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It's my 13 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

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Deep Breath

“You never forget your first.” 

There’s a reason for that.  We waste our best love on our first… a relationship doomed by its very definition to failure.  Like the first time doing many things, we don’t know enough to be afraid.

My philosophy regarding first love, or at least the first love that results in the first marriage, is: get ready.  It will fail.  My first marriage failed.  My current husband’s first marriage failed.  My Mother is on marriage two, Baby Cousin: two, my Aunt is on Three.  My father finished three… and ran out of idiots he could con into marrying him.

The agency I work for deals in personal statistics: birth, marriage, death.  I can tell you marriages: 5, 6, 7… are not uncommon—serial believers in The One… Or at least The Current One.

When conversing with a friend years ago, I gave my philosophy out off-handed and immediately tried to backpedal as she was a newlywed – not even a full year under her belt yet.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  Uhhh, I’m sure that won’t be you…”  She smiles sadly.  “We’re getting divorced.”  My theory holds.

You don’t know what to be afraid of, but you also don’t see what you want – could be as simple as not wanting it to end with another person’s hands around your throat… like mine did.  You know that love feels incredible.  First love?  Bottle it, and you’d be a billionaire.  Heart galloping, pupils constrict, “A stolen look/Turning into a gaze.”  To be at the center of another person’s regard is the most intoxicating feeling imaginable.  I guess that’s why I’ve latched on so hard to Jesse Daniel Edwards’ “Everything Makes You Sick” from his brilliant recently released, “Violensia.”

The line that hooked me is: “Was all the time we spent in my bedroom/Just chemical relays In my mind?”  Reward, desire, addiction, euphoria.

Short answer:  Yes.

Lust propagates the species.  Love holds the tribal unit together.

“I want it to feel like this forever.”  ‘He’ said this to me.  And it didn’t.  It can’t.  And there’s nothing to blame for that.  Chemicals stop working.  Too much of a good thing is never enough.  But it has to be or the human race would never get past the disappointment.

“And to every broken heart that came before,” Jesse sings.  Because this – heartbreak – is nothing new.  But it’s new to you.  It’s new when it’s the first time -- regard is withdrawn, ripped away.  Their eyes don’t look at you anymore.  “A stolen kiss/That dies unreturned…”  There is no pain like the first time in every sense of those words.

I’ve listened to this song dozens of times at this point.  I’ve taken it upon myself to input lyrics for Musixmatch (that eventually cross-references and ends up in Spotify.)  It’s like getting elected to public office just to fix that pothole by your house… I just really, really like lyrics.  There was nothing like lying in bed, “new” old vinyl in hand, poring over lyrics and liner notes as a teen (even then, I was a generation too young, but latched on to vinyl when my counterparts were embracing the new fad of CDs).  I’m delighted this experience has made a comeback in recent years.

What I’ve learned doing – lyric cataloging – is to listen to everything, not just lyrics.  The critical thing in this song – just as crucial as the heart-rending refrain “I’m gonna be just fine/Everything makes you sick in time” is the deep breath, almost gasp after each chorus.

Everything makes you sick.

What did we just spend years hearing? “Meh, you gotta die of something.”  What weren’t we allowed to do?  Breathe.  A deep breath was likened to the ragged breath of the reaper assigned to unprotected sex of the 80s.  We spent two years Lysol-ing our groceries, wondering if a deep breath would put us in the hospital, on a ventilator, or… six feet under.  Over a million people in the United States alone paid for the most basic human act of survival with their lives.

We breathe, we love… we fear… We are human.

“Everything makes me sick/Oh it all just makes me sick/And there’s no cure”

The only cure for the human condition is death (what did Jim Morrison croon? No one here gets out alive). So while we are here, while we do this: love, fear, hurt, hope, bleed, gain, lose… Deep breath.  Hold on.  While you fall, you have a moment of weightlessness that feels like flying. 

Everyone dies of something.

Take a chance.

Tell them you love them.  Feel it. 

There will be a dash between two years on your headstone.  That dash is your breath.

Breathe deep.

