Presidential hair.

I woke up this morning... (no, this is not a bad blues song), let Emma out, shuffled over to the bathroom mirror and took a looksee at this morning's hair oracle:

I looked in the mirror and immediately thought, "Andrew Jackson..."

But not just any Andrew Jackson... the middle-aged Andrew Jackson, three quarter view. This one...



At least, that's what my hair told me. It said, "Andrew Jackson..."

And I thought... "Presidential"

That's what happened. Don't shoot the messenger dude.

Does this mean I should run for president? I don't think so...

So I did a little research on A.J. hoping to find a a little nugget, a factoid, a small skeleton key to help me open this hair puzzle:

• During the American Revolution, at the age of 13, he refused to shine the boots of a British officer and got severely beaten and cut (bayonette) for it.
• He was born in North Carolina (so was I), even though South Carolina also claims him.
• He took Pensacola, Florida (my home town) from the Spanish, barely having to fire a shot.
• He was one of the founders of the modern Democratic Party.
• He was a big proponent of "indian removal" in his day. (yikes)
• He had great hair.

I dunno man... I have no idea what this one means. Perhaps it will unfold as the week progresses.

Dialogue 1

"We have the strangest times together."

He says this to her. She looks up from her work and says, absent-mindedly, "Do we?"

He backpedals a bit... "Sometimes... I mean, yes. Often."

But she has moved on.

He wonders if this is her actually being unaware or if she is just forgiving.... forgiving of his tendency to blurt out thoughts when they are just poured, fresh and molten... not solidified. Does she know this about him already? Has she already learned that there is very little be threatened by? Is it trust? Or boredom? And really, does it even matter?

Two people can co-exist in so many ways.

On being arrested.

I was arrested once. It was in Boulder, Colorado, of all places. There was a mix up. It wasn't my fault. Really. It's really too boring to even describe.

They take your shoelaces and belt, at the jail, you know. I tried telling them, "Trust me. There's no way I will kill myself over this." But policy is policy, Jack. No exceptions.

That's my problem: mindless authority.

And that is what will eventually get me thrown in jail real good.

It nearly happened again a couple of weeks ago. looking back, I can see how very close I was to being arrested. But at the time, in the heat of my self-righteous moment, I felt invincible... bullet proof.

I'm quite certain that I wasn't either of those things, now, looking back.

I was pulled over for speeding in a school zone. It's that simple, really. I could give you the details... explain how completely ridiculous it was. How obvious of a trap it was. How small the signs were. How flatly bureaucratic and matter-of-fact the cop was. But I won't. Besides, a reasonable person could also just as easily say, "Dude, you were speeding. Shut up."

At first, I just sat there silently, while he wrote my two hundred and fifty dollar ticket.

That's two hundred and fifty smackers.

$250.

At first, I just sat there in my truck, patiently waiting for my ticket. But then a black rage began to grow inside me. Looking back, I think it's actually healthy to occasionally feel powerless... "Done unto". I think it helps to keep one's ego in check... humbling. (Especially for a white, American male. There is literally no more privileged sub-species on the planet. Top of the food chain, in many ways.)

But there in my truck, I suddently felt like I could lead a revolution... and win.

I started mouthing off to the cop. I started lecturing him, since he had just lectured me about the dangers and pitfalls of speeding (I was going 33 in a temporarily-dropped 20 zone). I told him how utterly obvious it was that they were parked here solely to earn the city a free $20,000 from people just trying to get across town.

I believe the phrase that struck me as appropriate and fitting was "This is fucking horseshit". I used it a lot in a short amount of time. As in: "This is fucking horseshit and you know it."

This is a good way to get arrested.

To his credit, the cop just finished writing the ticket. But not before trying to lamely argue with me a little. I was having nothing of it though... I just said something like, "C'mon man... We both know that this is purely about money -- not about public safety. It's horsehit."

Then I got impatient with him. I sort of told him to hurry up and give me my ticket. I had things to do.

