The songs that I sing

Do they mean anything to the people I’m singing them to? People like you? (Plus ten cool points if you can name that tune without having to look it up.)

Anyway, for reals, y’all.. there are songs that I sing, after having written them. You should listen to them, is what you should do, and link to them maybe, and also maybe play them on your car stereo when you have other people in your car, but then lock all the doors and windows so there is no escape from the musical assault. Just a suggestion.

As a side note, there is an actual picture of me to go along with the actual music, and it got me to thinking (actually) that I might as well be a little more open with this blog thing. I’ve never posted a picture of myself or my apartment or my cat or my other cat before, largely due to a strange paranoia I feel about giving out information about myself. It’s the same paranoia that leads me to shred both birthday card envelopes (They show my name and address!) and cash receipts (Someone could go through my trash and learn my daily routine!). Is it healthy? Probably not, but it has also so far prevented even one crazy from shattering my personal space bubble and/or solar plexus. Whether that’s propter-hoc or just post-hoc, I don’t know, but it settles me.

Still, if I’m going to try to enter the entertainment arena — in practically any capacity, though music may be one of the most high-profile — I need to learn to provide a public persona. It doesn’t have to parallel my private persona; hell, it could be so far removed from my self (spacebar usage intended) so as to constitute an outright lie of sorts. I’m not very good at lying, though, since I eventually forget to keep up the charade and fall back to my natural, and decidedly idiosyncratic, manners and tendencies, so the idea of living as a fictional character, while attractive in a multiple-personality disorder kind of way, is ultimately inviable. The next best route, then, would be to exist in the public domain as an extension of myself. Not a caricature — that would require the same attentive self-awareness that we’ve already established I lack — but an incomplete picture that authenticates my humanity without compromising it. The industry is a machine, after all, and you’ll get chewed up by the cogs if you don’t keep yourself tethered to reality.

That said, it’s a long way off before any such thing would become a substantial issue, so I think I can (and in some sense, have to) present myself as more of an entire person than I have up to this point. I can write with a bit more candor, with a bit more willingness to claim an identity. So, here I go. This is me:

This is my apartment:

This is my cat:

This is my other cat:

Nice to meet you.

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