that one is immediately overwhelmed and bored at the same time. These navigation computers are a racket anyway, right? You pay for the service, or have to pay for upgrades every year so that the little maps can show you where the nearest Starbucks is. Handy, maybe, but it’s a racket. Why on earth wouldn’t you want to just look out the window? It seems like the real art of a road trip is lost when you’re hunched forward, looking into a little screen, and rather than listening to your guts about which exit might have a restroom, or a starbucks. What is lost is those priceless experiences where you make an error, and with fumes alone, and a growling tummy, you pull into the parking lot of a Flying-J truck stop and end up spending hours wandering around in the gun isle, wondering who in the world buys a gun accessory at 4 am along some strange highway in the darkest parts of the United States. If you’re really delirious you never have to wait long to find out.

One night, some twenty years ago I was driving across country with Jonathan and Paul. We were headed to Cleveland together for a conference. Paul didn’t tell us that he couldn’t legally drive until we were well past Sparks — much too late to turn back and deposit him on his stoop and resume our trip with a better qualified driver — and I had the driving thing down, but had never driven a stick shift before. Jonathan was disconcerted, but undaunted, and I managed my first clutch lessons on Highway 80 east quite well. We split the driving, and Paul slept the trip away in the way back of the VW. Somewhere around Clark, Kansas the following night it was time to get some gas. I pulled into a beacon of a truck stop. They had four pumps, and a little food mart, and it had just begun to rain. As we stretched our legs, I heard what sounded like a crying baby off in the dark. “Waaahhh!” Confused, I wandered over to the roadside and spotted a baby pig standing in the light rain crying. If you’ve never been to a petting zoo, then you’ve missed out on how completely adorable a baby pig is. They are the sweetest things. Nearby there was a lone candy machine — almost empty — which had some kind of mealy looking pellets inside. I fished out a quarter and filled the palm of my right hand with them. I walked back to the fence where the piglet was and made kissing sounds into the rain and held out my hand through the fence. The baby pig cried at me, “Waaahhh!” My heart broke.

“Come here sweetie.” I said softly.

“Waaahhh!” said the pig.

I reached my arm deeper through the hole in the fence, sticking it through as far as it would go. Some of the pellets fell out of the pile and sprinkled onto the dark mud below my wavering arm.

Suddenly I heard a deep snort. And something lunged up and out of the mud toward my hand. I felt a sharp gnashing along my fingers and a huge, rough, wetness cover my entire hand. The force was incredible and it pulled my arm all the way into the fence, and I lost my balance and fell to the ground shrieking like a little kid.

When I got my arm back It was muddy and covered in what looked like saliva. I was scraped, but not pierced. My heart was racing. I was breathless. I looked into the darkness and saw a huge pig, the mother I assumed, standing less than an inch from my face. I climbed to my feet and stared at it with bitterness. The baby pig cried and the mother pig, her face covered in the pellets I’d meant to comfort the crying little piglet, just stared me down in the darkness.

I ran back to the gas station and washed my hands, counting my fingers and toes to be sure everything was there still. I was fine. The pig had just scared the crap out of me. I felt more tricked and surprised by this duo’s flesh seeking racket than anything else. But a cup of horrific coffee and a couple of cigarettes later I was laughing, and everything was just fine. We were back on the road, and my farm adventure in Clark was behind me. The trip to Cleveland was fun, and a couple of life lessons were ahead of me as the result, but without the use of gut instinct, and old maps, we might never have pulled into that gas station, nor would I have ever made the acquaintance of a pair of pigs using youth and cliché to lure human flesh into their diet.

Back on the I-85 South, Bryan and I were roaring down the highway, admittedly hunched forward and peering into the navigation computer’s little screen. What’s different about the 2010 Lexus version is the link with XM radio they have. It is a satellite link between the car and the cartographic computer somewhere in space. The computer showed us the road ahead of us in real time, and a split screen view showed traffic conditions and offered us options to either choose the best route, or to simply trust the voice in the speakers to choose the best route for us.

Admittedly we were really not looking at the road. We were staring into the screen. A couple of times I had to hold onto my seat as we rapidly approached vehicles which were clearly not looking into the same computer we were. After a couple of these scares, we laughed because we both knew we weren’t paying any attention to the road. Laughter in the face of technological obsession and a very near brush with death is the only natural response I think. Don’t you?

“It’s only a matter of time before these computers can show us in real time the other cars on the road.” Said Bryan.

“How?” I asked.

Turns out, that since it’s a real time satellite relationship between the vehicle and the navigation system, it is not much of a leap at all to assume that soon we’ll be driving down the road on auto pilot. In fact, because the service is a subscription service, we may even be able to create a social network from it. So we can friend people, and know that the car three lanes over, fifteen cars ahead of us is our neighbor, or co worker, or maybe even our boss. We can choose car icons, and send instant messages to one another while we roar down the highway in the wee hours of the morning. This will make stalking and road rage so much more fun. It will also cause terrible accidents. But it’s coming. It is the future.

The thought occurred to me that when this comes, and it’s coming, the next thing will be regulated speeds, and downloadable applications for the computer in the car. We will be otherwise completely preoccupied as we travel. In essence, the art of driving will become a form of public transportation. So when you buy a new Lexus, you will be investing in your personal compartment on a vast network of public transportation administered, overseen, and controlled completely automatically via satellite.