That is a good way to get arrested.

I began using mild psychological warfare... asking him how he felt about being a revenue producer instead of actually protecting people. Didn't he feel misused and manipulated? Was this why he joined the police force?

That is another good way to get arrested.

Then I told him that if he wanted to meet me at the same spot tomorrow at the same time, I'd probably be speeding again... if he wanted to earn another $250 for his monthly chart.

Yes. I could have gone to the pokey at any minute.

...

But I didn't. This time...

I have this sense though... that I'm going to meet the wrong cop one day... and then I'm going to spend some real time in jail. Who knows, if the right circumstances intersect, I might even do some time in prison. If so, the core reason will be the same: utter disrespect for blind authority.

They say, "You can't fight city hall." Of course you can. And you will lose. This is true.

...

I'm not proud of this silly anti-authority thing that I have. I know it is immature and wreckless. But I just have this auto-response to bureaucrats blindly following policy... it's like a violent allergy. It immediately infuriates me. I'm sure there is some deep-seated psychological reason for this...

But honestly, I might have to get that therapy in prison.

Will you write to me?

Conversation with Ross about Prague and Taos

My friend Ross Burns (editor of the auspicious Five Magazine based out of Taos, New Mexico) wrote back to me, upon hearing news of my imminent departure to Prague and places beyond. Our conversation follows:

On Oct 24, 2007, at 1:33 PM, Ross Burns wrote:

Johnny Boy.

My sister's boyfriend is from Prague and I've got a few tips for you:

• Amigos Restaurant in the Vino Hirady area. Ask for Johnny and tell him Ivan G'Vera sent you. Don't know the street, but check online or a guide book.
• U Hrocha (the Hippo) pub on Thunova in Mala Strana.
• Au Gourmands French bakery in Stare Mesto. Try the brownies.
• Drink a lot of Becherovka.
• Go to Slovakia.
• Bring warm clothes, seriously.

Ross


On Oct 25, 2007, at 11:03 AM, John Common wrote:

Hot damn.

All tips welcome. Send more as you think of them.

I can't wait to experience Eastern European solitude. And other things.

John


On Oct 25, 2007, at 11:06 AM, Ross Burns wrote:

Apparently, and my sister's boyfriend Ivan freely admits it, the Czech men are shallow chauvinists who love women solely based on looks. You may never come home.

Ross


On Oct 25, 2007, at 11:12 AM, John Common wrote:

That's insulting... to my innate sense of right and wrong. How could they do that?

That country needs guidance... I'm hardly the one to provide it, Ross, as you know... but i'll try.

John


On Oct 25, 2007, at 11:17 AM, Ross Burns wrote:

Just don't get recruited to perform covert ops in Eastern Europe by the spooks at the CIA. It's hard to go back after they get their hooks in you. Believe me, I know.

Ross


On Oct 25, 2007, at 11:33 AM, John Common wrote:

You always struck me as a walking sleeper cell, Ross.

It's becoming more and more clear to me why you've cloistered yourself in Taos...

John


On Oct 25, 2007, at 11:39 AM, Ross Burns wrote:

Believe it or not, there's a fairly sizable community of ex-hitmen here. I think it's the beautiful night skies and glorious sunsets that lures them in.

Ross


On October 25, 2007 at 11:54:01 AM MDT, John Common wrote:

I prefer to think of your ilk as "freelance consultants".

"Hitman" is such an ugly term.