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Days 20 21 23 - the #penandink #penandinkdrawing

#penandinkart #inktober2023 #inktober #draweveryday #drawingprompts #telepathic #frost #cornmaze #scratchy #cornmaze #chains #magicwand

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Days 20 21 22 - had a lovely house concert and got the tiniest bit behind. #frost #telepathic #chains #magicwand #scratchy #cornmaze #draweveryday #drawingprompts #art #artistsoninstagram #retrosupply #retrosupplyco #frightfall #frightfall2023 #digitalart #digitaldrawing #digitalillustration #procreate #procreateart

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Day 15: Dagger and Strangers

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Mr. Kitchen: Jesse Daniel Edwards Devilish Alter Ego to Angelic Crooner

(Mr. Kitchen art by Eric Edwards)

I am pushing it.

I really am.

But I dared twice… and was rewarded.  This time?  Chattanooga.  I thought it was further away than Nashville, but when I asked for it, I was told – no, it’s comparable.  It’s fine.  Let’s do it.

Thus, my eighteenth wedding anniversary present prospect was delivered – our anniversary fell on the 14th, and we left for Chattanooga on the 15th of September. 

500 miles on night one.  All in the name of another Jesse Daniel Edwards show.  I didn’t ask a thing about it.  I didn’t need to. 

A hair under another 500 on day two.  The traffic was bizarre.  We ended up in the strangest middle-of-nowhere jam near Murfreesboro (I could be making that up; I have no idea where we actual were but looking on a map, that seems right.)  As we sat stock still for what felt like hours, we were paraded slowly by billboards for the Caverns – a weird reminder of our time spent here back in April.

As soon as a break was available, we took it and exited… behind a parade of people who also ended up at the same gas station: refugees forming an endless queue at the gas pumps and bathrooms.  I even checked as I stood in line: “Y’all from the traffic jam?”  Nods & grimaces.

Back on the road, we reached our hotel in Chattanooga at a reasonable hour.  We laid down and fell unconscious for some indeterminant length.  Awake and refreshed, we start getting ready.  I Instagram Jesse… we are prepared to get in the car and go.  Per the venue’s event, things should have been happening around 9.  Jesse responds: “We are on at midnight.”  “Doug,” I call out hesitantly… “Guess what Jesse says?”  I have no idea what the call is.  If he’ll go, huh… let’s go back to sleep, or what?  Nope.  Let’s go.  We’ll watch the other bands and get something to eat.

While Instagramming Jesse, I nervously ask, “Pretty please, can we just text?” He apologizes.  He thought I already had his phone number.  I laugh out loud later.  The phone number I was so nervous to ask for? (“I won’t bother you, I promise!”)  It was written on every Mr. Kitchen CD Jesse handed out after the show.

An additional curve ball for the night:  we have another show.  Tomorrow night… in Dallas at Salim’s.  We don’t want to chance running into another bizarre, rural traffic jam, so Doug is relentless:  we will leave *tonight* after Jesse plays.

The irony is not lost on me as we navigate to our destination for the evening: The Cherry Street Tavern.  We’ve just come 1000 miles to watch music in a tiny little spot in a town only marginally bigger than where we live – ours a town constantly maligned for the fact that “nothing ever happens.”

The guy at the door thinks we are joking when we say we came from Texas to see Jesse.  He asks where we are from, “Abilene.”  He’s from Port Arthur.  Small world.  He is finally convinced when he looks at my license.  He seems genuinely impressed.

The Cherry Street Taven has food.  I order a hamburger for Doug and a charcuterie board for myself.  It seems to take forever – I’m assuming that’s because most people come to a bar for the alcohol, not the nibbles.  But when my board comes, it’s half the length of the table we’ve camped at and full of tasty things.   

Plop me down, feed me, and promise me music:  recipe for Happy Me.

The first band is good.  Everything is running almost an hour behind so I have no idea which band it is.  A girl singer, but she’s the “tough” kind, not the sweet, high-voiced kind.  So I like her.

We move up for the second band.  I like to be close.  I don’t care that this place is so small; I could have stood anywhere and had the exact same view, but this is me; this is my hang-up:  I need to be close.  It’s Justin and the Cosmics; per the sign outside, they are celebrating an album release.  They are interesting, but I’ve got my earplugs in.  Can’t hear a thing.  It’s all just noise.  I focus on the guitarist and the Gretsch he wields on and off throughout their performance.  I do love a Gretsch.