It’s a beautifully horrible thought isn’t it? I’ve seen the future. It’s coming…

I had almost forgotten her deep and confusing voice. The arpeggiator is so familiar, the words written backward on the inside of my eyelids. It’s no wonder I forgot. I’ve spent the last twenty years trying to keep my eyes as wide open as possible. Today I closed them for a little while, and read the words, remembered the tune, and began to sing along again…

Toni Childs – Dreamer

This is my heart’s lullaby at the moment, where I go when I remember. Somehow curling up around the hearth of a home never built, fires never burned, and a life as yet unlived.

The Cinematic Orchestra – To Build A Home

Someone I love very much told me that they’d heard something bad about Rob Brezsney recently, but they knew how much I liked his horoscopes and so they didn’t actually tell me what they’d heard. It’s fine with me. I’ve heard a lot of things about a lot of people, including myself, and personally I think hearsay is for the birds (and mouth breathers.)

In his year end horoscope for Cancer, born June 21st through July 22nd, Brezsney offers the following:

I’m going to take the man up on his invitation.

To begin I have started putting pen to paper again, yes an actual journal. This is partly because I want to live in the real world, and because if I keep giving my writing away on the inter-web for free there is substantially less of a chance I will ever be published. Speaking of publishing, if you are an editor, or a publisher and you arrived here looking for my work, it’s here if you’re looking for fiction, and here if you’re looking for non fiction and essays.

You can find news of my music at Treehouse Muzique, information on my community supported recording project here and my weekly radio show at Sunday Soul, and my breathtaking photography is always here too, so it’s not like I am going away from the inter-web completely or anything. I’ve just quit smoking, dedicated myself to yoga, and am opening my heart and my mind to the real world I have spent so much time setting myself apart from over the last couple of decades.

Please don’t be sad. I will miss you too, but I’ll be back at the end of the year and we can talk about my new collaborations, intimate relationships, and all my wonderful new friends. It will be a glorious day indeed.

Until then…

Love,
Sunshine

Le Soliel Est Pres De Moi – Air

Playground Love – Air

I was on a pan am jumbo jet. I don’t remember how old I was, but it wasn’t much older than twelve. I was fully grown by the time I was about eleven, so people often mistook me for an older young man.

The stewardess and I drank tea and played hearts in the back of the plane. She asked "Have you seen the lounge?" I admitted I had never seen the lounge before.

We climbed the spiral staircase and smoked a cigarette in the leather padded upper bar of the airplane. She stroked my thigh and asked me if I had any idea how beautiful I was. I stared at her, slack lipped, and numb. She kissed me deeply and then pulled away laughing self consciously. Then she came in to kiss me again. My hands were already up in her uniform, and we made love in the upper lavatory. She whispered "Don’t hold back" and it ruined me for many years. I never got those words out of my mind. Was I holding back? What was I supposed to be doing? Who was this woman? What did she want from me? But I assure you I wasn’t thinking any of those things for very long at the time. They returned later, with other people.

I never made it on another airplane, or with another flight attendant, but in this way, by contrast to what we consider this sort of things by today’s standards, I miss the past and her open heart, her open arms, her pleasures, and her abandon.

I was at the airport before five am. the sun wasn’t up yet, but I was in my sunglasses, cowboy shirt, and grey jeans smoking outside, waiting for the moment to head into security. I love the airport. I always feel like I’m going somewhere with everyone else. As if we were all in the journey together. I love to watch people freaking out at the security check point because they have to undress, and take everything out of their bags. They argue and explain that the cologne they snuck into their bags is so expensive that they shouldn’t have to throw it away. Watching the people struggle against the tedious position we’re all in together, smiling at the struggle, and occasionally offering comfort. Each of us is an exception, thus, none of us are unique. The suffering isn’t really the loss of cologne, or some personal supply, rather the deflating sense of entitlement which is punctured and gone before our very eyes. I’m just glad we get to bring lighters on planes again and most airlines still don’t charge to check a bag. I pack my liquids into the checked bag for trips like this, where I will be gone for a few days, otherwise I don’t bring any.

So this morning, standing right in front of the sign which says that we aren’t allowed to bring more than 3 oz of any liquid in our carry on, and that those we bring need to be in a clear plastic bag, I ministered and comforted a frequent flyer in a dark blue suit. He kept saying “I fly all the time” to himself. I touched him, looked in his eyes, and said “That really sucks man.” We wishes each other well, and he headed for C83 and I was off to B24

I woke up when the wheels hit the ground in Miami. I love sleeping on planes. It was warm and crowded. Inbal picked me up and we connected. I met her brother, his fiancée and checked into my hotel. The staff at the Albion are still running that “call in the morning” scam for late check outs. I got snagged by it for a second. See the deal is that check out time is noon. Fair enough, but I have a four pm flight to orlando, and I’ll be working tonight and won’t be back to my room until after 5 am, so I’d like to get more than five hours of sleep. So I don’t want to wake up at 9 am to call the front desk and ask if I can stay another hour. It’s irrelevant anyhow because they charge me a half day in the hotel for that extra couple of hours anyway. I am not toiling with the people, or even kicking against the pricks of the corporate rule makers. I want a good night’s sleep, and that’s what I’m paying them for. I revel in better hotels where whatever I want is provided without argument of the mantra of “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.” It’s worth it to me to pay more for good service. So with all this in my head, I smile and say “thank you” and know I’ll be sleepless and standing at the curb before noon tomorrow in the sun. C’est la vie.

The party is lovely. Inbal is a wonderful DJ, so is her brother. The spot, Blue, is a cuuute little joint, and the people, Bettina, Turkey, Dave, Joyce, and everyone are beautiful. We have so much fun, and afterward Bettina and I walk her bike to the diner and have breakfast together. Inbal meets us. I can’t believe that Bettina is Hungarian. She looks and sounds like a woman from Ohio who moved to Miami for the weather. We walk Inbal to her car, Bettina walks me to my hotel. I enjoy my four hours of sleep.

