there's sand in my strawberries...

my mind jumps around quite a bit. many times it's jumping from ideas, places and the like, but most times, it's jumping through time... it's not difficult to keep up as to where i am, so much as it is to when i am.

most recently, during my songwriting process, i'm finding that in order to recall things with clarity (or at all), i have to time travel. then sometimes things overlap. i'll find myself in the middle of the desert at the top of the eiffel tower, eating dessert nonetheless. places overlap on occasion. sometimes people. one person becomes 5 different people, or 5 people become one person. a lot of times it takes a lot of work and effort to dig deep for things, while others are crystal clear, for better or for worse.

i sit on my bed, ceiling fan above me on the highest setting. i'm still sweating from the journey i just took. around me on the bed are pieces of paper and moleskines/notebooks of all different sizes, the font on them in all different colors. there's a grocery list, phone numbers, a todo list or so among the scattered pile, but for the most part it all consist of words. dreams. thoughts. perceived reality. certain things jotted down to forget, and other things to hold on to with dear life. this is how i'll sometimes arrange these words into song.

i come across a particular song that i started working on a month or so ago. i never got to finish it, because i since then haven't been able to return to that exact state of perfect optimism that i was in when i wrote it. everything is going to be okay. everything happens for the best. so on and so forth. i know i'll eventually finish it, not only for myself, but for you as well, it's just incredibly important to me that when i do resume said song, i mean it. feel it. and most importantly believe what i'm trying to convey.

i then come across another piece of paper. this one, the words are written both carefully, and yet seemingly fast at the same time. it reads of no promises. no guarantees. questions of 'what ifs'. this one was most definitely written in a completely different state of mind as the aforementioned. i play the scribbled chords that i jotted down on my guitar. immediately, the shivers ensue and flash transport to a place familiar, but dark.

"it's not time to finish that one either", i say to myself...

i close my eyes, and lay back on the green bed/desk pillow. the sound of the papers, rustling from the ceiling fan are reminiscent of fall leaves trapped in earth's breath....

*flash*

i'm now in new york city's central park. it's last year. in my right hand i hold a lover, in my left, an umbrella keeping us dry from the autumn rain. the sound of the leaves are around us as we walk care free knowing that despite any troubles, we have each other. right now, at this current moment, Everything. Is. Perfect.

*flash*

i realize that it's 2008. august something or another. i'm in atlanta, laying on a green bed, staring at a ceiling fan, surrounded by paper. there's no park, there's no rain, there's no lover. i grab my pen, and a fresh piece of paper, and while this clarity of my most recent journey through time remains, i write. the smell, the taste, the weight of every footstep. i write. i grab my guitar, and look at what i've written. i've created another portal it seems. i fold it up and stick it in an envelope to glance at later for possible youtube video recording.

i head to the kitchen to cook up a grilled cheese sandwich and a fruit smoothie. i'm exhausted. i notice that it's only 3pm est. that's when i remember, i've always preferred jet-lag to time-lag...

there's nothing like a cold smoothie in the desert,
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