I'm caught in a state of befuddlement concerning the habits that govern the lives of so many people in the world nowadays.  Suffice it to say that a little mystery never hurt anyone, and perhaps there is something to say for the notion that the more things you keep inside the confines of your brain, the more valuable those words become that do exit the corridors of your mind down and out of the exhaust of your mouth.  Bullets are more likely to hit their mark when there are fewer to spare.

Mystery is a dying art these days - Live your life for yourself and yourself alone, and all else will fall into place far better than you ever could otherwise hope to control.  Never oversell yourself, but always overachieve.  And make it count, every last crumb.

I've been mildly inactive here on the internet recently and I apologize for any lack of communcation that's been going on as a result.  Rest assured though that the little online presence only means lots of productivity in the real world - the interwebs can wait awhile longer.

Right now busy writing and recording a whole new album of material, assembling a band for live performance (applicants most welcome) as well as a few other projects that I'll be sharing shortly.

This is just a quick hello, more or less, to let you all know that I haven't passed away.  I hope 2009 has been an exploding success for you all.

PJ

There's this feeling going around, airborne and floating freely like airy mist in a summer's heat.  Things don't always turn the way you expect them to, pathways are never as bright as they seem.  It's easy to pull up a chair and play cards at the table with the status quo regardless of how bleak the energy is or whether everyone's even playing square.  But there's a new feeling at the beginning of this new calendar year, one that provides an eagle's eye perspective and gets you off of that table and up into the heavens looking down on a world that likes to kick itself in the face and pretend that all matter is composed of black and white.  If you're dying out there, remove yourself.  Rewrite the rules and paint your own reality.

And so I've carved out a moment of this day to catch up with myself, to remind myself that I'm still here - Alas, a space where I can unpack the load I bear upon my spine, and prop it upon this altar of rented electricity and counterfeit light.

The only distractions that interfere are the distant sounds of this strange city carried in through the open windows by the night breeze, chilled by an icy moon above.  My clothed body lies stiffly on a naked floor; I admire the irony of being the only decoration upon this otherwise vacant surface.

Crickets.  I never imagined crickets here - Charming as they are, cloaked by the infancy of night to provide the ambiance of a place more fittingly called "home." 

I am flooded by borrowed thoughts, perhaps carried again upon that night wind.  Dozens of images of light and pictures, sounds and vibrations from all directions and dimensions penetrate the metal screen that is only designed to keep away more earthly things.  How delightful the breeze feels tonight - inspiration on tap, electrified airwaves traveling at the speed of pollen floating through the atmosphere.  Man-made contraptions only entrap this bliss, filter it from your spaces and snatch it from your eyes and ears.  These devices are absent here, nowhere in sight as I lie idle from the world in this new space of mine, absorbing the best entertainment money can't buy - the sound and scent of freedom.

I'm happy to say thanks to the support of you guys I finished 1st place in the semi-final round of the Hennessy Spin Hot Pursuit Competition, tremendous and endless thanks to you for voting for me!

http://musicnation.com/contest/spin/winners

The final round and recipient of a recording contract with Original Signal/Epic Records is now decided by a panel of 5 celebrity judges who are:  Butch Walker, Pete Moren, Amanda Palmer, Michael Showalter, and Doug Brod.  

The decision will be announced at the end of the month.

I'll keep you folks posted.  Thanks again for the great support, you guys are the best.

I'm feeling rather blank today.

I thought perhaps spilling out some words unto the open computer screen would declog my thinking tubes.  I'm reminded of when I was younger and used to get frisbees stuck in trees.  My brothers and I would take off our shoes and throw them, attempting to free the disk from the branches.  Whether you're aware of it or not, this is something we all must do once in awhile.

I'm not a biologist or scientist or master of the mind.  I do know that from time to time things get congested up there, and a simple practice of letting the clock spin doesn't always remedy the situation.  Too much of the same thing tends to draw patterns on your brain that start to stick out awkwardly when traced over too many times.  Driving home from work, watching the same old movie a hundred times over, having the same morning routine - These are all automatic fixtures we get stuck in every day.  Sometimes these repetitions are traced so many times that they cause your mind to skip like a record with a scratched groove.  Lonely, depressed, uninspired, out of luck, tapped dry - all symptoms of being imprisoned by repetition.  There are various ways out of this cycle.  Don't watch television tonight, read a book.  Put your left shoe on first instead of your right.  Take the backroad to work tomorrow morning.  Talk to a stranger today, make them a friend. 

Fear is the only warden keeping us from breaking the habits that bind.  The mind is an incredibly powerful tool, an enormous muscle that requires exercise to stay fit.  Neglect it for too long and you won't have the strength soon to stand up out of bed.  There are ideas up there.  If you've been neglecting them, pick them off of the surface of your brain, examine the silhouette of dust that's left there behind.  They're just as good as they were the day they were born.  Try them on, today is our day for change.

And so my path curves westward.  The dynamic shifting of the seasons in the eastern atmosphere is certainly in exile from this golden coast.  Souls carefully crafted from the colonial air no longer rest in the cool comfort of the Appalachian cradle - often times bearing the honorary title of Guest is an invitation for wearing the clothes of a foreigner in one's very own country.

I am fulfilled here.  Fulfilled in the sense that my spirit yearns for more in these surroundings.  A puzzle incomplete, forever in search of the missing piece - not longing in sorrow for resolution but resting in joyous occupation with the knowledge that my chapter is far from finished.  This place stinks of wonderous filth, reeking of the love affair between a fly and his mound of manurer - yet sturdy in the promise that fruit spawns from feces so long as you're not planting in the shade.  My feet are well rested, they won't get you far out here.

The sun massages my skin moreso than usual.  The notion that such dynamics exist within two coastal lines in this world is infinitely exciting - the very thought of it all fills my cells with color and light and makes me want to live twice as loud.  There is time for that though, always time for that.  It is never too late to pull down the curtains and let the particles flood the brain with the brilliant light of today.

My head is unsteady, my fingers are distant.  My eyelids carry the weight of two thousand moments of consciousness, and gravity drives an easy bargain.

Endless thoughts of happiness to you all.

My little collection of sonic data, "Arsonist Blues," is all grown up now.  I made sure he got his fair share of vegetables and eggs over the months, stretched out every morning, said hello politely to strangers while I introduced him to folks during parties, outings, nights out on the town.  Now I awake one morning and there he is, a staggering tower of layered orchestrations, complex cellular composition; a frame that no longer fits in my guitar case.  I don't even recognize the lad.  What happened to those organic bare-bones, the hollow constitution of acoustic simplicity that I knew so well?  Alas, he is reborn - A face forged through time and care, foreign yet familiar, similar yet strange.  More suitable for the performances he will soon deliver, no longer greedily in solitude but with a band of brothers on stage to practice all facets of his existence, growing with each exercise.

Today was just one of those all-inspiring days - the sun seemed to shine twice as bright, yet the breeze quenced its bite with the cool comforting embrace only the innocence of spring can deliver - A marriage of all pleasures circled my self without cost or reason.  Simply taking in the air of the atmosphere put all things in their place, and I felt as if perhaps today was the rightful headstone of the New Year.  Once in awhile everything just makes sense, and all plans and elements are laid into place without effort or care.  Today was one of those days, and it was a good day indeed.