Small Fires: This song was co-written with the most amazing Simon Wilcox.

I had a really insightful conversation the other day with a friend about ‘push and pull’… well… the conversation was actually about BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). I guess one of the symptoms of BPD, is that people with it push you away just to bring you back. This is usually done with equal passion. They wrap you in a glorious love and then unravel it on you just to wrap you up in it again. I don’t have BPD but I might be attracted to people who do. That ailment in itself should have an acronym. PATPWPP (People Attracted To People Who Push and Pull) or something like that.

After reading a bunch of colorful (read as insane) texts I’d received from someone that I’ve never met, a friend told me that I seek out drama. I don’t know if that’s totally accurate, I mean, I constantly brag about ‘Mary J’ing” my life. But, truth be told, I sometimes get interested in people and situations that are a little complicated. I entertain the nutty, the broken, off-kilter and otherwise lost among us but maybe that’s just because my life is actually very drama-free and…. essentially boring. Where else am I to get inspiration if not my own, then someone else’s life?

So, you know what? Bring on the BPD, the excessive facebook-likers, the crazy-text people, the ones who still have a personal myspace account and Mel, they are all so much more interesting than all of us lame and boring folks who sit at home and just write songs about them.

Spoke In Your Wheel: Before I get to the story, a caveat. This song uses the chord progression of G, C, D which is about as common as it gets, so, if it sounds like 500 other songs that’s why. I can’t quite recall which those songs are at the moment but feel free to email or comment me and let me know.

Last spring my dear and lovely friend Ashley, who resides in Nashville but was visiting me here in Toronto, was accompanying me on a motorbike ride. We made it not more than two blocks before my motorcycle starting spewing gasoline out its manifold or engine block or what have ya. Not wanting to spend anymore time riding a rolling molatov cocktail, we pulled over into the nearest alleyway and called for assistance.

While I was waiting for the tow, I decided to go locate my bicycle which was locked up somewhere in the area but I wasn’t sure where on account of the fact that I had rode it to the bar some nights earlier but then had forgotten about it after a number of bourbons.

I located said peddler and rode it back to the motorcycle. The tow-man was already loading it on to the truck. I hopped on my bike and Ashley rode in the tow the two blocks (they were long blocks) back to my house. Upon arrival and after unloading the motorbike we popped into my automobile and drove to our original intended destination.

Now, I had put my bicycle into the alleyway while unloading the motorcycle and completely forgot about it. In fact, I didn’t remember till a few days later when of course, it was long gone. I lamented the loss of my bike but figured it was my stupidity that lead to it’s disappearance so ces’t la vie.

Upon acceptance, a few days later, that my bike was gone forever, I decided to take a stroll to the local bike store and price a new one. As I turned the corner to walk, not even a few paces to the store, I saw a pair of handlebars and a bell sticking out from the side of a building. As I got closer I realized they both look awfully familiar. Lo and behold it was my bike, just sitting there, unlocked but a week after I had lost her.

After the initial shock wore off, I hoped on the bike and high-tailed it outta there. I went directly to the local blood bank and donated a few pints to pay back the forces at large that reunited me with my two-wheeled, human powered beauty.

That’s the story and all truth. Now, what does it have to do with the song? Well, nothing other than the fact that the song is kind of about a bike. Actually it’s not about a bike at all but I’ll let you figure that one out.

This song features some backups by Claire, Andrew and Milan. Thanks guys!

Social Suicide: I love my friends but sometimes, I don’t like them.

Indian Summer: It’s been two years since I left a 15 year relationship. I allowed myself 15 months of recovery. A month for every year. During that time I could make any mistake, experience anything I wanted to and it didn’t count. Meaning, that I’d not allow myself to regret anything. In theory it made sense. We need time to normalize after a relationship, especially long ones. A month per year is no steadfast rule but it’s what I went with.

During that time I experienced two short relationships and one longer one, the first person I’ve ever called a girlfriend. I learned a lot about relationships during that time. I’m no less confused about them though. We have this idea of soul-mates and that love is forever and so many of us are looking for a relationship as such. What is forever in our life? We’re not forever. Nothing around us that we can realize with our senses is forever. So why would a relationship be?

Can we enter a relationship knowing that there will be a middle and an end? Is that acceptable? Since it’s statically probable (super fucking sorry for the “Dr.” Phil link) that what ever relationship you’re in right now is going to end then wouldn’t you be better off going into the relationship knowing this? Wouldn’t it make the moments all the more precious? Of course it would but we don’t. We couldn’t. We continue to subscribe to the forever myth and then find excuses when it doesn’t last like “It wasn’t the one”. Well maybe it was and there will be another one.

Photo by Warren P. Sonoda

Morning is Broken: The first line of each verse is taken from Morning Has Broken. That’s about all it has in common with that song.

Lightning Rod. Sometimes when I write a song I have no idea what the lyrics mean. I know that must sound idiotic but I imagine many artists experience the same phenomena. You can set out to create something or you can just create and see what comes out. In this case I had a muse. Different from the muse in “The Bakery”. I didn’t choose the muse in the bakery song, I just started going into the bakery and then found myself writing about her. This muse I specifically set out to write a song about. I even discussed it with her before I wrote the song. I had no idea what would be created.