Then I fly to Orlando and meet up with Christina. We hug and kiss and she drives me to Gainesville. We talk over some silliness, and it breaks the ice into a deeper conversation about our hearts, histories, and our blindness to the road ahead. I’ve been having so many conversations with so many different people lately about where we are each at in terms of love, connection, and partnerships. I feel sometimes like a pasture being fertilized. Everyone is saying “I’ve been hurt” and yet none of us are willing to give up. We are each also saying “I want to be loved.” Some are trying to control, some are giving up, some are letting go, others are rationalizing, and force-feeding themselves doctrines and ideas, others just need time. It is a season of healing and longing, readiness and friendship. I am so glad to show up for this and join in the conversation.

The Gainesville night is amazing. I wrote about it here already. My people. My dear friends. Somehow this place has so much magic for me. I love Simon and Nadia and all that we share together. I ate a fish. I did. It was delicious. The after party at Courtney and Alex’s house was awe inspiring. We drummed, played Rhodes, clapped, shook, danced, and had such an intimate time together. Tre, Christina, Sarah, Simon, and everyone was there. I lost myself in the warm evening and left a few things I didn’t need any more behind me when I finally left.

The next afternoon we piled into Simon’s car and drove to Orlando. The last time I was there it was confusing. I felt sure that Orlando was a breaks town, and it was no place for me. This time Buckner, Lola B and their crew decorated the most beautiful room, and played the most amazing music, and it came together so beautifully. The secret weapon of the night turned out to be Anarko. Wow, what a DJ. Hardy McQueen was there being a documentarian for the event. It was beautiful. I gave it some serious force. I had expected to hold back a bit, but somehow being up on a riser, with lights in my eyes I ended up throwing the energy further… past the lights… and we went off. I was drained, but clear and clean — totally calm inside. Simon and I stayed at Jan’s house. He was with his girlfriend, so we had the house to ourselves. I lay in the bright spare room smiling at the ceiling for hours until I fell into a dark, deep, soothing sleep. When I woke up Jan and Simon were talking in the living room. I tried to join them, but there was no way into the conversation. We have so many friends and history in common. I sipped my espresso and listened, smiling from behind my sunglasses.

Then we went to a sort of indoor-outdoor restaurant by a lake and I had something from the kid’s menu. Huggy, Jan, Moon, Simon, and two sisters — both lawyers — had a meal at the bar. I met Huggy and Moon’s children. I made hearts on the dock, and had a completely unexpected conversation with Moon. So much so that I was actually over an hour late leaving for Tampa. I scrambled in the car and sent off a text saying that Sunday Soul would be starting up at six instead of five, and we drove off to Tampa to meet up with everyone.

Tampa was curious. Now I usually have a blast there. It’s Jask’s town, but Busto and Chang and a lot of other talented people live there too. The night is a regular sunday thing that Brian Busto does at a place called Cevicche’s. It’s a tapas restaurant with an inside, an outside and a little pool in the middle. Very mellow, and deep and dark. Perfect. We set up, worked out the bugs and by seven we were actually up and running. I played E2 E4 to get us started, and we broadcast the whole thing live. I was tired, so it felt right to do a three for three thing with Chang and Busto. People were there, milling about, occasionally dancing, laughing, talking, coming and going. When I finally decided to start singing, everyone came together. Busto and Chang backed off and asked me to take the rest of the night. I didn’t want to actually, I wanted to keep it up and continue to exchange ideas, but I am not in florida a lot, so it seemed like what the people really wanted, so I performed, sang, and went for it. In the end I was so drained, and really just wanted to be alone. We went to breakfast, and afterward I decided that rather than staying over night in Tampa I would drive Simon and I back to his house in Gainesville. We talked a little, but mostly it was a great late night drive of head travel for me. I love to drive. Long journey empty my head, and I always feel like I’ve left so many of my worries behind me along the highway.

I spent the next three days resting and hanging out with Simon and Nadia. Courtney came to steal me on my last night and we hung around downtown Gainesville. She showed me this awesome cafe called Volta. Seems one of the trainers from Ritual is friends with them, and she flew to Gainesville to help them design, build, and open up this amazing coffee lover’s cafe. I had a double macchiato, but not before I discussed the fact that this was actually what I wanted to have. Coffee heads are perfectionists everywhere, and this was the finest coffee I’ve ever had anywhere even near Florida. Viva Votla!

In the morning I boarded a little regional jet and flew to Charlotte. There I changed up for a bigger plane and crossed the country. I slept the entire flight away in an exit row. On the ground in San Francisco for one day I got right to work, meetings, emails, phone calls, orders to fill and things to arrange. The day got away from me so fast and before I knew it I was asleep on the couch with my mouth open. I woke up and dragged myself to bed, laughing at myself.

On friday it looked like Soul Support in the mountains of Santa Barbara wasn’t actually going to happen. I was sad, and confused by the media reporting the fires in that area. From the news you might imagine that it was hell on earth — which I have no doubt is was for some people — but in truth, the party was 100 miles from the fire, and there wasn’t even smoke in the air. Kirk, Ariadne, Rose and Matt and I drove down the 101 together. We had such a lovely time. Laughing, talking, and then finally dancing out under the stars. I love out door parties, especially little ones thrown by wonderful people. I discovered for myself that DJ Corbin and DJ Woo are both seriously amazing DJ’s. Between the power failures, the beautiful music, the overwhelming stars, and all the lovely people I had a spectacular time.

