hey.

apologies for being absentee.
the only excuse i have is myself, really.

anyhow, nature abhors a vacuum, and that's why i'm writing today.

I've just found out about Mason Reed's latest project and wanted to share it with the rest of you...

Mason has challenged himself to write 100 tunes B4 June.

MasonReedMusic.com

so do yourself a favor and visit mason's site. Then, spread the word. An undertaking like this takes a lot of resolve. And resolve is aided by the support of friends.

thanks

amor fati,

-j-

I’ve nowhere to go…
…and all day to get there.
Not a day goes by that I don’t ask myself what the hell I’m doing.
Or what the hell it is I’m doing it for.
Every mile I gain is one I have to give back.
But I keep adding more,
Going into a continental debt.

Don’t think for a minute that I’ve not looked back.
either over my shoulder,
or in the mirror.

when I fell
I was afraid that I’d let you down, too.
so I picked up. rode on.
when I thought of turning back
I thought of how far I hadn’t come
how much I hadn’t seen.
I knew you’d understand if I returned
but I’d never forgive myself
for seeing you again so soon.
when the well was dry
and the gas low
I pushed on
with no net.
North, and East.
the plan stuck to me.
I write in spite of myself.
I don’t write where I should
…
this isn’t going up.
not yet.
I’ve not even reached the half-way mark yet.
too many more miles to ride.
too much more to see.
before I can see you again.
before I can be safe to see you again.

amor fati,

-j-

this is old.
this is three years old.
iTunes not only played this tune for me today, but The Kagneys and the BCC Jazz album as well, reminding me where i've been, giving me pause to look at where i am, and wonder where i'm going.


i feel my feet moving
but can't hit the ground
it's a catalog that's spinning'
in this old home-town
while you are looking' elsewhere
and i'm too down low to say no
we've collided in these covers
used ourselves to hurt us both

this ain't all it looks like
i ain't sure what it does
but it's empty
and it's pointless
and it's bad for us both
once is twice too many
and twice is the same
and if it happens a third time
hey, i just might ask you to stay

this sure ain't what it looks like
not too sure why it is
but it's painful
and it's hurtful
and it's a bad, bad idea.
this last time is too many
like those other two times before
when it happens another,
i just might show you the door

this ain't what it looks like
still not sure what it does.
now i've gone and committed self destruction
right about when i was ready to cash out
once it too many
twice is more of the same
but now i've gone and lost count
i'm so sick of this game

i feel my feet moving'
but i can't quite hit the ground
it's like i'm on a god damn merry-go-round spinning
in my own home-town
while you are busy looking' elsewhere for love
and i'm just too god damned low to say 'no.'
we've collided in these covers
and used ourselves to hurt us both

amor fati,

-j-

....................

Seattle,

Hey.
in case you were wondering
you’re on my mind a lot.
Most of my life I’ve run from you
Or I’ve tried to win you back
show myself it could work…
even made a convincing attempt once.
in all the people I’ve met, and cities I’ve seen
I’ve fallen in love a million times.
there are none like you.
you are a simple beauty
a lasting one.
comfortable, safe
exciting and promising
always there
in the top left corner of my mind
no matter how long I’m gone
or how far I stray
I still turn back to you
if only in my heart.

amor fati,

-j-

so i've been more active on www.jakenannery.com lately, pulling a lot of old stuff out of the cellar and letting it breathe.

Anyway, this is a cross-over piece.

It's from 2007, two years ago, and i thought i'd share it with you now.

re-inspired and reignited.
the flame never extinguished,
took sleepless morning dawn to
find the coals buried deep
beneath layers of muck-thick
booze and jobs and loss and
drugs and pain-laughed-off
dismissive. looking to feel
loved, overlooking the ones
who love most. self. tuning
the string between a flat
self worth and a sharp ego
keeping the pitch below fever
and above the knees.

i want to dance with her again.
i want to see her sunshine bounce through the crowd for the first time.
i want to lay her naked beneath the pool-table and make clumsy and awkward love
i want to swim naked in the glowing ocean flirting with her and life-devastating choices
i want to have been stronger when she comforted me, and to have offered comfort in return
i want to be bed-deep in passion, not remembering her name, only knowing her as alice.
i want to break a futon, laugh, and carry on.
i want to hear legions of neighbors and transients yell at the park's pre-dawn reflection in a third-story window
i want to hold her shivering behind the gym and kiss her under the autumn moon
i want to stand in the center aisle looking up at her in the choir-loft as she sings
i want to loathe her unforgiving boyfriend as she hides scarred arms, and love her silently despite him
i want to hate how i treated her, and still years later, find myself hating and still forgiven.
i want to sit with my arms around her as she confesses her plight, begging me to love her instead.
i want to strum clumsily for her again in the practice room, singing lyrics i still don't have
i want to ask her to dance in that polka-dot dress as the gym-lights become un-dim
i want to be by the fire, feeling her behind me as she hums beneath an E7, hoping not to be heard.
i want to ask her "why him?" then years later understand.
i want to place a valentine sticker on a pick and dedicate that song to her forever
i want to hold her hand on the tour bus, hiding it beneath the pillow as her boyfriend stands on the platform with flowers.
i want to get caught in the noose of a bowling ball, compatriots pulling on my legs to tighten the knot.
i want to stroke her curly blonde hair in a california night, tears soaking an old grey shirt.
i want to sing suckerpunch top-volume as state-lines are crossed
i want to go down to the van for a coffee and a chat.
i want to sit cross legged on the floor of an empty living room, and lose at rummy.
i want to hold hands in the prince edward theater, descending from the balcony
i want to feel her to lean in, press closer as her velvet purple gown brushes my hand, and whisper "yes."
i want

amor fati,

-j-

yeah, well, i've missed you too.

