When time disappeared.

I've been thinking about joy a lot lately, when have I been the most joyous. I think I have to say it was when I moved to Los Angeles in 2010. It was the first time since I was 14 that I didn't have a day job. See, I was 42 so that's 28 years of work, school, work, school, plan for a vacation, have tos, shoulds.

Yikes. I'm a slow person, at least when I'm not pretending to be anything else. I like slow food, slow driving, I like noticing this wonderful life. I think the world has gone mad with all its rushing around.

So I got this little studio apartment in Echo Park. I had some money from the business I sold and was at the start of a new life. I did not want to go back to the same old career I had, but I also did not have any clear idea of what I did want. Truth is I actually did, I just couldn't admit I want a successful career as a musician. But more on that later. What was so groovy about those first 4 months? No job? Shouldn't I panic?

I did panic. Every morning I'd wake up and panic. "Oh shit! What am I going to do for money? What should I do today? Look for work?"

Hell with that, my work is music today.

So I would write music all day, every day. I learned to live well with not much. Yeah, it got deprivational. When the sun went down I had no light in my bedroom, so I would, um, go to bed. When the sun rose I would wake up with it. If I didn't want to go to bed I got so in tune with my friends in Beverly Hills I could walk outside and feel the fried chicken Dave Cousin cooked 10 miles away. I'd show up and he'd say "how do you always know when it's fried chicken night?!" Just call it being in tune.

I'd wake up often and would have no idea what day of the week it was. That was heaven. It didn't matter. I had left the matrix. I could feel a bit of what those who live in nature could feel. Time disappeared and joy appeared.

I am creating this in my life again. Just that little stretch where I got to experience this felt sane. I like sanity.

Thank you, JB

Heaven and the apocalypse.

By the 3rd day I got what I wanted from my cross country train ride, some good conversation with folks on a train that I wouldn't have met anywhere else. Maybe it took 2 days to wear down my walls which are thick and the judge in my head, I just couldn't hear him any more.

When we switched trains in Chicago the whole staff changed for the better, well, kinda better. They were nicer than those folks out west. The train itself was cobbled together from random train cars and us coach folks with the cheap tickets were put into a business class car. Chicago like most of the country was hit with the blizzard and sub zero temperatures. Outside in the switching yard it looked like the apocalypse. Fires blazing to keep the tracks from freezing. I started to feel alive. This was no longer a dull trip. And yeah, people were still crazy and the sub zero chill made them crazier. The staff was serving free cheap booze maybe to calm the nerves of the riders who were being delivered late in a cold and cramped coach.

The passengers varied from all walks of life. Some very 'normal' folks, an older Amish couple in the seat in front of me making out like high school kids all night, a couple young hip hoppers with some bling and tacky jackets with dollar signs and other symbols of male territorial prowess on them, some college type girls getting loaded (heck, most of the train was getting loaded!), a gunky on vacation from jail telling his boring stories about being arrested for bullshit and how unfair the world was (he was telling his tales to a couple young girls, maybe 16-20 years old. They were impressed.), a huge church dude who kept muttering scripture as he passed out.

The young hip hoppers had the most calming and beautiful voices, this deep baritone going in counterpoint to the gunkys' tenor and increasingly drunk teenage girls' soprano who told one poor woman who was trying to sleep to shut the fuck up mixed with the sounds of tongue and whispers from the older Amish couple. The 'shut the fuck up bitch' was one of those startling moments in the symphony, a moment where you knew everything could change. An uneasy major chord to a chaotic minor. As I passed out I could here the huge church man muttering scriptures in his sleep. A large bald dude in a pea coat joined me in  my row, we picked him up in Godknowswhereville Indiana. He was cool, tired and just wanted to sleep. I felt okay with him next to me. The last thought I had before passing out was 'someone is going to die on this train tonight'. I think that was inspired by scripture man. The bible always makes me think about mortality. That's one gloomy ass book.

I woke up to a scream, the peak of the 3rd movement in this rolling symphony of stupidity. The tension in the air warmed the cold room up. We were slowing down. Commotion. I could here the Amish couple whispering. I could here the hip hoppers saying in that bassoon like voice 'yeah, we gonna kill that motherfucker'. Someone was going to die tonight. We stopped in the middle of a field somewhere in Ohio. Pitch black, -12 degrees outside.

One of the now very drunk teenage girls passed out sharing the gunkys' blanket and woke up with his hand down here pants. The hip hoppers were out to do what young men are trained to do and avenge the trespass with death, or maybe just beat the stupid old boring man up. The gunky was trying desperately to get off the train which if he succeeded he would have died. There were no lights outside at all, just a frozen Ohio. No man could survive too long out there with a jean jacket and a johnny cake. Fortunately for him the staff bagged him and cuffed his skinny ass before the hip hoppers could prove they were men now. He was removed by the cops when the sun came up.