Afterward we could have stayed a while, and slept in Santa Barbara, but we opted to drive back to SF. I was in overdrive mode, and felt like it would be best for my health to take advantage of it and head for home where some real rest could begin. So I drove all but about 75 miles of the trip back and then jumped in the back seat and royally crashed. Ariadne and I had a seriously heavy conversation on the way. Again, I am apart of an open conversation about love, boundaries, trust, heartbreak, and hope. I want to be in this conversation. For all the learning, healing, and even hurting I am enjoying right now, I feel so completely alive and present, calm inside. Even after a couple weeks of non stop crazy-pants.

So now I’m home, sitting at my desk listening to music, and thinking about Sunday Soul: Mood Swingin’ — tonight’s broadcast. I feel it. I am really feeling it. I am going to sleep like a dog afterward, last night was strange… I slept the early afternoon away, then woke up in the evening, took a long walk, and then went back to bed until about 8 am this morning. I am wide awake, rested, and looking forward to continuing our conversation tonight, and into next week.

Thank you to Inbal, Simon, Lola B, Brian Busto, Chang, Courtney K, Christina M, Christina Mc, Tre, Sarah, Wemily, Corbin, Kyle, Kirk, Rose, Matt, Ariadne, Jan, Huggy, Moon, David Bumstead, Jimpster, The Mulder, Herb Alpert, Exile, Hot Chocolate, Buckner, Karen, Woo, Cameron, Anarko, and everyone who made the last two weeks such a completely vibrant and amazing whirlwind of music, conversation, dance, laughter and light.

I can’t wait to see what happens next!

Love,
Sunshine

Love makes us crazy, because we lose control of ourselves. Something within us takes over, and we lose ourselves. The center doesn’t hold. It is more like sailing than anything else, but often it feels like madness. I don’t mean to suggest that love and loving are not also acts of compassion, a withholding, or balanced and centered gestures of pure being. I certainly love my grand mother, and I love puppies. I love sunlight and beaches every bit as much as I love three a.m. and warehouses. I love exquisite restaurants and fine linens and I adore shabby little taquerias and my tattered old t-shirts too. But I have never known madness as the result of my heart’s contents with regards to any of these things.

In a sense, love is a kind of madness. Something science can now cure, as well as self-help, recovery programs, philosophy, and even exercise. I was sweating in the sun yesterday with my dear friend ‘A’ and he noticed that the stream of liquid running down my face wasn’t perspiration and asked me “How’s it going?”

I stumbled around a little bit and tried to explain where I am actually at, saying, “I liked the world so much better when the very sight of me made her heart beat so fast she couldn’t stay in her seat.”

‘A’ looked down, made a little sad smile and said,” It’s never been my experience that that kind of love lasts for very long.”

I sighed. ‘A’ smiled, and then we were quiet for a while.

It’s come to my attention that, generally speaking, women tend to be a lot more practical than men. Whoever decided that men are strong, sound in their thinking, and that to be manly was to be steady, logical, and prudent… that women were faire and delicate, irrational and full of foolish ideas of light, and texture was perhaps a bit of a bitter antagonist. Some bastard charged with the task of handing out stereotypes for the good of humanity. Some bizarro cliché for people to hate themselves over their whole lives. While I have met a few men in my life who were almost as rational and stoic as the women I’ve loved, they always seem to weep uncontrollably when they talk about their mothers, or become belligerent when the pot runs out. The furious hands and stony faces of these men has always been betrayed by the frailty of their hearts. This is not strength, it is denial.

The modern age is upon us. We live with stark contrasts unreconciled with our instincts. The roles we play, the positions we take… consciously or unconsciously… are at war with our hearts. When I am still, I say that all is well. The world is radiant and fine. I can exist beside my heart’s contents and watch as my heart goes up in extraordinary flames with a quiet disposition. Sometimes I am radiant with compassion and affection. When I am in motion it is rare I have any idea how I am, where I am, or what time it is until it is too late. I take the world at its word, at face value, and let my mind roam. I am often betrayed. When I am sitting with cute boys I am feminine and sarcastic. When I am sitting with strangers I am gracious and quiet. When I am confronted by the overwhelming emotions of others I am calm and strong, almost immovable. This mosaic grows. Each piece is unique. While I seem to always be at odds with whatever it is I am “supposed to be,” it is rare I am ever the right thing at the right time, or ever enough for anyone. Sometimes not nearly enough, sometimes much too much. Never the little chair, never the baby bowl, not once, not yet. Even so, it is rare that I can not see, or do not at least create the space to welcome all of my colors and smile, or cry if I must, until they turn to that mauveish grey of everything and fade into the day.

But what of love? Listen, I can no more fabricate devotion than I have any desire to fake it. I love intimate whispers, tender lovemaking, and sweet kisses — maybe more than anything else in the world — but I can not pretend. I do not wish to control these bonfires. These beaches run wild, there are no rangers, nor rules. And while the wiser of my friends would advise me otherwise — Let go. Grow up. Oh please — it has been my experience that to control my heart’s beating is to suffocate life. To douse love with lanolin and toss it out of the window of a speeding station wagon. If you look quickly, and have good vision you can see the little plume of dust as it hits the ground. See?

What choice remains? What happens next? I can take refuge in bitterness and fear… smoking too much, jeering at everyone, not sleeping, not eating, wandering around like Raskolnikov humming the Birthday Party to myself for about three minutes. What fun! I could set the pot to boil, and lower my heart into the broth with the onions and go out for a while and try to forget all about it. No. Perhaps I can find some way to simply be with this love, cry these tears out, vomit my breakfast, shiver and shake and be as still as possible… praying that this will simply run its course. Everyone says I’m doing great. Everyone is so proud of me. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. My heart is broken and I am no good at this.