John

A farmer's only son

a farmer's only son

my name is william
a farmer's only son
I grew up in the wheat fields
and when my days were done

I'd walk down dirt roads
until the stars came out
I always had the same dream
I never had a doubt

it's in my head
it's nearly all worked out
before I'm dead…

I'll build an aeroplane
and fly it to the sun
i'm letting go the reins
to see what i can become
I'll never be the same
a farmer's only son

farming's hard
It turns a man to dust
my father's in the ground now
my mother followed close

she knew i wouldn't stay
there's nothing for me here
just an empty farmhouse
and another wasted year

it's in my head
it's nearly all worked out
before I'm dead…

I'll build an aeroplane
and fly it to the sun
i'm letting go the reins
to see what i can become
I'll never be the same
a farmer's only son

sometimes it seems empty
and sometimes out of reach
that dream that haunts me
and make me lose sleep

I'll build an aeroplane
and fly it to the sun
i'm letting go the reins
to see what i can become
I'll never be the same
a farmer's only son

my name is william
a farmer's only son

Better

better

you walk across the wooden floor
at two in the afternoon
it's snowing gently outside
I'm reading in our room

I hear you making coffee
you know I like it weak
I could tell you what I'm thinking
but we don't have to speak

you make it better
better than i could
you make it better
and that's better than good

Bus hair oracle

I woke up this morning with an extreme case of *bus hair* that I've affectionately decided to name "Elvis Slept Under A Bridge".

I've learned to pay attention to these moments... To pause for just a second and ask myself... "What is the universe saying to me right now?"

Stop laughing.

See, I've watched enough bad television to know that seemingly unimportant things often contain big messages. Inflection points in the hero's journey, portentous shifts in plot, "accidental" moments of serendipity, etc.

Call it whatever you want... but this is what my bus hair said to me just now:



I'm serious. That's what it said.

And I know better than to argue with something as big as my bus hair.



Besides, I want you to hear these new songs.

P.S. It's also saying, "Buy a comb." And... "Take a shower." And... "Make more coffee."

The best workout I've had in a long time (17 days to be exact)

I called my doctor today to ask him again about working out... I'm already going crazy and it's only been two weeks. I know this might seem pretty obsessive to you... but after working out as much as I did to train for my triathlon, I think my brain chemistry got used to regular endorphin washings...

JOHN: "Can I bike?"
DOC: "Yes. But don't put any weight on your hand."

JOHN: "Can I swim?"
DOC: "No."

JOHN: "Can I do core workouts?"
DOC: "Sure. If they don't use your hand."

JOHN:"Can I lift weights?"
DOC: "What are you... an idiot? NO."

JOHN: "Can I run?"
DOC: "Yes. But if you trip and fall, you're going back to surgery, and it will be very, very bad. Don't trip and fall."

I couldn't believe it... I can run! Woo hoo! I immediately went out and ran. Just one, slow lap around Wash Park. It felt awesome... Then I went inside to their little rec center and biked for a while... Oh my God... it felt so good.

I've been buzzing all night.

I know this is a boring entry... Sorry for that. But I'm totally geeked out to be able to run and bike!

Hand update

Don't worry. This one doesn't contain any disgustingly gross pictures. Just a slightly gross one...

I met with my doc today... The first time I've talked with him since the surgery two weeks ago. The nurse cut away the bandages. The doc took one look at my hand and said, "Let's put you in a splint."

This is great because a splint is way less restrictive than a cast... and I can take it off to shower! No more plastic bags! Woo hoo!

And it's a lot, LOT, LOT easier to play piano with just a splint... which is good... Because I just scheduled myself to play two solo shows (Nov 2nd and 3rd at Thin Man Basement here in Denver). More about that later... (I'll be playing a bunch of new songs from the last couple of weeks...)

I'll see the doc again in 4 weeks. He'll x-ray the hand to see how the bone graft, titanium screw sandwich thing is working... Then I'll know what's next. Probably more weeks of being in the splint followed by rehab.

Here's what my incision / future scar looks like... not so bad, considering, huh??!

My new front door and me.

It's still very new... We're just feeling each other out... taking our time.

There's no hurry. We have the rest of our lives for this.

