Grades, progress reports, translations, proofreading, loans, letters, photocopies, housing contracts, financial aid forms, visa applications, passport photos, fees, airline tickets, considerations, plans, methods, means, hours, days, waiting, breathing...
It's been a little busy in this particular corner of the universe lately.
Thankfully, I've discovered some very good news. Sam Phillips is back with a new album and some spare words for a new site:
I was born in east Hollywood. I just found out that Charles Bukowski worked at the post office right around the corner from my grandmother’s house. I might have even sold him some lemonade when I was a kid, though I hear that wasn’t his drink. The excesses of Hollywood go down the wrong side of the tracks and up the right side. The religious and experimental/alternative lifestyles have always thrived here because so many people come to Hollywood with dreams that get broken (or come true) and need to be replaced. I’d rather make art than make my dreams come true. I’d rather be interested and inspired. [...]And so I go back and try to make room for the things I love, and not let duty wear me too thin. I need to stop and listen a little more.
When I was eight years old, I was given my first Bible at Hollywood Presbyterian Church by a minister who looked like a football star/leading man. Around the same time my beloved dance teacher gave me a small bottle of perfume, which I loved too much to use. After reading the story of Mary pouring her best perfume oil on Jesus’ feet, I decided to pour my whole bottle of perfume on the Bible. Since that perfume was my only treasure at the time, it was an extravagant expression of faith. That smelly Bible was one of my first attempts to make art.
In one of the most important election years in the history of our United States, I am bringing out a record called “Don’t Do Anything”. This is not a political statement. The line of the song it’s taken from is “I love you when you don’t do anything”. I might have written this to my child, a lover, a friend, a dead person, or all of these. Maybe I wanted someone to write it to me. Maybe an extravagant expression of faith is the last thing we need this year. Maybe it’s the first. There is a lot to do in between.