I am very creative, and I have enjoyed a lovely dialog with a few of my favorite ghosts lately. In my kitchen, the waiting area of various airports, and alone at the side of the road we have talked and talked, but there is no real dialog. There is nothing to say which hasn’t already been said. The rules of the discussion change without notice, there are no follow up questions, and nothing is solved. I hear the simple words in my head, over and over. they snap at me, twisting around my throat without mercy. There is no mercy. There are no hugs, no more kisses, no more any more.

My love is fucking retarded. I’m sorry Clare, I seem to have stolen your wonderful title, but it’s true. If you love me, and I mean gas masks and crazy-girls love me, then you can be sure I will immediately run screaming from the room. If you will not love me– or perhaps i can tell that you do, but you refuse, or are so broken that you can’t, or don’t want to, or you’re afraid — then I can not breathe without you, and I will love you until the end of time.

The compromise… whatever that horrible word means… is so vague and loveless that to imagine myself in a practical home, full of practical appliances, blending blueberries at six thirty in the morning just before I shower, shave, and greet another day at the office, in bed and alseep by ten, sex on wednesdays, take the dog out, let the cat in, quit smoking, pay the credit card bills, turn the volume down, pay the credit card bills, speak my mind in that old familliar, manipulative, non-violent manner, accept my fate, pay the credit card bills, pay the credit card bills, makes me wish I was dead. There must be another way, another life without fear, full of love and kinship, delight and affection without taking a ride down the drain of the twentieth century.

Somehow, in spite of all I suspect, I believe. somehow I have survived in this world. Most of the time I am wise enough to never ever reveal the contents of my heart of hearts to anyone but my son, puppies, and people I will never see again in my life. It’s true, I am irritatingly famous for hugging complete strangers stumbled upon in tears, softly kissing strangers at 2 am in closed bart station entrances, and dancing with middle age women at weddings. Occasionally I make a mistake. I let it slip and my heart gets away from me. She stumbles and falls, crashing on the floor at my feet and then its fireflies and brilliant lights, followed almost at once by the fire alarms, thick choking strands of blue and black smoke, gas masks and crazy-girls. Run for your life.

The third and final presidential debate is over. I watched it carefully and am delighted to say that it had me on the edge of my seat and has actually changed a few things for me. It’s possible that my mind is simply in a different space after a trip to Canada and watching the season opener of Frontline which profiled both John McCain and Barack Obama. I love frontline, but I’m a pretty stubborn skeptic of politics, so who knows.

What I saw tonight was John McCain make some effort to get tough. The results were a man who appeared desperate, taking pot shots, and retreating at every opportunity to reinforce doubt, questions, and outright hypocrisy. I would have actually loved to know what someone like McCain would do for the current economic crisis, or any and all of the problems facing America today. But I didn’t hear anything new, or even vaguely interesting. I saw a man on the defense fail in his task of clarification, diplomacy, and to show me that he is different from the Bush administration, or has ideas of his own. I was more sympathetic to John McCain when he went up against W. in the debates of 2000. There I saw a man who approached the dialog with dignity, and class. He was visibly outraged by Bush’s shameless assaults, and frankly after showing us what a callous imbecile he really is I was astrounded that W. got the nomination. Not the first time I would be astonished or dumbfounded by George W. Bush.

On the other hand, I’ve written about my disappointment with Obama’s performance in these debates. I felt the same way watching Biden and Palin. My politics are clear, but what came clear to me tonight is that I haven’t got enough faith in the American public to believe for more than a moment that calm, diplomatic grace is enough to win a Presidential election. It’s sad, and I’m not proud of myself, but it’s true. In previous debates I felt that Obama standing his ground, calmly correcting McCain, and restating his position and plans were the same mistakes made by every losing candidate to go up against a Republican since the dawn of our two party system. These feelings have become somewhat intensified since Bush was re elected. I called for Obama to use his grown up voice and take a single and decisive swing at McCain.

Tonight as the final debate closed, I stand corrected. As the final words were spoken I felt elated in a new way, vindicated by a completely new side of Obama I have not yet sincerely paid attention to. I love his big voice, and have felt frustrated with his thoughtful, calm explanations of taxes, policy, and issues. But tonight I watched McCain’s petty and shameless attacks bounce off the clear and calm surface of Barack Obama and fall to the ground without impact.

This is an instance where I am absolutely delighted to be wrong. I feel I have grown, and learned something. If nothing else, I am grateful to come away from this debate feeling deeper, and somehow restored as a man in this world of spin, hype, and bullshit. Thank you.

I stayed up all night again in order to make sure I made my 5 am flight. I am nocturnal and the idea of grabbing a couple hours sleep before heading to the airport just doesn’t make sense to me. So I spent the wee hours packing, getting things together, and clearing off my desk before I caught a 4 am taxi to SFO. I love the morning in San Francisco. Before anyone is awake. The stillness, the mist, the darkness seems to ease my mind, and calm my heart.

Needless to say I slept like a baby on the airplane. I was asleep on the runway, before we even took off, and didn’t wake up until the wheels hit the ground in Toronto. My favorite kind of plane ride. I cleared customs without incident… the fifty something man with a scowl eyeballed me and said, “What is the purpose of your visit to Canada?” and I grinned from behind my sunglasses and said “Fun.” He gave me a double take and stamped my passport… Outside, it was cold and raining. I’d left almost summer weather behind and sat smelling the jet fuel, and feeling the cold concrete against my bum and sipped a coffee, smoked a cigarette and relaxed. Glad to be away from home, excited to be playing a few shows in Canada. Amanda met me at the airport and we laughed, and talked and reconnected. She was originally going to meet me and deliver the DJ mixer for the show in Halifax, but as it turned out, we didn’t need it, so she just met me to while away some of my four hour layover. I love that. What fun!