New song (ghosts)

ghosts

it's early morning
and here we are again
you're in your new life
and I'm here circling

it's still dark out
and the drugs are wearing off
I'm stuck here thinking
about the last time that we talked

I can't leave these ghosts alone
I can't leave these ghosts alone
you're in my head
I'm lying in this bed
like it's a tomb
you left me…
so why can't I leave you?

it's such a cliché
how you moved on and on
but I can't leave
and you know I never could

it's so funny
how the thing that brought us down
is my penchant
for keeping ghosts around

I can't leave these ghosts alone
I can't leave these ghosts alone
you're in my head
I'm lying in this bed
like it's a tomb
you left me…
so why can't I leave you?

oh…. what's the reason?
oh…. what's the reason?
oh…. what's the reason?

I finally get up…
walk around the house
make some coffee
and prove you're not around

these ugly mornings
make me never want to sleep
I'm just a prisoner
who doesn't want the key

I can't leave these ghosts alone
I can't leave these ghosts alone
you're in my head
I'm lying in this bed
like it's a tomb
you left me…
so why can't I leave you?

The guy in the back seat is talking to me.

I had this dream a while ago... And I've learned that when I have really weird dreams, you know the ones -- the DOOZIES -- I've learned to write those down. And man... I've had some DOOZIES over the past year or so.

Yikes.

It's a more than a little unsettling when you get a peak into your own subconscious... And you see how much dark, weird, creative power is there... just under the surface. It's like taking a long road trip -- all alone in your car -- across the country. And somewhere in Iowa, just as the sun is setting behind the corn, you turn around to look at that old abandoned farm house as it whizzes past and you see a well-dressed stranger sitting in the back seat (your subconscious) quietly smiling back at you. It makes you think... "Christ! How long as HE been there? Why didn't he speak up?"

Kind of freaks you out.

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

The Dream

I dreamt that I was dating a doctor… We were in the early stage of a new relationship… just beginning, but definitely into each other.

The next image was me standing in the shower and I noticed a knot or some sort of bump on my lower chest… I started feeling it with my hand trying to figure out what it was... it felt like some foreign body was inside me, just under the skin. So I kept fiddling around and pulled it out… I don’t remember what it was... some sort of knot -- like you'd see in a tree trunk. Then, when I looked down again, I saw that a gap, almost a slice had opened up from the top of my chest all the way down to my crotch – nearly in the center of my body… This is gross… but my entire abdomen had a huge slice/opening/gap in it! It was like I was wearing a button down shirt with none of the buttons fastened – only it was my body. When I looked down, I could see directly inside my body – I could see my internal organs.

It FREAKED ME OUT.

So the next scene was me walking into my doctor/girlfriend’s office – kind of interrupting her at work so that she could diagnose what the fuck was going on with me. She examined the split in my chest… Looking at me with a sad, terminal expression on her face she said, “You have New Half Disease.”

New Half Disease.

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

Then I woke up. And I googled "New Half Disease". Nothing. No relevant search results. It’s a fictitious disease that the guy in the back seat came up with... A figment of my dream life, evidently.

I hesitate to do this, but feel free to comment with your dream interpretations on this one.

And go.

New song (paper plates)

I've been working on this one all summer.

Until today, it's just been a sheet of paper, covered in scribbles and coffee tattoos, in a stack of other papers covered in scribbles and coffee tattoos, that I've pulled out occasionally... Normally, I look down at it, sigh heavily, doodle something in the margin, and then shove it back into the pile.

But today, I think I *broke through* on this one. It came as a reward for faith in my "taoist songwriting method". Reverent non-action. (wink wink nudge nudge)

It even sounds okay (to me) when I play it with one hand on the Rhodes. Which makes me think it might have a spark...

paper plates

you're writing haikus
on paper plates
what if he loves you?

you say you don't believe
in soul mates
what if he loves you?

you're turning inside out
and outside in
what if he loves you?

you want to read the book
but you won't begin
what if he loves you?

what if he's just waiting for you to call
he's waiting for your call
do you think he will wait forever?

you think you're tough
but you know you're not
what if he loves you

we can write our lines
but not the plot
what if he loves you

on the way home
hand around your phone
on the way home
late at night, so call

what if he's just waiting for you to call
he's waiting for your call
do you think he will wait forever?

