on vacation

ich bin on vacation. days spent in dunes, les shrooms, valleys and wild berries, spinning in water, under water, getting all fetal in the depths and tuning out the world for as long as I can hold my breath, days in graveyards, shorts no shoes-sock combos, falling asleep as ants wander all over my face. Waking up to spying deer, picking up a shitty acoustic to bang out a few songs. Been recording on my digi-aufnemer.

Gearing to start making beats on ye olde Dr. Rhythm 670. Oh beats. Would anyone like to buy one for $75,000.00? Isn't that the going rate these days?

Bushwick pulses 900 miles away.

I've been singing to my niece when she cries her eyes out. Four weeks old and she can howl with the best of them. What was Robert Plant like when he was a baby? What did Buddy Guy sound like? Was Nina Simone a quiet baby? If only I had a phone to the dead. I'd ring up some heroes and get the cold, hard facts.

Anyway, playing music for a for week old is taking a road trip to rad city. It's amazing how sounds in harmony can quiet down a kid with doodie in their diapers. Last fall/winter, me and AB got lit at an imbiss, and took my grandma's elderly home by storm. We rocked out for a bunch of Berliners in their 90s(they were in their 80s in the 90s). Came in, all buzzed on Sternburg, grabbed an outoftune, decorative guitar off of the wall, and proceeded to make up songs. Joy is a crew of 90 year olds singing along to a song that your buddy just made up on the fly.

Music for babies. Music for the oldies.

The sky in Northern Michigan is a truer blue than any sky I've ever known. Out in the open I can hear my voice and accept it for what it is. I can sing freely and come to terms with genetics and all that bit. Once you accept you can really start to bend and twist reality. Fuck dude, get to know your tools. Then start fucking some shit up. All your pretty compositions. Fuck 'em up. Quit being so precious. I just called Pablo P on the dead phone. That's what he told me.