wrote this almost a full year ago, hope you like it:

'the district sleeps alone tonight.'
and thanks to the postal service i'm thinking of you.
you asked me not to allow this to remind me of us.
but now that you've asked, it always does.

i've never been so unstable.
or have i always had these moods?
i think you'd know better than anyone.
i kept myself from everyone but you.

and now the ones i'm closest to
count me as buttoned up.
close to the vest.
quiet.

i prefer to listen. it's hard to talk. i've nothing worth sharing with them.

though they always ask.
it's always a show.
it's always the words they'd rather hear.
it's usually true.
a true song and dance.

The greatest fiction is truth.
The greatest fiction is truthful misdirection.

even if i confess
they hear their own version
their own facts of fiction.

if i chase what i want
i'm left wanting.

if i accept what i've been given
i'm left hunting.

the pattern is becoming clear
and there's a comfort in it.
a solace
i know the result.
and am willing to accept
the price of loss
for the time in-between.

although, now buried in the muck
up to my ankles in it
while standing on my head,

i run from what's found for me
and want what's not sound for me.

Buddha on a bathroom wall.


amor fati,

-j-

"...Where do I start?"

I find I am constantly asking myself this same question.
Perhaps i should begin to ask myself 'How shall I continue?'
After
all, this is not the first page i've penned. Not the first book i've
written in. Each new beginning is a sequel to the story before it.
Especially in this form: the Journal.
Same World.
Same Hand.
Some
new characters enter and old friends depart. When all is said and done,
this book is less a "sequel" and more an 'Installment.' In-so-much as
it's a brief glimpse into my life as i see fit to put it down. Not all
of my secrets and truths lie here.

only the ones that i have courage enough to share.

...And even those are filtered and skewed most times.

my sense of self too great, my ego too proud to present itself any other way than as it sees itself.

How I am in the world is not how i let myself be seen in this world.

A long time ago I wrote 'From where is this pride?' putting the question fairly to myself.
Apparently
not as new as i'd let on to Levert a few days ago, but certainly more
present recently than it's ever been. Is it the new found money? the
Trappings? Clothes?

Perhaps, but i fear those are more symptoms than causes. This pride existed years before the money, the bike, the clothes.

Can
pride grow from a broken heart? Not the benevolent 'pride,' as a father
of his son, but the sinful Pride. the Ego, the Stubborn, pig-headed
brick-wall pride that drives people away and makes a man lonelier?

...perhaps.
It would stand to reason, but I'll not hold her accountable for that.
I've blamed her for more than her fair share of my own shortcomings.

And,
as if Fate has a wicked sense of humor, the further i try to move on,
move away, move forward, the more i miss those that i'm moving away
from.

less like a line, where space is put between self and the
ghosts behind you and more like a labyrinthine spiral, wall-less and
never ceasing.

At times my back is to my past and I feel moved
away, but at others i walk towards my past facing it full-on, staring
it down. Other times my past exists beside me, a present reminder: not
entirely unpleasant, but not always comforting.

I have always
been an optimist because i have always felt like my vessel was an empty
one. Instead of being bitter and angry over that, I somehow was given
the gift to see the glass as empty of content, but full of promise.

Now, with glass more full than it's ever been i struggle with this now antiquated self-image.

I make decisions and choose paths that lead me back to it, never ending in happiness.

My
vessel, now overflowing with value, as it's been overflowing in promise
my entire life, has to be maintained and recognized, but gracefully,
and with humility.

Still no better than any other man I am now no less than him either.

Though
i may feel empty at times, I am simply feeling the value of promise
reminding me that my cup is not yet full and i should strive to find
the next accomplishment to fill it.

"It is often the quietest man in the room who has the most strength."

My goal is to practice living that.

I will make that my purpose. If I feel i have nothing brilliant to say, I will say nothing.
When I have something importatnt to say, I will speak.

Everything
else should be put down to paper because often-times there are thoughts
blurted by me that need simply to be refined in order to reflect their
true and full meaning.

amor fati,

-j-

Naomi from Indy asked 'how is the writing going?' in an email.
..

I've been down on both sides

   and twice on the same

Now more than a far way from Home

   still a long way to go.

Standing on the wrong side of the ball

   writing with my fathers' pen.



Quickly across the Auckland Gulf

Away from the setting sun

Orion is upside-down

his sword unsheathed

but the stronger sun

behind the clouds

still sets in the East.



Quickly away from the silhouette

of a city I hardly know as home

the sun shines silver through the evening clouds:

platinum & chrome.



I'm not sure how to take all of this in.

It all feels so unreal.

So new, adapting has become old-hat.

I almost long for a place I won't fit in.

   to feel the sting

   of unwelcome

   and unloved.

But mind what you wish for,

   You might actually get it.

I live in Paradise.

   Jade Seas

   Sailboats,

Isolated on an island,

but minutes from a city.



I will never fully know this world.



The side-streets of Auckland are,

and i fear always will be,

Foreign to me.

Even sleepy Oneroa,

where my face is known to most,

will never be intimate

never naked

flaws and scars

never known by me.



Every City, every town,

Every friend and every lover

is a mystery.



Each with secrets they share,

puzzles to solve

and histories buried.

Stories left untold

Questions better left unasked.



amor fati,



-j-