It's so late.  So late.  We are leaving after Jesse to drive back to Texas.  This stays in the back of my mind.  I worry.  But Doug is a machine.  He likes driving.  I don’t understand why.  I'm not too fond of driving.  My favorite thing is for someone else to pilot me while I nod off to a blissful, neck-cricking sleep only to wake up and be at our destination as if by magic.   I can be rested and full of vigor, drive for about thirty or forty minutes, and then be ready to nod off.  I thought perhaps I was one of those babies taken for car rides to soothe to sleep.  Asked my mom, nope.  She didn’t do it.  I’m just cursed.

There’s Jesse!  And another face I recognize is the drummer from the Nashville show in June, Landon’s brother, Gabe Pigg.  He seems pleased to see us and happily notices my LED handbag – personalized tonight to reflect where I’m at: Jesse’s Violensia album cover interspersed with a gif of a hand shredding on a guitar neck. 

Tiny hearts pop above my head:  Jesse has brought me vinyl.  I already ordered Violensia from Cavity Search so I think he’s just delivering it to me, but my copy comes later.  This is just Jesse being nice and bringing me music.  He also brings me a copy of his American Dreaming.  “Didn’t know if you had this one already,” yep.  I do.  But still – you have brought me a kind offering of music, and this is all it takes to make me joyful.  I sit on my barstool and hug my new vinyl, bouncing up and down gently like a little kid.

I don’t know what Mr. Kitchen is.  I don’t need to know.  Intrigued.  Gabe sets up behind the drums, but the keyboard that’s typically Jesse’s territory is also set up in front of him.  Gabe ends up doing impressive double duty: keyboard with one hand, drumstick with the other.

 Jesse stands behind… a thing… Ok, here I show my musical ignorance.  I guess I will call it a “synthesizer.”  I’m sure that’s wrong, and it has some more specific name, but I’ve searched all the music sites trying to find a picture of something similar, and I got nothing.  It’s about yea big (holds hands out like a fisherman describing the “one that got away”) and doesn’t have as many keys/buttons as a standard synthesizer.  No clue.  He’d played it before at the Galactic shows, but it appears this is going to be his primary station for the night.

They do a brief soundcheck, and the sound guy shakes his head, “That doesn’t even sound like a human voice.”  He seems dumbfounded.  This is antithetical to his job.  But now that I am familiar with Mr. Kitchen, I feel this was exactly what Jesse was going for.

A couple of drunk leftovers from the previous band’s audience sway gently.  Doug says later that was the “least dance-y” music he could imagine… unless you want to dance like you were in Twin Peaks.  BINGO.  Another point in the pros column for why I love Jesse’s music.  The second coming of Freddie Mercury… if he were playing at the Roadhouse, Audrey Horne shoegazing serenely in the background.

Earplugs back firmly in place, Jesse and Gabe take the stage.  They are both wearing identical dark jumpsuits.  Ahhh, Mr. Kitchen is Dire-Straights-Money-for-Nothing Jesse.  I add that to my mental list.  I know about personas.  I knew about Bono’s alts, The Fly and Mr. Macphisto and the Mirrorball Man, of old.  But Jesse is practically a different version of himself at every show.  The enigma grows.  I am fascinated with this person. 

I cannot hear or understand a fucking thing.  Not a bit of it.  I do recognize ONE song, I Don’t Like the Look of That Look – a song from a link to a future album Jesse sent to me months ago, but as a fan, I am also familiar with the act of falling in love with material retroactively.  I already regret that I only recorded a couple of songs from my first exposure to Jesse because, at the time, I didn’t know who he was.  So I recorded every bit of this show.  It worked beautifully because he basically played the entirety of the Mr.Kitchen CD he passed out at the show and I have had that CD on almost constant play for weeks now.

The rest is a wall of noise and heavy distortion.  Mr. Kitchen is Jesse… as the devil, the flip side to the angel crooner presented thus far.  There is a default clear, sincere sweetness to Jesse’s voice.  Mr. Kitchen is the flip side, the alter, just another facet to the gem that is this bizarre, delightful performer. 