I didn’t sleep on the next flight.

In Halifax, Sarah picked me up at the airport and we laughed and talked. It was so nice to see her. I arrived a couple days early so there would be time to relax, acclimate and hang out together before the party. I was glad. I love Halifax. We didn’t actually do too much sight seeing until the night of the party actually… Mark pointed out the best place in town to pick up men after dark, as well as the oldest solid granite structure on the continent, and shared with me the story of the Halifax explosion… according to Mark there was a ship full of dynamite in the harbor — circa 1900 — which accidentally exploded and destroyed the entire city. Ottowa, Toronto and Montreal sent help to fight the fire and recover from the tragedy. Every year since then the city of Halifax send an annual thank you to each of the cities which came to their aid. I listened to the tale, standing in front of one of the only structures which survived the fire and the explosion. Mark told the tale as if he had been there and remembered every minute of it. I love history and folklore.

The party was fun. The space was a little odd, and when we arrived for sound check the owner/manager assured us that while the sound system wasn’t working yet, it certainly would be. So I set up my gear, tested the monitor, and we went for dinner at the Wooden Monkey. While I was at dinner I got a text from my little sister, who was staying at my apartment in San Francisco while I was away, and she said that we’d just had an earthquake, and she was trapped underground in a bart tunnel. I sort of freaked out and got not only very concerned for my sister, but also for my home town. It turned out to be only a 3.0 earthquake centered in Oakland, and in no time she was out of the tunnel, and everything was fine. Wheew.

When we returned to the club the sound was still in a pile, unplugged, and inoperable. the owner smiled graciously and swept his hand out before the pile of speakers and said “It’s all working now.” I adore the concept of positive thinking, really I do, but it still doesn’t magically set up speakers or plug in cables. Thankfully Nick and Eric were there. We got right to work troubleshooting the system and connecting the speakers. In no time it was on, and I was playing. It was just me all night, so everything worked out great.

I left Halifax, again, so sad to go. Dunnoe what it is about the maritimes, but they feel like home to me. I never want to leave once I’m there. I slept on the plane to Toronto and again, woke up when the wheels hit the ground. A car full of people picked me up, Zumba — a really interesting musician from Toronto — and Abne, as well as a red headed man with a smile who had also just arrived from Oakland. We talked and listened to Zumba’s music while we drove to the spot the party was going to be in.

They call off site events in Toronto “booze cans”. I think that’s because people want to drink all night, and so the name assures people that there will be alcohol for sale in the space. I’ve never really thought that drinking and dancing go very well together, but I can imagine that for the people doing the drinking it must certainly feel a lot differently than it looks to me. The space was amazing, the perfect spot. I wanted to stay and be there for the entire event, but I needed to eat, I needed some some sleep, and a moment to myself. So I went back to the apartment I was staying in, met up with Amanda and Alex and we went to dinner. After I took a disco nap. I woke up refreshed and clear, excited to play.

The party was lovely. Hali was playing when I arrived, and since it was going all night there was no pressure. I liked that. I checked out the spot and felt the vibe. Very cool. Then I began. I played it close to my chest, taking my time and feeling the crowd. I am not one to come out swinging… since I’m such an emotional creature, I seem to need to ease my way out of my shell. I did… and by the end we were locked into music, loving it together, and really feeling present. At the end of the night the last people there, the very best people if you ask me, wanted another one.

“You want another one?” I asked with a grin.

cheers.

So I gave them a choice… “Would you like to hear Gladys Knight and the Pips? Or would you like to get Rick Rolled?” I felt absolutely sure that they wanted to hear Gladys… but to my surprise the Toronto after-hours posse wanted to get Rick Rolled… So I rick rolled their asses with ‘Never gonna give you up’ and then i played black box, and then i gave ‘em Gladys. What fun. So silly, and light, and wonderful.

Then I was out on the sidewalk watching Mike Lambert sleep in a doorway, and trying to take a picture of the little tiny clouds passing through the tops of the buildings above us. Mischa was telling me about his camera collection, and I was starving. We went to breakfast, and then home to sleep. I slept the entire next day away. The plan was to do sunday soul from Hali’s house, so we booked over to the West End and Amanda and I had a wonderful pasta at a place called Cafe Diplomatico. Then we hustled over to Hali’s for the show. Hali Wong, if you don’t know, runs netmuzique and is a superb DJ, promoter, producer. I’ve known Hal a long time and I’ve always felt like a kindred spirit. We played beautifully together and the party was so fun.

Afterward we were supposed to go see Moodyman, but he got moody and didn’t show up, so we said good night to Hali and his matching girlfriend and we walked off into the night to find me some breakfast. Sadly, it was Canadian thanksgiving, so there was really nothing to be found. We walked, against Amanda’s wishes, cross town, and into the night. I didn’t want to eat at the loud restaurant… I was a bit of a baby about it… this made for lively and incorrigible discussion as we walked… Amanda talked about homeopathy in Canada, the merits of Texas, and showed me the beautiful little valley which runs between the two sides of Toronto. Eventually we got into a taxi and I suddenly found myself eating a Tim Horton’s bagel and drinking orange juice. I get weird after I play. I need quiet. I need my space.

Then we walked through the side streets of the east side, and played on the teeter totter, watched the morning mists rise up from the grass, and I stayed up and watched Chuck and Larry — which offended me deeply, but somehow still made me laugh — and loaded pictures to flickr until after the sun came up. I slept the day away, and woke up in time to catch my flight home.