NOTE: This is the second song that I owe K. It's for her friend, T. I used one of K.'s now-famous 'character sketches' as guidance and inspiration. Honestly though, I only use these patron-submitted materials to get started... and then the song grows its own legs, and acquires its own will... After that, I run along behind it -- and try to keep up.

This movie.

We are all much more alike then different.

We want the same stuff... Same drives. Same fears. Same desire. Same itch. Same scratch.

I think it's funny how we spend so much time focused on the 0.1% that makes us different, while the elephant at the table is the 99.9% in us that is IDENTICAL. I guess it's ego that makes us focus on the differences.

They say there are only a handful of stories in the world... only the minor details change. One source has boiled it down to 7 basic plots:

- [wo]man vs. nature
- [wo]man vs. man
- [wo]man vs. the environment
- [wo]man vs. machines/technology
- [wo]man vs. the supernatural
- [wo]man vs. self
- [wo]man vs. god/religion

Ronald Tobias says there are only 20 "good stories"...

1. Quest
2. Adventure
3. Pursuit
4. Rescue
5. Escape
6. Revenge
7. The Riddle
8. Rivalry
9. Underdog
10. Temptation
11. Metamorphosis
12. Transformation
13. Maturation
14. Love
15. Forbidden Love
16. Sacrifice
17. Discovery
18. Wretched Excess
19. Ascension
20. Descension

(I'd like bottle of #2, a gravy boat full of #12 and platter of #14. For desert, how about we share a dish of #19?)

It's comforting to know that on one level, I'm fulfilling an old role inside an ancient archetype. This jacket's been worn before. And I find it charming, a little sad, and extremely forgivable when I see someone (including myself) who believes that what they are thinking or feeling is entirely unique or new.

I don't mean this in a defeated way -- at all. I think it's actually good news. It's very good to remember that everyone around us is working their way through a plot that we have either been in, are in, or about to be in.

This also means that I'm a supporting actor in your movie. And you in mine. Occasionally our movies intersect -- like right now -- and we have the chance to really affect each other... Maybe I'm the guy walking down the street who ducks out of the way during the car chase. Maybe you are about to step into your love scene. Maybe that's us fighting each other... or driving out into the desert together.

We'll see.

Our primary job is to live our roles honestly. And to never settle for bad writing.

Any interest?

While completely stoned in dilaudid, I got bored and decided to try something out... I wonder if anyone would be interested in this kind of thing...

Click here for JOHN COMMON stuff












Or this...

Click here for SWIM TO THE BUOY stuff

John Common on iTunes

My two last records, WHY BIRDS FLY (2007) and GOOD TO BE BORN (2006) just got added to iTunes!

Check it out...
(and turn a friend on to it too!)

Click here! WHY BIRDS FLY on iTunes!





Click here! GOOD TO BE BORN on iTunes!

Another story from Why Birds Fly

The television is always on in her apartment, softly
babbling about the latest tragedy... a river of news from
the external world. She likes to imagine that her own life
is a news channel. She doesn’t go out much; she has a
big decision to make. Planes are going down inside her.

(from the Libretto to Why Birds Fly for the song 'Do You Hate')

Another another story

It’s heartbreaking to watch someone solve for X,
stuck inside a broken equation, hoping for a new
math. The saddest stories are the ones where you
know the ending before the characters do.

(from the Libretto to Why Birds Fly for the song 'Before You Met Me')

Another story

My phone rang one day. I picked up and heard a
perfectly real voice say, “Is Robert there?” I paused.
I needed time to gather myself. Falling in love can
be disorienting. “Is Robert there?” she said again.
With great pain, and after another uncomfortable
pause, I said, “I’m afraid you have the wrong
number.” And just like that she was gone..

She’s out there somewhere... I can always dream.