One of the drunks tries to interpretively dance into my shot.  Instant flashback to the weirdo who wouldn’t stop jumping in front of my camera (ha ha very funny, I will CUT A BITCH IF YOU MESS UP MY SHOT) back in DC with Salim earlier this year.  I guess this memory shows on my face because he half-heartedly wiggles away without putting up a fight.  Thank goodness. 

The venue is cleared out at this point.  There are people left, but they are packing up merch and moving equipment for the other bands, cleaning up, and getting the bar back in order.  I know this is not ideal for a performer but for me?  It was a transcendent, trance-like show just for us.  A thousand miles worth every foot.  Now that I have had time to sit with the material and consume it all with relish, I appreciate this experience even more. 

At almost 2am, the spell breaks.  The show is over.  I grab 3 home-burned CDs (a random number Jesse handed me, but I found homes for all of them, just like the stack of Violensia boxes I got back in June.  If I love something, I need the people I love to know about it too) and a hug from Jesse.  He wants to get Doug a Redbull or something, but Doug is good.  He’s ready to go.  So away we go.

The drive back to Texas was strange and beautiful and weird – typical for us.

It reminded me of the NoSleep podcast story about people who live, marry, procreate, and die driving their cars.  The driving never ends.  For me it was vignettes.  Small snatches of wakefulness. 

At some point, we apparently wandered into Silent Hill.  Fog.  Eeriness.  A deer.  Just one, though.  In Texas, we play deer roulette, but in – I don’t know – Alabama?  Just one deer.  Lonely by the side of the road.  At five a.m. there was a gas station.  Stale donuts.  But now we know: five a.m. is the exact time to eat stale donuts. In Alabama or wherever we were.

I watch the sun rise pink and orange over the Mississippi River.  Still, we drive.

We make it back to Texas and crash at another hotel.  We need about 12 hours of sleep in maybe 6 hours – the amount of time we have to rest up before the NHD (Nourallah-Harvey-Dezen – Salim’s power trio, supergroup with his friends Billy Harvey and Alex Dezen) show.  I think I managed three or four hours of sleep.   I wake up and quietly Doordash us some Denny’s.  I lay back down after eating a bit.  I doze next to Doug – not really sleep.  Alarm at 6.  We get up and head for Salim’s.

I am so happy to be back.  Galactic is one of my dearest home-away-from-home happy places.  I haven’t been here or seen Salim for three months which is far too long.  I get a Salim-hug and am renewed.  The activities of the last 48 hours are still buzzing around, unprocessed in the back of my head.

I soak up the smiles and the music – I have seen each NHD member separately, but not together.  They joke and play off each other.  Their mutual admiration is obvious.  I love it.  I’ve said before Doug doesn’t attach emotion to music, but that’s ALL it is for me.  I want you to have fun.  I want you to love what you do.  I want to see it; that’s how I absorb the available good feelings.

Another round of hugs, and it’s time to split. 

Final achievement unlocked:  weekend successfully navigated, back home…enough sleep to justify not calling in sick in the morning.  Everything went perfectly. 

(Now just to pen Part II:  NHD Texas minitour that started that next Thursday)

I could do a separate review just of the Mr. Kitchen CD.  It would be difficult until it’s widely available – why review something other people can’t easily lay hands on?  These days it’s all about instant gratification.  Believe me, I know.

I do have to give one acknowledgment though:  there is a song on the collection called “Wolf in a Wool Coat.”

I

Am

Obsessed

It’s steeped in the ethereal, electronic feel of the 80s… which I adore.  Think “Lady in Red” or Patrick Swayze – all leather jacket popped collar and moody sex appeal — breathing, “She’s like the wind…” It is easily one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard.

I hope Mr. Kitchen ends up on Bandcamp or Soundcloud soon because people NEED to hear these songs.

It’s hard being so addicted.  But thank goodness to have a prolific “pusher” like Jesse.  More music will surely be available by the time my aural “arms” start to itch. 

You know what “they” say, though: too much is never enough.