So this is what I think “Lightning Rod” is about; I think it’s a love song sung for a pending apocalypse of some sort. The type of song that might have been appropriate for Harold Camping to have serenaded to his wife, Shirley, on May 20th. He would have looked like no less the idiot on the 21st but maybe he would have gotten laid and stopped with all this end of the universe nonsense (which he now says is going to happen on October 21st).

I don’t know if the end-of-days will happen in my life time… or ever. But if it does, I can only hope that with it comes Zombies.

The Bakery. So, it’s been a while since I’ve posted. Almost a year. I wanted to follow up the last song with something light but I just kept writing sad songs. I’m not sad so why am I writing sad songs? Who cares but, this is not a sad song. Here’s the story;

I go to a bakery on the weekend every once in a while. I get these maple butter tarts that I swear are better than Jesus’s own cookies, that is, if Jesus makes cookies [Edit - oh man, of course there are Jesus cookies they look pretty shitty though]. Anyway, there’s a girl that works there who’s very nice. She always has a big smile and asks me what I have planned for today. I sometimes think about making up something exciting, like “I’m going to base jump the CN Tower right after I sing to a bunch of dying kids at Sick Kids”  but my answers always seem to fall flat, like “Um…nothing”. It’s sweet that she asks though.

So one day after gorging myself on, not only a 9000 calorie butter tart but also an apple caramel tart, I picked up my guitar, sugar high in full effect, and wrote the chorus of this song. The idea was this; A boy likes a girl who works in a bakery. He keeps going in to see her but can’t get the nerve to talk to her so he keeps ordering baked goods. He finds himself not only love-sick but also overweight from ordering too many pastries.

I’m happy to report this is not based on a true story rather just inspired by a girl who works in a bakery and a love for a maple butter tart.

Here is the only picture I could find that would work with the story…. the guy’s not fat but the girl looks sweet so it’ll do.

Fiction I’ll Believe. I think I’m addicted to first times. I’m not talking about something remarkable like the first time running a 25k marathon or first time walking in space. I’m talking about the first time trying something that people do all the time or first did a long time ago. For example over the past five years I’ve experienced my first time drinking coffee. First time taking drugs. First time smoking pot. First time passing out drunk. First time waking up not knowing where I am. First time breaking up. First time asking someone out. First time dating. First time saying sorry. First time being unhappy. First time… well you get the idea. I wonder, though, will I run of out these first times?  What then?

This is the first time I’ve ever written a song quite like this.

Forest Fires. You know, we create our own shit. Even the bad stuff that happens to us, it’s how we deal with it that determines how bad it really is.

Sometimes things are not bad at all but we make them bad. Some of us are determined to sabotage the good things. Why? Is it childhood guilt instilled from our Mothers? That no one will ever be good enough for us? Or, from our Fathers that nothing we do will be good enough? Or is it just our own desire to create a situation of self-loating and suffering so we can be pitied?

Life is sometimes like a poker hand. It’s not all about what cards you’re dealt, it’s how you play them. Take for example how Tom Dwan, with a 7 2 off-suit (about as bad of a poker hand you can get) took a $650,000 pot from Sammy George, who had a pair of Aces and and a pair of 6s (that’s a good hand). During the play Tom even told Sammy what cards he had. Life might deal you a 7 2 off-suit, just play it well and there’s a chance you’ll do alright.

It could be always worse you know. You could be a baby without a brain or part of a human centipede (warning, both links contain stuff you can’t un-see, so click with caution.)

It’s Cooling Down To The Boiling Point It’s been a pretty stressful past two months. Actually it’s been a stressful handful of years. Frankly I’ve been stressed most of my life.  Business, family, rent, mortgage, car, friends, sex, love, the future, the past, my house plants (all dying a slow painful death), how long that brisket has been in the fridge and even nuclear fucking war stress me out. Every day I look in the mirror and see more grey hairs on my head. I dropped by a friend’s house the other day and I swear he’s gone 30% more grey than the last time I saw him only a month ago. He’s had a stressful few months.

There are many ways one can deal with stress. Yoga (tried and I generally suck at it), Eating (chocolate definitely lowers my stress level but it ups my guilt level), sex (well, when it’s not causing stress, which is pretty much all the time so to be safe let’s say masturbation instead of sex), Beating the fuck outta some asshole (I’m a lover wimp, not a fighter) and for good measure I’ll throw in smoking the herb (I usually have a supply on hand but tend to forget to light up).

Frankly, I have no right to complain about my life. In fact, I’d hazard to say I live off stress. Stress is what gets me up in the morning, it’s what gets me to work, it’s what drives me to succeed. Stress is the proverbial boot kick to my ass. Stress makes my blood move a little quicker than it would. Stress is a grey cloud that’s chasing me.

One day maybe I won’t have anymore stress. I’ll be living on a beach somewhere (can I be your neighbour Amanda?) and my only concern will be when the next breaking wave is gonna happen. But since I don’t yet know how to surf, I’ll keep going greyer, I’ll keep worrying, I’ll keep out-running the grey cloud  and I’ll keep cooling down to the boiling point.