The Mr.Nobody Podcast: Season 3

Does anything mean anything outside of our meaning making? It was like an acid trip. Basket weaving. As if time was woven. The feathers are just symbols. A spider fights to survive. The plumber cuts a pipe. My feelings don't constitute facts. I'm closed-minded. My fiction.

You would be turning 29 now. He insisted I listen to Alan Watts, so I do. 1000 years of guitar. We are a stream of gas...wut??? We're not who we think we are. I made myself into a drunk, I managed to find a way out in the Library. Mirrors are indifferent. I miss you so much on your birthday, every day. The you that lived.

I hear your man crying. It feels really really weird. Danger in immanent. I lost her for 2 minutes. Hey Monster! We're fractals. I made a promise to their father.

A tone poem of sorts. My Daughter called me as I was composing. She was washing dishes. The microphone was on, so I listened. This life. The trees were alive and beautiful. We're always going to miss him. Something happens...ya know? It's hard to put into words. This life.    

Stagnation. I asked a friend for feedback, It was nutritious. The truth is not eloquent. I edit in real-time. I use my son's death to go in circles. Funky and stupid musical language. I blab about reading..is that a thing? I feel an obligation. Inside out. Hastings. 1066        

I have triple standards. Grief is unreasonable. Overdose is a choice. Die for something good. He could have become. I chose to initiate myself as a new person, to live with a broken heart. To be consoled by reality  

Right, so I'm nudging myself to make a break from the past. Specifically my grievance with my son and what he choose. There's no easy or simple way to proceed, or is there? Perhaps It is as simple as allowing my actions to reflect a choice about what I will live for. I'm bored with being half committed to life and using his senseless death as an excuse. Being angry is addictive. It easier to hate...

What was his name? Everybody has a podcast. Almost talking to him. Major and minor. Pathetic. Every moment is special...Huh... I play with the puppets in my mind. To me it means something, Time is the only thing we have. Choices.

I wanted to save my father. Social work and timelines collide. Trauma is generational. Sometimes there is no answer. He was only 17 when he lost his father...to murder. Can we control our thoughts? It's not ok, but it can be. For him.

Playing solo today on a little carbon fiber nylon string guitar. I use minimal background tracks. This experience ranges from weird to sublime. I record my walk, set-up and commentary as I drag myself out there. The day was sweet, sunny and peaceful. The guitar almost plays itself.  I remember how much I dreamed about playing music with my son.  He was a sensitive and creative budding Guitarist. ...

Realizing you were never born. Twisting and turning. Suddenly he gave up. Is everything a game of words? Grief is religious. I never knew myself. I face two little coffins...use them. It's a ghost. Walk on me.  

I was afraid for his life. A fence made out of iron spears. He gives me some boxing pointers. "and then you gotta have that realization, the fights over" Any addiction is self-imposed slavery. I hear his laugh, I feel his voice. A passacaglia underscores my confessions of envy. I'm forced to awaken to a sharper reality.x I'm allowing it, hear the sounds from a distant island.    

How may I help you? Are we responsible for our actions? How does this work? I sweet talked (manipulated) my way into many opportunities. I had a pot farm. Private school, gigs, college, art making, steady job: It seemed like life was going our way. pills... remember I'm here to help you. I'm responsible. what now? I can't understand you.

He died 4 years ago tonight. I recount a sort-of near death experience, with a gun. I gave his car away, his most adult possession. Drugs don't kill, people kill. Addiction turns your brain into a weapon you turn against yourself.  I was and still am selfish. What could make this possible?

It has been 4 years since I've seen my son  I listen to my Shaman, he doesn't even know he's a shaman what is it?  what happened?  where are you now?  are we just our memories? say it again. I've been trying to keep you alive. 

What is you emergency? Is overdosing selfishness? I don't think they're breathing right now, bruh. Not a legit emergency. What is our civic responsibility? I find a man passed out in his car with the car door wide open. drooling. It's my life, It's my responsibility, it's my fault. Leverage your shame and fight.

All This while weeping out loud. What good is your mind without your body Meth-head trout are just like us I explore the word "soul" I am terrified to confront my own origins  I speak to an unidentified brother I tap dance around the truth Are we all one organism?  I my son overdosed me as well as himself we were an ecosystem

Words are how we deceive each other. What if god's first utterance was "meh"? Our experience of reality is not ultimate reality. I face my lying self, I deceived my son with lies mixed with truth and half-truths about myself. I help 3 children bury their father's bones, we created our own ritual in the pure moment. Is my guitar lying? No one really has a name...meh      

I visit projections of my departure I hear birds  I visited a jiujitsu factory I search for my path with eyes closed I embrace a stranger who shares your name click I face a terrible thought

I take the train to where we lived. You became a Pawn in a business model I couldn't stay in your room son.  I confess to bringing you into a world of parental conflict, I'm sorry. I saw your bike and heavy-bag collecting dust in the garage  I found the guitar I left for you the week before you died. I've gone too far many times, you went too far with the world most deadly drug. I'm just an animal...

I wanted a gun, I explore how that wiggled my brain What if men feared violence from women? What if aliens kept us as pets? Sometimes thing going wrong are the most fun. I get a phone call from my daughter. Who should have guns and why? certainly not criminals or idiots. I roll around in my ignorance... It's astounding. "The song of a thrush gets buried alive"   

Ready? here we go... The Song Is You An Accordion, a sax player and park jazz Begging for dollars, selling sound Storks visit What was I trying to sell my son? Polish your jewel even if no one ever sees it.  

Hi There I got into this to retaliate  Do our words really create reality? Knowledge is based on experience not faith The Grand Canyon, floor 59 and the mystery cults there is only the now in my wicked dreams I explore immortality, I cry when he died I felt an ecstasy beyond my form enjoy my priestess... ok      

Might be our last. I lost my rage...where? I sew a body back together with..remember.. A call from my daughter  I transcend my own understanding and it's odd I taped my son and I having our last face to face conversation  What has changed? every conversation could be my last

Good Cry... I reprise a song I wrote about my children years ago I was drowning in passions Intoxicated, I explore my narcissism is trying to get somewhere a vice? water. I don't know what this all means yet.. I miss you son, I will see your sister and begin a jiujitsu school tomorrow, I will be thinking of you. Dad