Again, as I prepared to leave, and even sitting in the car which took me to the airport, I didn’t want to go. Strange to feel like I am being both pulled home with determination, yet entirely divided at once. Canada, for whatever reason, just feels like home to me. I love it there, the people, even the silly politics. The election is today (I hope you voted) and the people I talked with about it, including my various taxi drivers, were all more interested in the American Presidential race… assuring me that the conservative candidate for Prime Minister was going to win, but that he would have a minority government so nothing would change… I learned all I could, but mostly people were asking me questions about Barack Obama.

At the airport it was, in some ways, as if I’d never left. I cleared customs again without issue. I love having short hair and wearing a blazer when I travel… when I had long hair things were a lot different… I sent some thank you notes, arranged for a ride home from the airport, and burst into tears at the gate. The sun was setting the most beautiful blood red, the heat was rippling up from the ground, and I felt like the leaves of a beautiful flower were folding up around me, holding me, aching with me. A man with hairy ears touched me softly, and said “There, there.” I looked around and thought “Where?” He looked down, and shuffled his feet. I smiled at him, wiped my eyes and put my sunglasses back on. It’s so easy to break my heart. How is that possible? I am such a punk rocker… tough as nails. Nothing phases me.

I did not sleep a wink on the flight home. I watched three terrible movies, read some more of my book, and talked with the woman beside me about San Francisco, Tai Pe, and John McCain. She didn’t know what house music was and that made me laugh. There is a whole world out there which has awoken while we were sleeping, they have no idea what it means to gather, passionately, and dance all night in a Toronto booze can. They have no experience with our counter proposal. We will never have exactly what we once had — and maybe that’s a really good thing — but I can feel something building, I feel it way down inside of me, I can smell it, it’s right on the tip of my tongue. Whatever it is… I’m excited, grateful, loved, and I just can’t wait.

On Friday night I decided that the only way I was going to happily make my Saturday, early morning flight to Baltimore and still be able to sleep on the plane was if I stayed up all night. I’ve been on a much more of a day oriented schedule lately, album recording and noise making being easier in the day time than at night here in my treehouse, so I was getting a little worried about me ’round about 4 am. I had a cup of coffee, did a little cleaning, and set out for the airport in the cool mist of a pre dawn San Francisco. In the morning, before the sun rises, the world feels like it’s covered in tears, and she is sleeping sweetly at last. the only sound apart from the rush of cars flowing down Oak street is the distant laughter of people alone on other blocks.

My driver greeted me with a smile, and we rode to SFO in silence. We (the other passengers and I) sat in the Southwest terminal and watched the sun slowly rise up from the tarmac together in a radiant silence. The flight was easy, and I slept right through it. We landed somewhere, and then took off again, and then I was curbside in Baltimore smoking a cigarette watching torrential rain shower the huge cement road overhead. We were supposed to be going on a cruise of the Chesapeake bay, I was supposed to be performing a live/dj set on the starlight deck. Starlight… as in under the stars. But before my driver, Neil, arrived to collect me, the rain stopped and the sky opened up with evening sun. We were so happy.

My hotel was a smoking room. I don’t usually like smoking rooms actually, they stink. But this one was lovely, clean, and there was a nice little ash tray on the desk with a nice match book inside that said “Thank You” on it. I grinned and said “No… thank you.” Then I took a walk and got a bottle of water and a cup of coffee. I was thrashed and hungry, but hoping to eat with Michael and Deana who were driving down for the party. They did, and we met up at the hotel and walked out into the night to find something to eat. We found an odd, old world, hoff brau style restaurant and Michael ordered the cheff’s salad (as expected,) Deana got something weird… a tuna melt? It didn’t look like a tuna melt to me, and I got the most disgusting grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had in my life. The experience was sweetened and redeemed by our server. She brought Michael a little plastic container with salad dressing in it and said that it was “Ball-slamick vinegar.” We smiled at her, and she told us how much she loved ball-slamick vinegar, but this dressing was confusing because it wasn’t the regular color of ball-slamic vinegar. We looked at the brown dressing… the typical color of balsamic vinegar, and back up at her. She beamed at us. We beamed back.

Then we walked to the dock and boarded the boat. The sound system was just coming together. So I set down my packs and tried to help. The night was supposed to be three floors of music on the boat, the lower deck featuring Scott Henry, the middle deck with Teddy Douglas, and the the topmost deck featuring me and the sonicsoul crew — LG, Adam, and Neil. In truth what we kind of expected was that the lower decks would have been packed with heads, and the top deck would be whatever was left over. Not the case. The lower decks were essentially empty, and the roof deck was alive and rocking with house heads. The sonic soul crew are persistent and amazing house people who have been bringing house music, club nights, and off site events to Baltimore for a very long time. Back in the day LG used to host cloud watching parties, where people would lay on the grass, listen to ambient music, and watch the beautiful spring and summer clouds of the Maryland coast. Special and wonderful people indeed, and this was their final event. I was delighted to stand beside LG and watch him deliver his final set to a crowded deck of cheering and beautiful people. He threw it right down and it was so lovely to watch.

Then it was my turn. I played. I sang. Neil got on the mic and layed on the ground beneath the decks and started saying “sunshine,sunshine, sunshine” over and over again. When I asked for the microphone back, he looked at me and said “One second” and then continued. Tala has been asking and asking to sing with me. I told her to wait until I got everything set up, but then she never came back to sing, yet that wasn’t the case for several other folks who wanted to join in the fun. I tell you… sometimes a live microphone is just irresistible.

