2004-06-06

I'M FINALLY HOME! AND THE ALBUM IS DONE!

I'm finally back in the San Francisco area after nine and a half months of traveling. And, I have VERY GOOD NEWS. My new album "Thirteen Songs About Love" is done! The CDs arrived a few weeks ago, and I have started shipping them out. If you haven't ordered it yet, now is the time! Also, there is a limited supply of signed, numbered CDs for sale on my web site. Click here to get one. I've also set my site up so that you can buy MP3 downloads of songs from the album for only $0.99 each!

My US Tour is complete—I am officially back (for now)! So, thank you to all the wonderful people who have let me into their lives during the last nine and a half months!

If you believe in what I am doing and want to help support me, please do so! Check out my web site or email me for more information!

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US Tour Day 266: Evaporation

Warm, dry. So warm and dry. The wind whips past me, discreetly seducing molecules of water out through the tiny holes in my skin. Evaporation is a funny thing. When we think of evaporation, we think of water. But, that's not the only thing that evaporates.

What about daylight? What about dances? What about dreams? What about moments? What about love and hate and passion and yearning? They all evaporate, dissipate, disintegrate. What was once whole and complete tumbles down to its most basic components, like a toy castle made of wooden blocks topples and returns to its origin—small, oaken cubes with letters on every side, each block waiting on the floor for its next assignment, the next shape it will create.

My castle was knocked over. Blocks tumbled down, primary–colored letters spelling out nonsense in midair as they approached the earth, the place where they would regroup and form some new structure. (Or would they?)

This long trip is almost over. Whatever that means. Hundreds of days have passed and soon I will be back in my birth country of California. Road names will once again be familiar. Smells will carry memories; sounds will ring in tunes I've heard before. Slowly at first, and then building momentum over time until I can dance to that rhythm once again.

And then that will evaporate again. The cycle of life will repeat, evaporating today and replacing it with tomorrow, memories alight on the winds that wick water from my flesh so that it they can land in someone else's life—delicate like a butterfly, strangely wet like a dew drop.


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