Before that my mysterious bald passenger vanished and was replaced by a young scared college boy who was dull as dishwater. He seemed bent on proving to me that he was not gay by repeating his side of the story. A girl in distress asked him to go into the bathroom with her and she's telling him about the assault and all that is going in his mind is "is this a girl or a fag standing in the bathroom cause I ain't gay blah blah blah." Oh fear. Make a mind stupid. Of fearful boy, why the fuck are you talking to me? At this point it's no longer a symphony, just another stupid noise band responding to a mediocre world.

When the sun rose my bald pea coat wearing passenger returned and another cat boarded the train. He was a black Muslim Vietnam Vet jazz drummer named Kazem. We rode together for the next leg. Finally 2 intelligent beings that were mature and interesting. The bald guy drove freight trains for a living, I think his name was Jim and he played harmonica while doing his job. He was a native Pittsburgh resident going home. Kazem drove a truck and was from Philly and was headed home as well. We talked music and life stuff, lots of laughs. At one point separated cause the car was no longer packed and we needed to sleep. As we passed out the hip hoppers had their music cranked on the ear goggles to the point where Kazem growled "TURN THE MUSIC DOWN PLEASE!" The complied right away. He had this calm authority to him. He turned to me and said "that music has everything, good beat, good sounds, but those lyrics man, it's killing us."

After breakfast we resumed talking. I told them a story about my great grandfather Charles who was a Pullman Porter back during World War 2 on the troop transport trains. He had all kinds of stories riding through the south navigating racist bullshit, hustling people, and stealing apples in Washington State and not getting arrested cause the orchard owner had a South Carolina accent and so did one of the Porters. Stories of picking up Bing Crosby in the middle of a field in Montana as he rode up on a horse cause he needed a ride to Chicago. Stuff that would never happen on the rails today cause that world is gone. Even his hard luck stories he told with the greatest smiles. He knew that world is gone and he was just glad to have been there.

 My favorite story he told I shared with my friends. Charles had a stop in Los Angeles. He was walking through the station when a man approached him and said "Hey man, you look like am man who is down on your luck. Let's step into this bar over here, I got a job for you". Charles told me in those days he almost always had $400 in his pocket but he stepped in anyway to hear the mans offer. The man ordered a couple whiskeys and they sat across each other at a table. He handed my Great Grandfather a brown paper bag with $500 in cash, a pistol and a hotel room key and told him "take care of this guy and meet me here tomorrow at noon and I'll settle up the other half". Charles said "okay", took the bag, waited till he felt it was safe, caught the next train out of there and never went back to Los Angeles again.

Kazem asked me "man, could you ever do that?" I said "what? Kill someone? Take that money? Hell no, that's just not in me. Could you?" Kazem replied "well, I was in the air force during Vietnam so yeah I killed, it was my job though I'm not happy about it. I almost killed a kid who mugged me. I could have done it but I stopped. Couldn't have been more than 14." Kazem turned to Jim, our freight driver and says "You awful quiet over there, what about it?"

Jim replied rather calmly "well, I'd never do it on purpose, but I've killed lots of people." We both said "oh yeah?" as we nervously moved away from him slightly. "Yeah, I drive a freight train through Akron Ohio. There's almost always a sad sack who wants to die. Can't stop something that is a mile long when it's in motion." I asked him "man, what is that like?" Ed replied, "well the worst part is they like to make eye contact with you, that fucks you up the first few times, like it's your fault. Then after we stop the train an investigation happens, it's a Union job so I get as much time off as I need and therapy though it's so routine now that I don't need all of that." I asked how many. "Oh man, I lost count after 30. The only time it messes me up now is when it's a kid."

Yeah, our ride was quiet after that. Not much else to say. We rode into western Pennsylvania and the world was frozen. The Ohio river completely still but the sun was shining. Somehow Pittsburgh looked like heaven that day. Jim hopped off and Kazem and I boarded a bus to Harrisburg for no fires could keep the tracks safe in Pennsylvania. Somehow on the highway the world looked like heaven and the apocalypse at the same time. Maybe they are the same?

Becoming Joey

I had a revelation the other day. I never really liked the term 'self sabotage'. It has too much 'self' in it. We are influenced by so much and when our behavior becomes compulsive it's perhaps our expression seeking too much approval from the outside. Ah, the respectability trap.....

