H.F.D.
Sunday, June 21st, 2009
“Have you ever seen a one-legged man trying to dance his way free?
If you’ve ever seen a one-legged man then you’ve seen me…”
- Bruce Springsteen
Download: Bruce Springsteen – The Wrestler from Working on a Dream
Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category
Where is Your Masterpiece?
Monday, June 1st, 2009
My friend Ryan Pink passed away last weekend. Without getting too much into detail, he was haunted by a life that never gave him much room to breathe. What came out of it was art that I admire to this very day and will admire for the rest of my life. I have revisited it with a bit more care, and I continue to find amazing beauty in the way Ryan takes jagged, rusty words and puts them together with duct tape to create these vivid scenes. Through both his poetry and his music, Ryan expressed himself like no one I had ever known and it always felt honest and fluid. Nothing was forced or saturated with influence. The only influence he knew was the life he lived and he translated that for anyone that cared to listen (or read). He trusted me with his music and I did what I could to promote his music through websites. Sometimes I fear I didn’t do enough.
What I can do for you now is share his words and his music with you. Below is the last poem he shared with us as well as his full album, “Hate Speech.”
There is so much talent and so much truth in this art. I hope these songs find you as they did with me.
Where is Your Masterpiece?
What he expected was something magical:
laughter and music and smoke and billiard balls,
banging into each other
like drunks with a purpose.
He expected conversation until the orange dawn
under the blue glow of the fading moon and those comfortable sighs
that bring those comfortable silences.
He said, “Tell my boy I could’ve done worse.”
He lived in an empty house,
’bout a mile up the road from purgatory.
A home too cluttered with ghosts and refuse
to walk a straight path to his bed,
in a room too quiet to lay his head
and find rest.
He said, “California… now that’s ’bout nine hours west of Bernallio County
and a few blocks from the concrete towers standing in my way.”
The rosy green mountains stood to the east
and the dry, dying river to The West was once mighty,
even grand,
before it shrank into mud. The sight of it made him tired.
The sight of it made him uncomfortable.
He said, “Spirits walk the riverbank, wishing they were lost.”
He understood the difference between medicine and medication
and found relief
in neither.
His father was a strong man – never a boy, never a son,
but always,
always,
he was joy…
just like she was.
He said, “Tell my boy I can be the same; I don’t need to be saved.”
When they asked him where it was, where he was going,
he had no answer. Vague, yes, but sincere, honest,
and headstrong,
eyes gazing away from the orange blister
of the rising sun.
He said, “You can’t raise a boy on shame.”
And so he grabbed his paint
and his brush
and waded the river,
before the sun could cross
and blind his sight.
“Beauty,” he said, “a true masterpiece, is the joy
that I am.”
And so he got to work.
- Ryan Pink
Sleep well my friend. I will miss you.
Full Download of Hate Speech
Ryan Pink – Just Like A Real Person
Ryan Pink – What’s So Great About Being Happy?
Ryan Pink – God at Gunpoint
Ryan Pink – Sadie Smiles The Same Way When She Tells The Truth
Ryan Pink – Something That Happened
Ryan Pink – Gasoline
Ryan Pink – Miller Was A Liar
Ryan Pink – We’ll See
Ryan Pink – Bash’s
Ryan Pink – As Modest as You Want to be
Ryan Pink – His Night
Ryan Pink – In The Middle of the Castle
Guitar Repair Woman
Sunday, May 10th, 2009
courtesy of steven robbins
Guitar Repair Woman
My mother told me,
“If you ever become a rock star
do not smash the guitar.
There are too many poor kids out there
who have nothin’
and they see that shit
when all they wanna do is play that thing.
Boy
you better let’m play.”
If she ever starts in on one of these lectures
your best bet is to pull up a chair, Chief,
‘cause Momma don’t deal in the abridged version.
She worries about me so much some days
it feels like I’m watching windshield wipers
on high speed
during a light sprinkle
and I gotta tell’er, “Ma,
yer makin’ me nervous.”
She was born to be laid back,
y’all, I swear,
but some of us were brought up in households
where Care Free
is a stick of gum,
and the only option for getting out
is to walk faster.
The woman
can run
in high heels
backwards
bursting my bubble,
while double-checking my homework,
rolling enough coins
to make sure that I have lunch money,
and preparing for a meeting at school
on her only day off
so she can tell Miss Goss the music teacher,
“If you ever touch my boy again, big lady,
I’ll bounce a hammer off yer skull.”
I remember her doing these things swiftly
and with a smile
in her discounted thrift store business suits
that she wore just bright and distinguished enough
to cover up 30 years of highway scars
truckin’ through her spine.
Some accidents
you don’t need to see, rubbernecker.
Keep movin’
‘cause she made it.
She’s alive
and she’s famous.
We can stretch Van Gogh paintings
from Kilgore, TX to Binghamton, NY
and you still won’t find the brilliant brush strokes
it takes to be a single mother
sacrificing the best part of her dreams
to raise a baby boy who – on most days –
she probably wants to strangle.
We disagree – a lot.
For instance, she still thinks it’s okay
to carry on a conversation
full throttle
at 7 a.m.
whereas I think…
Oh, wait, I’m sorry…
I don’t think at seven in the morning.
But we both agree that
Love
makes no mistakes.
So at night time,
when she’s winding down
and I’m still writing books about
how to get comfortable in this skin she gave me,
I see rock stars on stages
smashing guitars.
It’s then when I wanna find’m a comfortable chair,
get’m a snack,
and introduce them to Daylight:
This is my mother,
Tresa B. Olsen.
Runner of the tight shift.
Taker of the temperature.
Leaver of the light on.
Lover of the underdog.
Mover of the mountain.
Winner of the good life.
Keeper of the hope chest.
Guitar
Repair
Woman.
And I am her son,
Buddy Wakefield.
I play a tricked-out electric pen,
thanks to the makers of music and metaphor,
but I do my best to keep the words in check,
and I use a padded microphone
so I don’t hurt you,
because sometimes I smash things,
and I don’t ever wanna let’er down.
I Love You.
Buddy Wakefield – Guitar Repair Woman
(Happy Mothers Day)
happy birthday to me
Thursday, March 12th, 2009
Nothing today. I’m just taking it easy on my birthday.
Patton Oswalt – You Are Allowed 20 Birthday Parties
Oh, Monday
Monday, November 24th, 2008
When I was younger, I remember grown-ups telling me to be thankful for being young and innocent and to take advantage of that freedom. They would say that once you get out into the real world, things change. Your heroes are stripped of their armor and you see the world in a different light. I guess what I’m saying is that today I saw myself grow up a little…and I’ll leave it at that.
Rocky Votolato – Tinfoil Hats