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So Long at the Fair

Smudged the house

Today feels haunted, she tells me

My puppy started out of a dead sleep

Two mournful howls

Come to think of it, my cat did the same

Last night

While the wind blew in

The last of the sweltering weather blew out

It's the boy, I tell her

The one killed at the fair

We called for a blood sacrifice

The silent acknowledgement that

A life could lay

Trampled in the dirt

And we, the bedraggled townsfolk,

Would allow it

For a breath of cooled air

Sweaty tendrils of hair lifted

For a moment

From burnt necks

We got what we wanted

But today feels haunted:

He misses his body...

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(Verse 1)

In the depths of my soul, a darkness resides,

A feeling of emptiness, where happiness hides,

I've searched high and low, but it's all in vain,

This constant ache inside, driving me insane.

(Pre-Chorus)

I've tried to fake a smile, pretend I'm okay,

But deep down inside, the pain won't go away,

No matter what I do, no matter where I go,

Happiness eludes me, it's a bitter blow.

(Chorus)

I will never be happy, it's my eternal curse,

A shadow that follows, making my heart burst,

I've tried to find solace, but it slips through my grasp,

In this endless battle, happiness never lasts.

(Verse 2)

I've chased after dreams, hoping they'd bring joy,

But they crumble like sand, leaving me destroyed,

The laughter of others, it cuts like a knife,

Reminding me constantly of my joyless life.

(Bridge)

I've sought love and affection, but it slips away,

Leaving me broken, with nothing left to say,

The world keeps on spinning, but I'm stuck in despair,

Forever trapped in this never-ending nightmare.

(Chorus)

I will never be happy, it's my eternal curse,

A shadow that follows, making my heart burst,

I've tried to find solace, but it slips through my grasp,

In this endless battle, happiness never lasts.

(Verse 3)

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of light,

A glimmer of hope, shining through the night,

Though happiness may seem like a distant dream,

I'll keep on fighting, no matter how it may seem.

(Pre-Chorus)

For deep within my soul, a fire still burns,

A yearning for happiness, a lesson to be learned,

I'll keep searching, never giving up the fight,

Believing that one day, happiness will ignite.

(Chorus)

I will never be happy, it's my eternal curse,

A shadow that follows, making my heart burst,

I've tried to find solace, but it slips through my grasp,

In this endless battle, happiness never lasts.

(Outro)

But I'll keep on trying, with every breath I take,

To find a glimmer of happiness, for my own sake,

For even in the darkness, there's a chance to find,

A sliver of joy, a peace of mind.

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(Verse 1)

I wake up every morning, feeling out of place,

In a world that's moving fast, but I'm stuck in my own space,

I wear a smile on my face, but inside I'm feeling blind,

Trapped in a life that isn't mine.

(Chorus)

Oh, I'm stuck in a life that isn't mine,

Lost in the shadows, trying to find,

A way to break free, to spread my wings and soar,

Escape the chains that bind me, and find what I'm living for.

(Verse 2)

I see people passing by, chasing their dreams,

But I'm stuck in this routine, drowning in silent screams,

I long to break the mold, to rewrite my own story,

To find the courage to embrace my true glory.

(Chorus)

Oh, I'm stuck in a life that isn't mine,

Lost in the shadows, trying to find,

A way to break free, to spread my wings and soar,

Escape the chains that bind me, and find what I'm living for.

(Bridge)

I've built walls around me, afraid to take a leap,

But deep down, I know I'm meant for something deep,

I'll gather strength within, and find the path I'll tread,

Break free from this life, and live the life I've always said.

(Verse 3)

No more living in the shadows, it's time to shine,

To embrace the unknown, and leave the past behind,

I'll step out of this cage, and let my spirit fly,

Discovering the life that's truly mine.

(Chorus)

Oh, I'm breaking free from a life that isn't mine,

Leaving the shadows, ready to shine,

I've found the strength to spread my wings and soar,

Embracing the freedom, and living for something more.

(Outro)

No longer stuck in a life that isn't mine,

I've found my purpose, my own grand design,

With every step I take, I'll leave the old behind,

Embracing the life that's truly mine.