Friday, February 28, 2014


-5 this morning with wind chill. I am proud of myself for making it out. The trick is to use the cold to propel you into the dance and once you are dancing hard enough the cold drops away. 

I listened to the gorillaz, Demon days. Some good food for thought on that album. Monkey mountain burning up.

Thursday, February 27, 2014


We went to Roseland Ballroom to catch a show there before the legendary place closed down for good. The band we went to see was Flogging Molly. I took a spice jar full of vodka in my pocket. I got searched and had to down the whole thing at once, about 4 shots. Yeehaw! It was both horrible and wonderful at the same time.

The music was loud. Poor ear drums.  I had to wear my beanie and hoody over that and my ears still hurt. The opening act was fantastic, called the Drowning Men. They were better than Flogging Molly for me, more poetic, more diverse and innovative in their sound. Plus I was 4 shots in!

Listening to Irish music got me thinking about all the great Irish music, Sinead O'connor, Van Morrison, even U2. And all the great writers too, James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, Shaw, Beckett, etc. Then I thought of the greatest of them all, Yeats, and how he had informed such a central idea for me: "How can you tell the dancer from the dance?"

That's the one thing I strive for, to lose the difference between the two.

I did it twice today. Like book ends.


I walked into Astoria again, this time into the East side, a little better. I wanted to get bagels from Broadway Bagels for Irie so she could try some good ones before heading back to CO. I listened to Fugazi's 13 songs. I got into a groove, a runner's high. I was singing along with Ian McKay. So infectious those guys.

At one point I was exaggerating my moves in "gay" liberated way. It reminded me of why I used to like punk in the first place, the punk of Husker Du, Fugazi, early Nirvana, etc. Just being yourself. 

This must be the worst graffiti ever

Tuesday, February 25, 2014


Instead of going south to the graveyard I went north into Astoria. The part I went into was very ugly. I almost, almost, enjoyed the ugliness. It brought out the punk in the Gogol Bordello music I was listening to. 

I was not planning to get up and go this morning because I was up late writing last night, I woke up at the normal time though with energy so I went. Bonus.

I did not get any images this morning because my phone batteries were low. So here is a good recent one of my daughters and wife.

Monday, February 24, 2014


Push yourself to wake up after a late night so you don't miss the morning light. 

Watch your shadow dance against the stones like a self made TV. Soul train for one.


I took Gogol Bordello album Gypsy Punk Underdog World Strike" with me this morning. What a perfect dance album. Almost impossible to feel abject. The opposite.

The cold weather has let up, the sun is out and you can feel the spirit rising in the graveyard of the city.


Thursday, February 20, 2014


Two mornings of dancing through the dirty snow and trash and cold. The idea is to slosh through it. And the dance does lift me up a bit. I'm doing it. And I know where doing it leads, so will keep doing it. 


This morning I was missing The mountains. Missing nature. Feeling confined. The  good part of this Feeling pity for myself leads me to remember others far worse off.

I listen to a band called elephant revival. Then free peoples.I danced a little, but I think I was more looking for the Sublime in music, a way to find the nature I was missing. And that's what I found. I ended up sitting in half lotus position at the far east side of the cemetery, facing the rising Sun, listening to Melissa Ivey and myself play shivaya at the d note. That music is some of the most beautiful music I have ever heard. It is healing and took me to a subtle beautiful place inside. Grateful.

See the moon?

The sun

And the grave's arroyo inbetween

Thursday, February 13, 2014


My friend Darin Stevenson on FB shared a poem I wrote and said, "An exquisite seed may be found to be dancing... within the circle of the dead."

Thought about that as I danced in the graveyard on his frigid morning, 0 degrees. Zero to the bone.

Here's the poem too...


I dreamed I was rearranging the stars. For a purpose I can no longer remember. And then thinking they are so far away, and so large, how could I possibly be rearranging them? But I knew I was doing it nonetheless. When I awoke from this dream I thought about it for awhile. Was it about changing my destiny? Or maybe the inability to change one's destiny? I didn't know. And then I remembered the thing about faith the size of a mustard seed being able to move mountains. I've always taken that scripture as a kind of declaration of determination. Like if you have enough faith you can do anything you want to do. But now I hear it in a different way. If you have the faith of a mustard seed you don’t need to do anything at all. Just be the mustard seed. No need to move any mountains around for god’s sake! Let nature take care of it. But then I realized that moving mountains is exactly what a mustard seed does; when the mustard seed pushes up dirt it moves the mountain. Kind of like how mustard on a hotdog can change the whole hocky game. The seed rearranges the stars.

NY is a mountain of dirty snow

Tuesday, February 11, 2014


Took a week off to visit my grandma. No dancing. Much eating. Stomach big.

Good To be back in the mix. I almost turned around this morning because it was so cold and because only one side of my headphones was working. I am glad I didn't as it turned out to be a beautiful dance. Terrasonic gave me the soundtrack. 

I had a fine ecstatic moment where I renounced all abjectivity. 

Just get your [redacted] out of bed and dance! 

Are you at the carnival? Are you a carny? A rube? A cop? Or are you a kid on a roller coaster having the best time of your life? 

If you can't afford a ticket to ride I've got you. 


Fun in the snow. Sliding. making patterns.

DJ Shadow's Endtroducing. Very soundtrack.

I love how when you are really inside the beat it feels as if you are levitating on the bed of the rhythm as you are dancing.

Beautiful dance.

Forgot to mention that yesterday when I was leaving the cemetery there was a man that looked like myself setting up an iPhone on a tripod at the gate of the cemetery. He left when he saw me,. I realized he was setting up the tripod in front of my own tracks, Low to the ground. It was odd, like I was following my own tracks, except as somebody else.

Today on the way back I found myself getting into a walking rhythm, swinging my arms. Another man walked toward me swinging his arms even more exaggerated than I was, in the full swing.

Yesterday's tracks! (over driven)