As the lightning flashes

the thunder bowls

rain rushes over

the tired and old

rolling on over

the hills and the dales

drenching the fields

the corn rows the meals

rushing down the mountains

to soak the marsh lands

fill the river basin

and drain to ocean sands.

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

driving along the creek side

winding through the trees

over ridges passes

feeling kisses of the breeze

quick through the rain drops 

cheered on by grasses

stillness of night stops

like flies in molasses

close are the corners

faster the lanes go by

steaming exhaust putters

as four tires cry

rounding blind bends 

all seeming to shady

revs on the upward trend 

spun the 180

ow

My head hurts some times. Not headaches, but just the swimming of ideas and responsibilities that continue to flood it. Art music and food are constantly swarming and sting every once in a while. It hurts to not to create, but sometimes I just have to not to. Painting comes more slowly, food comes like a bullet to the head and music is just there. I've been writing music since I was a kid, not physically writing on to paper, but recording hmms and beeps and bloops. Later when I had my first four track recorder it was more sound experimentation. After being in a few bands my recording became more structured, until today where I have digital recording equip and many tracks available. But I don't record with the same voracity that I used to. It's more like I look at my equipment and the play button stops. Maybe it's because my focus has been more on food recently. I do cook for a living, so I think everything else was put on the back burner. I love painting, my blood pumps music and my body is nourished by recipes. It all comes to a head and swells. To much information to fast to produce, to where I often forget some of the ideas that come up. I deal with it the best I can, mostly by driving myself in one of the three directions. But I still need to take a break every once in a while and and tap into the two that are needed.

Cheers

waves

sine waves crashing on the shores of years

years passed on through the ears

reverberated bones shattered tossed and stoned
drowned in oceans of liquor

over and over the times grow older
plotting the tracks of political order
screaming to the sound bytes blared on t.v.
writing and phoning politicians to be

lost and found drifting over the waves
hearing and seeing everything these days
didn't hear the cries or the pleas
driving to better ride these turbulent seas

heat

636 am 

up and at 'em

ready,

to feel the cold steel of the blades

the heat on the line

the pressure 

to move just a little faster 

shuffle 

pivot 

toss 

stir

smell 

taste 

adjust

make it beautiful

repeat

again and again

in purgatory

straining the souls

of vegeetaboles

searing  flavor 

racing time 

honing the steels line 

 

Intro

Welcome! 

I was born in 1976, in Indianapolis, IN and grew up in the Broad Ripple area. A decent place to live. The main strip in Broad Ripple is the typical college bar crawl area. A bar in every other store front, some clothing stores and other random shops from art stores, local clothing lines, and a handful of restaurants local and chains.  

I wasn't a big fan of Indianapolis growing up, I had a lot of growing pains. Don't get me wrong, I know I grew up with a loving family in a good neighborhood, and had an awesome group of friends, but I have to say that I never felt right. I always felt that I was a ghost wandering the city almost as if in limbo. I was easily distracted by nature, and the obscure, I thought my eyes were actual cameras and the rolls of micro film were biochemically developed in my head. 

The woods behind my gram-ma's house were my escape from the world. Vines slung over the branches of the towering foliage provided some good rope swings, and Williams Creek offered a refreshing cool dip during the hottest days over the summer. Sometimes my brother and I would show each other up by seeing who could push down the biggest dead tree and then we would go exploring the jungle like atmosphere. It set the stage for playing in what we thought was an old bomb shelter, shooting up Vietcong in Cambodia trying to stave off communism (it was the early eighties.) 

For the most part I saw Indiana as flat and full of corn and soy, which is not to far from the truth. Once you get further south the land starts to ripple more and in some parts the eroding waters have created some breathtaking sand stone canyons. I have grown to appreciate this place more than I used to. 

I was bored and frustrated, felt out of place and had bad bouts of wanderlust. I also had bad migraine head aches which didn't help me feel like a "normal" kid. It was then that I met my first therapist, Joe, who helped teach me the beauty of biofeedback. Taping a thermometer to my finger he would watch my temperature as he talked to me about my week. In a few of the sessions I had bad headaches and noticed by the end of the session they were gone without the aid of drugs. It is ironic because I started seeing him again in high school for depression issues for which I was prescribed me prozac. I think that that had a more adverse effect than nothing. That was my gateway drug. 

I had moved for college in Savannah, GA and still taking prozac as prescribed. Never did it for recreation, I already felt like a happy zombie on acid. I could stare at asphalt for hours thinking about how pretty it was. It was tough doing art everyday for class while on the medication, and with my A.D.D. kicking in, it made school that much harder. 

So what did I do? 

Started to party after my first quarter! So I was now on prozac and drinking, still no other drugs. Note that I had tried pot in high school, got sick puked and didn't touch it until about three years later, and I did drink high school but only once in a while if I thought about it. After about two years of hammering out pastel drawings, 3-D art, anatomy drawings a few giant sketch pads of figure drawings, some trash, and working full time I dropped out, it wasn't for me. I weened myself off of prozac and started smoking pot. Yeah I now know that self medication is not such a good idea. 

I was working as a cook at Il Pasticco. It was somewhere around there that my smoking increased. I had been to a party did my first hit of acid and it snowballed from there. I had my summer of '69 so to speak had a bad trip and stopped that nonsense, but still smoked a boat load of pot and drank like nothing else.

The habit or addiction whichever you choose, lasted until last year. It went with me from Savannah, to Trenton, NJ to Brooklyn back to Trenton and then I sobered up for six months after I moved back to Indy I was going to try. No smoke no smokes no booze nothing. But then I started a job as an executive chef, the stress almost killed me. Up at seven in the morning waking and baking, smoking it like it was cigarettes. Get to work at ten pour a Kahlua and coffee have another smoke and start work. That usually meant cleaning up after the night club fixing toilets, sound engineering, bar tending waiting tables cooking everything and that was just in one day (no waiter GM or bartender and the owner was nowhere.) I was the kitchen bitch and I drowned myself in Patron rum and wine, sometimes in the same night. Somehow I would make it home and I was back at work the next day bright and early tolerance built up enough so there weren't many hangovers but I did pay the price sometimes. 

Now I'm here, back in Indy, getting back into meditation and health making a pit stop so to speak, and after three years of being here I'm ready to move again. Not sure where to. Wanderlust still has me squirming, but it's going to be a minute. I just need to right my sails set a course and let the wind carry me.  

That is why I'm writing this, to help get my head clear from those times I want to pick up my phone for a bag or a pack of Camels. I'm honest with myself and so I'm honest with my readers. These writings are about where I go what I do what I think about. I'm going to try to stay off the political side because I'll end up writing everything in capitols and might call the white house again or email every senator and congress(wo)man like that one time a couple of years ago. That's all I will encourage anyone to do is write your congress(wo)men and let them know how you feel, because they can't hear you if you're yelling at your tv or radio. 

Cheers! Thanx and feel free to comment I'm always open for constructive criticism.  

Ben