I stopped wearing hoodies this year. I realized that some how I wore them to fit in with hardened souls. I like the comfort, wear them at home or when I go jogging, but they've fallen out of fashion for me when I'm out and about. I realized this year I had some life long compulsive need to look 'poor', a word I don't really like to use for anyone let alone me. I had this need to fit in so I didn't get beaten by the boys. Where did this attitude come from? From the time I was a child I actually enjoyed dressing up. I like ties, nice shoes, like my grandmother says, look good you feel good. I've started wearing ties at work. I no longer have the need to care what others think, wearing a tie is an expression of my creativity and self respect. When I feel good I do my job better. I smile more, and I'm no longer that kid that needs approval thank god. If I got a nasty remark that is not my problem.

When I was oh maybe 11 and growing out of one toy phase into another, I hadn't quite stopped drawing cartoons. By this point though I never finished them. I learned the word 'Fail' and thought it was much funnier to hang a sign that said "Failed" on my cartoons. By this point I was frustrated at my ability to draw and deep into 'compare and despair'. So rather than keep trying I just creatively destroyed my own work. I built a dinosaur skeleton out of modeling clay one day and really liked it. There was an older kid named Joey in my neighborhood. He was a 'bad' kid. People talked about him. Wore a leather jacket or a jean jacket and a hoodie, liked a heavy metal, did this stuff called 'drugs'. For some reason he was at my house one day. We often had wayward kids at my house, my mother would invite them in though this time it wasn't the case. I don't know why Joey was in our house. All I do remember him was picking up my little skeleton and crumbling it then laughing. You know, inside I wanted to kill him for that, but couldn't and the alternative was cry, but couldn't do that either cause that would be 'weakness' and I'd lose respect. So that energy got stuck. I sucked up those bad feelings and tried to look like a 'man'.  That's what we do right? I smashed my own clay skeletons for the next 30 years before becoming aware of it. Smashing my spirit to look like Joey. Hard to believe I would ever do such a thing. Then again, it's hard to believe a bigger kid would ever do such a thing to a smaller one.

I don't really like talking about the past, I just thought I'd share this cause maybe it would be useful today. We live in a 'fit in' world. It can be cruel, shallow, petty and shoddy. To 'fit in' is ultimately a shoddy existence, second hand. To become 'respectable' is self destructive. When I'm around people that are complaining and miserable I don't smile, I either sink to that level of respectability or I do the smart thing and get away as quickly as possible. To do what feels good and own it is to be yourself, be 100% honest and release that old past. Joey may still walk the earth, he may have grown up and may be recovered, but for me he's dead like the past is. The past can't actually touch us, it's perhaps worthy of an autopsy but that's it. Find out what went wrong, grieve if necessary, get thatawareness and move on. Find yourself and be yourself for you are worthy of exploration!

Love, JB

More about money.

I love spending money, I ain't gonna lie.

I learned something valuable this week. I've slipped into my old survival ways being full of anxiety about what I don't have. That feeling can keep a life small. That anxiety warps the mind and dulls my days. I made a serious error. I love maple syrup. I bought corn syrup instead. Not nearly as tasty.

Buy what I really want and really need. Don't be cheap. Go for the good stuff, that's a key to an already unlocked door and that's what keeps it coming. It's faith.

How's my bank account? Infinite. There is no limit to what this world can provide. If I focus on the dollar amount and allow myself to Kirk out, I'll most likely lock the door. If I remember that line in The Wire where Omar says to Marlo as he's sticking up his poker game: "Son, nobody owns money, people just spend it!" it get's me out of my small thinking. All money is borrowed. So are my guitars, my clothes, my saxophone, my van, my time. Someday I'll get to die like everyone else and a blessed person will get my stuff and throw it on Ebay and some other blessed person will buy whatever it is and put it back into service.

That's the flow......

peace, jef

Trains, freedom and crying in a Starbucks

I had this amazing gig in the bay area about 6 years ago with a fellow named John Gruntfest. He assembled 45 musicians to play in an Elks lodge. On the way down from Portland I had a few passengers one of which was an older man who shared a lot of stories about his life, most of them filled with grief and resentment. It was the longest ride I had from Portland to San Francisco needless to say, he needed to talk and I didn't feel right telling him to zip it. When we arrived we were treated by Gruntfest to dinner at a Mexican joint and I shared a story about my train ride from Portland to Baltimore in about 2006.