We closed the night with Ally Us’ ‘Follow Me’ and everyone cheered, roared, celebrated, and we completely embarassed LG, drove him to tears because we would not stop cheering for him. Yaay!

Then we spent a few minutes in reflection, meeting Teddy Douglas, saying hi to Scott, and thanking everyone for coming and it was down the gangplank and out into the pre dawn of Baltimore for breakfast. Paper Moon, my hands down favorite all night diner in Baltimore is no longer an all night diner… heartbreaking… so we went to the Sip and Bite. Not quite the same. I was beginning to fade out… I felt like you could see through me…. but breakfast was at least warm, and the water and orange juice sorted me out.

Next it was warm goodbyes, and back to the hotel to collect my things, an over due conversation with Deana, and then I was in a taxi on my back to BWI to fly home again. No hassles at the airport, the flight was early, and I was sound asleep before we even took off. We landed in San Diego, almost everyone got off the plane, and I moved up to an exit row and fell right back to sleep. Then I was home, sitting at the curb of SFO talking with a man, also a native Californian, about how much we love California. Jill arrived, despite my dead cell phone, and we hugged and she drove me home.

Now I’m sitting at my desk, head still sparkling from my much needed afternoon nap, ready for Sunday Soul tonight. I love my job. I love my life. Thank you Baltimore for throwin’ it down just right to say farewell to Sonicsoul, and for being so gracious and loving with me too.

Until next time.

* hug *

Sunshine

That means that if you were raped, and your attacker impregnated you, legally you would then be forced to carry the child to term, and deliver it. If the pregnancy proved to be life threatening, where to carry the child to term would end your life… you would be legally forced to carry the child to term and deliver it. If your fetus were tested, assuming you had health care, and the results showed that the child would have some horrible disease, deformity, or other painful, brutal, or impairing illness… you would be legally forced to carry the child to term and deliver it. You would no longer have the choice to make any other decision.

John McCain says he feels the same way (right now,) but has said something different in the past. Who knows what he really wants (aside from power,) but based on her jokes, it seems Palin expects McCain to die real soon, so we’re really voting for her.

I know she looks like Tina Fay, but trust me… she’s not. Atually in this photograph of her as Miss Wasilla (nope, she was only runner up for Miss Alaska) she looks more like that lady from Swingtown, and a teensy bit like the queen of my heart (gulp!) No, it’s the piled up hair, little glasses and big smile that give her that liberal look.

I’m not going into the rubbish about the bridge to nowhere, she’s a politician, and so she’s going to do whatever she can to fund herself, her city, and her state. I don’t hold that against her. I don’t even hold her lies or her hypocrisy against her. We’re all liars and hypocrites, politicians only appear to be more so than others because their statements are recorded and can be researched.

I’ve also heard she doesn’t eat. All she drinks is Red Bull. I know some awesome people who drink a bit of Red Bull. I hear it gives you wings…. I’ve never seen Sarah Palin nude (thank god) but I’m willing to bet she hasn’t got wings. I’ve also heard a story now more than once that she spends zero time with her family. She gave a speech in Texas (eeew) went into labor, got on a plane (no, no!) and delivered her child in Alaska, but was back to work within hours. I bet she was chugging Red Bull the whole time too. One recent development which actually does piss me off, and I hold her (and you) accountable for is her battle cry against MSNBC. Palin has charged MSNBC with liberal media bias for reporting against her and John McCain. This upsets me because a.) the media is conservative, fascist propaganda. There’s nothing liberal about it. b.) I don’t see the Democrats whining and crying about either the slander gushing out of Fox news, or any other station, nor do I see them demanding that anyone be fired because of it. It’s childish, poor sport behavior. Sadly, still pretty typical in our I got mine society… so I suppose the vote goes to the mulers and pukers. Sigh.

Check out the warrior librarian for more of this sort of fun from the horse’s mouth. I can summarize and make fun, but it’s better to know your sources as well as you can.

I dearly love Alaska (for personal reasons,) and I think women should rule this world (really, I do,) but I don’t support Sarah Palin and voting for her without knowing the facts, doing your own research, and considering the consequences is lame. Voting for her just because she’s a woman is sexist. Voting for her because she “seems real cute” is ignorant.

No more years

Join me.

P.S. I reserve the right to review and revise my snarky essay here after Jill has yelled at me about it’s original content. Otherwise, revel in my raw, undigested opinion that this campaign is not about race or gender… It’s about moving forward, change, and hope.

Dreaming of you

To listen:
Journey to http://90hz.org at 10pm pacific time and click the big huge play button.
To connect with iTunes or your favorite application follow the directions on the index page.

To communicate:
Register with the forum at 90hz.org and then click the “chat” link and join us.

See you in my dreams

Love,
Sunshine

Sunday Soul: Accidental Discothéque

December 2nd 2007
Broadcasting at 10pm Eastern time
and again at 10pm Pacific time

To listen:

You can listen from the listen link at sundaysoul.com by clicking play on the flash player there. It’s a pop up window so you can continue to browse the web while you’re listening if you want to.
For a nicer listening experience, drop the IP address
http://74.52.22.184:8025
into WinAmp or RealPlayer

iTunes Users: click “advanced” and select “open url”drop the IP address:
http://74.52.22.184:8025 into the dialog box and click ok.bookmark us for the future and enjoy!

To Communicate:

We get together in real time during all the shows on 90hz.org and use the chat to catch up, ask questions, check in and appreciate the music together. You can join the chat from either 90hz.org or right here from the menu above.

Join Us!

Alpha – Sometime Later