(from the Libretto to Why Birds Fly for the song 'Wrong Number ')

A story

He met her in a bar. She loved how he seemed so
present. He loved how she kept him off-balance,
effortlessly. Things went awfully fast and, at first, they
didn’t notice how the pieces never really matched.
But she was good at avoiding the obvious (a family
strength). And at times, mostly when no words were
being spoken, it felt very right. Also, the sex was
astonishing. So they stayed. After a while though, even
the booze couldn’t put enough distance between them.
Then one night, at their bar, she surprised both
of them. She got up and never came back.
The symmetry was crushing and lovely.

(from the Libretto to Why Birds Fly for the song 'You Stay')

Meet my new friend, Dilaudid

Dilaudid

Generic name: Hydromorphone hydrochloride

Why is this drug prescribed?
Dilaudid, a narcotic analgesic, is prescribed for the relief of moderate to severe pain such as that due to:

Biliary colic (pain caused by an obstruction in the gallbladder or bile duct)
Burns
Cancer
Heart attack
Injury (soft tissue and bone)
Renal colic (sharp lower back and groin pain usually caused by the passage of a stone through the ureter)
Surgery

Most important fact about this drug
High dose tolerance leading to mental and physical dependence can occur with the use of Dilaudid when it is taken repeatedly. Physical dependence (need for continual doses to prevent withdrawal symptoms) can occur after only a few days of narcotic use, although it usually takes several weeks.

Hand surgery update (Thank you!!!)

Hey,

I had my hand surgery yesterday... THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who's contacted me about it, wishing me well, checking in, offering to 'lend a hand', and generally being amazing and sweet. It's really great to be reminded that I have such good friends and people who care about me. I'm a lucky guy for sure...

After the surgery, when I was just waking up from the general anaesthesia, my doc told me everything went really well... I don't think I dreamed that either. :-) They also did a local anaesthesia "nerve block" that made my entire left arm COMPLETELY DEAD. That was so very, very weird! It didn't wear off until 2AM this morning either. I knew this because the pain woke me up. I stumbled into the kitchen and started slamming dilaudid (2 pills every 4 hours).

Man, I am completely stoned. A friend and I just went to the grocery store... it was quite hilarious. I was spouting inappapriate things to the deli person, I think.

So anyway, now it's up to fate (mostly) and me (a little) to get healed up over the coming months. It would be pretty *fabulous* if everything worked as planned and I got my hand back, good as new.

Fingers crossed... ouch!

If you're interested in seeing what they did to my hand, click this link. (Watch out -- it's kind of graphic/gross...)

Hand surgery - Gross!

As expected for the day after surgery, it hurts lot... but the dilaudid is working pretty well and I'm sure it'll get better/easier by the day. I'm just glad that to finally have this process started -- I'm ready to move on! (With two good hands.)

Thanks again everyone!

the crows have gathered on the high wires

the crows have gathered on the high wires
overlooking this patio where we sit,
sipping cold white wine.
I know what you do…
let it lay on your tongue a bit
before letting it find its way to the back of your throat.

the sun set hours ago and it's getting cool.
the candlelight flashes still lives across your face.
I've stepped into an oil painting by the great drunken master...
warm tones fade to black. your face is half shadow, half grace.
music is creeping out from the hall. no one is listening.
good and evil left their names at the door tonight.
they're wandering toward us,
arm in arm, chuckling.

miles away,
a mountain settles,
a deer drinks from a stream,
a man and woman fight about something,
dogs are barking,
lonely trucks barrel down the highway,
a clock stops and a tired piano begins to play our song...
I look at you through the bottom of my upturned glass
and you turn in to the dream I never dreamed.
you laugh at something I said weeks ago and light a bent cigarette.

I've studied you too much.
I've lost the subject and need distance.
I don't say any of this.
instead, I excuse myself,
stand up, walk to the stone wall beside the sleeping crows,
stare at the moon behind the clouds,
and write you this letter in my head.