I had this romantic idea about riding the rails, meeting lovely people and having rich conversations. There was a quote from from Truman on the menu: "you can tell a lot about a country and it's people by taking the train." 20 minutes out of the station the hooker and her john in the seat behind me had sex. That was the beginning of the trip. She was paying for her trip to Boston this way and the staff were in on it as far as I could tell. The story of this trip is too long for this little blog post so I'll just do a brief cap. I saw some of the most depressing and terrible behavior I've ever seen on this train ride, there was a sexual assault, the Amtrack staff was supplying booze to anyone regardless of them being already drunk or under age. I passed out to the thought 'someone is going to die on this train' to be woken up to the sound of a scream and 2 lovely young men talking about 'let's find that motherfucker and kill him.' The staff was resentful and nasty, treated the people in coach like dirt, you know, what has become typical American service. The B train or 'bitch and blame' train. There were some good points of course but by the 3rd day I was exhausted and saddened.

We had a stretch in Pennsylvania where we needed to take the bus, there had been a blizzard and the rails were no good. The snow and ice along the Ohio river may have been one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen, I was starting to let my guard down again. We stopped at a rest area with a Starbucks. I got in line to get some decent coffee and a muffin. "Welcome to Starbucks how can I help you?" said the young lady behind the counter. Her voice was kind. I know maybe she is trained to say this and this is her job but that didn't matter. I was bowled over by her kindness after the horror show that was my trip. I cried.

When I was telling this story my grumpy passenger/fellow musician says: "Uh thank you for telling us how fragile you are." I said "excuse me?" "Uh, thank you for telling us how fragile you are, I mean to cry in a Starbucks over nothing."

I replied: "Paul, it takes strength to cry in a Starbucks" and left it at that. John said "everyone needs love man."

It fascinates me when I say to someone that I used to cry when I was hurt as a child and their knee jerk reaction is "oh, so you were a sensitive child". No, I wasn't a sensitive child, I was a child. Nothing exceptional about that. I had my tears berated, belittled and beaten out of me like most other children. No, I wasn't a sensitive child, I was, free.

I'm working on being a free adult today. If I need to cry in a Starbucks or at my job, it's better than cancer or mental illness. Expressing feelings is health. Stuffing them is insanity. I like being sane.

xoj

Ask.

"Ask and ye shall recieve" says the bible.
It's true, one of those bits of that book I'm down with.

Don't demand, don't expect, don't fixate on a result but do ask for what you need. If you recieve a rejection after asking in that job interview, don't let it kill you, just keep looking. There is a reason you got that rejection. It's all good.

2 weeks ago I decided to stop taking 'hired gun' gigs tha didn't pay. Scary after 25 years of not asking for what I need. For the 1st time I'm recieving rejection, AND I FEEL GREAT ABOUT IT! My time is worth money, I have mad skills. I gots ta get paid!

3 days ago I recieved an offer to play for 1 hour, pay is $100. It's true. I'm asking the universe to compensate and I will give my love and service in return and boom, a nice paying gig lands in my lap.

Ask. I dig it.

Living in a capitalist way

Stuff. Stuff, stuff.... More stuff. I want I want I want! I need I need!

I wake up in the morning and get about 10 seconds of post dream bliss before all the stuff I want to buy enters my head and disturbs the peace. Then it's the bills I need to pay and the stuff I need to do to get more stuff. Strat body, mouthpiece, sax neck, other mouthpiece, medical bill, mouthpiece!!

This is what addiction looks and feels like. Every day. More more more. Living in a capitalist way.

No, I don't actually blame capitalism. I don't really need to be on the B train (Blame Train) since that does me no good at all. I live here and am powerless over much of this world, but I do have choices.

What does this mean to me? I have all I actually need. I've manifested great stuff. Before I started to become aware of the tyranny of stuff and my compliance I'd find the dent in the Rolls Royce and obsess over that, this horn will make me sound more like Trane etc. Ebay, the ultimate pusherman. The ultimate weapon of mass distraction.

Yeah, okay, it's true. We live in a society of compare and despair, hence the knee jerk Coltrane comment. I don't actually want to sound like anyone but my best self but my mind always compares and freaks out. Little peace, a fragile daily truce is all I can do most days.

So what does all this stuff mean? I mean, the desire for more stuff? I've determined in my heart it's the simple fear of intimacy. Not allowing myself to get intimate with even my own stuff or process let alone with people. You never get close if you are always changing your stuff up and always seeking more. Intimacy, there maybe is no seeking. It's maybe more just about accepting and being. I like that.

So no, I don't have an antidote yet but I figured this out. I can sit for ever looking at stuff to buy. Now I look at places I want to go instead. Barcelona, Berlin, Oaxaca. I brought a lot of great items to my life, now I only crave experiences, richer relationships, richer music. It is possible to take the focus off the distraction and put it on something else. More gigs, more records, more friends. Attention is like the sun. What you focus it on grows. I've grown the possession part of my life, now to grow the profession part. And I like the sound of that!

Peace, JB