'Love Sorrow' by Mary Oliver

Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must take care of what has been given. Brush her hair, help her into her little coat, hold her hand, especially when crossing a street. For, think, what if you should lose her? Then you would be sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness would be yours. Take care, touch her forehead that she feel herself not so utterly alone. And smile, that she does not altogether forget the world before the lesson. Have patience in abundance. And do not ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment by herself, which is to say, possibly, again, abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult, sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child. And amazing things can happen. And you may see, as the two of you go walking together in the morning light, how little by little she relaxes; she looks about her; she begins to grow.

-Mary Oliver

with the intoxicating love of things whirling about in the air: ideas, projects, art, music, creativity manifest;
with love,
Anthony

Mexican-American Bleecker Street Jazz Club, 2012

the smoke moves slowly, cigarette in her mouth, pilfering pink health from my lungs, hazy, circling, first around my lips then floating abstractedly up around my forehead and then off in the direction of the bar. everything is mahogany. the club is mahogany. the bar is mahogany.  the bar is split in the middle. a space for the server to enter and exit.  the jazz trio is straight down the barrel of the club at the opposite end, tucked into a corner, be-bopin' along, with amps and wires and such, all bunched up.  sweet stand-up bass lines become the central force of the sound in my ears. i'm listening to the phat plucking of that sweet bass. in the background the drummer scrapes the snare with a brush and the electric guitarist/occasional vocalist is popping one dimensional guitar notes floating along the bass man's river. i'm in the boat, too.  there's no room in the club. we're all stacked in, sitting at tables scrunched together, maybe 50 of us, sitting along the wall of the long, skinny club, just enough room for the black woman with blond curls to snake down the line, taking drink orders. I want a Jameson, I want a whiskey on the rocks, she's going to bring it to me after she asks about 25 other people what they want and then asks the white boy bartender with a hipster fedora and a black button down to make all the drinks, then stacks the drinks on her round, mahogany colored plastic tray with the cork bottom for placing the drinks, then delivers everyone else's drinks, then puts down a napkin, then places my Jameson on the napkin.  she's attractive this woman bringing me a Jameson.  she's got a cute snap to her, slight of build, with strong, light arms, nicely defined.

the woman i'm with is another story.  she's a mess, but i'm in love with her too. fuck, i'm in love with all of them.  cassandra, my date for the evening, struggles to remain focused on the music.  actually, she fails. there is no struggle. she fidgets, she moves in her chair, she's making eyes (like creating them anew) with this african-american man wearing a "kiss me, i'm irish" shirt, black with with white letters, and an irish old guy hat--you know, the kind that are flat and snap in front.  this guy's sitting behind us, and cassandra, my white cleopatra, is communicating nonviolently and without speech in a manner that oozes fuck me messages with this very handsome man. he's old enough to know better than to be sharing eyes with another man's date.  he's probably 38 and doesn't give a shit about me, doesn't give a shit that cassandra is 19. fuck, i'm only 24.  i don't know how to handle this woman. a contemporary jazz club on Bleecker Street sounded like the right way to go after a day chalk full of fucking.  but i'm Mexican-American, from California for Christ's sake, and these east coast love affairs still don't make any sense to me.

when i'm home alone, in my apartment in Brooklyn, i'm listening to this chic i saw perform at an open mic the other night.  i downloaded her ep on iTunes.  i'm listening to one of her simple, beautiful love songs.

"it seems these days the best of ways to love someone is to flat out say you have my heart for now and always"

if you let the love loose, it will grow and find the fecund fortunes, and let the people blessed with the love be free. that's all we want, right? my chicano family members would start talking about Cesar Chavez y Si Se Puede! and all that bullshit, but I went to Brown and now I'm at NYU.  What the FUCK does Cesar Chavez have to do with me? Everything, I know.  But still. it's a stretch, especially at this bar with cassandra and her white girl ticks and all the bullshit sad eyes makeup.  you're not sad cassandra, you're white. with your white stretchy shirt looping dangerously around your breasts. it's too much. put on a fucking hoodie, cause you sure as hell ain't gonna get shot.  that black dude might buy you a shot, but that's altogether different.

no quiero ser un otro.  quiero ser lo todo.

hey-Suess! i should really introduce myself if i'm going to be complaining to you about my love problems.  I don't even speak spanish. I mean i speak spanish, but not really.  My name is Henry, Enrique to my parents, but Henry to cassandra and her drama (queen) friends at the new school.  she's an actress. that's original. i know, but we all want that too. don't we.

with love in imperfection,
Anthony

hodgepodge

It was Sunday, around noon.  I was practicing for the open mic I was going play at around 4pm, and this happened:




Then I went to open mic at Sweet Inspiration Bakery in SF and played these three songs:

Caught That Fish

Lindsay

Zorbing (Stornoway cover)


And then Corch sent me this:

Soul


And then my sister made this (she's teaching herself how to sew and make cute clothes):

And then my cousin Danny Wolohan sent around this video. Danny was interviewed about doing Cymbeline at Portland Center Stage. He was not clear about the purpose of the interview.

http://vimeo.com/38053730


And then my baby is having a St. Patrick's day themed Free Scone Event at her store, Park and Pond, which got picked up by a local, well-known blog:

http://sf.funcheap.com/free-green-irishy-homemade-scone-day-park-pond/


And then...

naw, just more love,
Anthony

therapy

Therapy is much maligned in our culture.  It is misunderstood.  It is thought of as treatment for the insane and the weak.  But for me, therapy has been an extremely positive force.  It has made me stronger.  It has helped me manage challenging anxiety, depression and panic attacks.  Therapy has played a major role in making me a happier person, a person now capable of sustaining a relationship with a woman I love, the kind of relationship I always hoped I could have.  Therapy has made me a better basketball player.  It has allowed me to be more creative.  It has helped me become more empathetic, less concerned with the fallibility of others.  I can love more openly, more fully because of therapy.  I still have a long way to go to be the person I truly want to be, but therapy has helped me move a long way towards that place.

I've been in therapy for 14 years.  I've worked with four different therapists over that time.  Today, I see two therapists, each one once a week.  Therapy has given me the opportunity to be open and honest with myself.  I've been fortunate to work with wonderful therapists. I am grateful for their guidance, insight, honesty and support.

Many people believe they could probably benefit from therapy, but they are scared or unsure or outright opposed to the idea.  People often fear finding and working with a bad therapist, a quack.  To this I say, trust your gut.  Make several phone calls.  Talk to the therapists on the phone.  If you feel like a person is weird or just wouldn't be a good fit, don't make an appointment.  If you feel an immediate bond or connection, even if you can't explain why, go with it.  If you make an appointment and then don't feel comfortable, don't go back.  It's amazing how much control you have over therapy.  You chose your therapist, every week.  You never have to sign a contract, you never have to commit to more than one session.  If the person sucks, just walk away.

Therapy can be expensive.  It is often thought of as a treatment for the wealthy and well-to-do.  And there is definitely some truth in this.  For some, therapy is thought of as luxury they simply can't afford.  But there are many clinics and therapists that offer services on a sliding scale, and some organizations that offer therapy for lower-income clients, sometimes free.  If you feel like you could benefit from therapy, see what's out there, see what's available.  If you are fortunate enough to have health insurance, your plan may cover some percentage of the cost of therapy.  I don't want to gloss over the economics of therapy.  It can suck.  And many established therapists these days do not accept patients with health insurance.  The system is fucked up in many ways.  But there are still solutions.

Many people believe that therapy is only for white people.  But there are so many diverse therapists working today, especially in the Bay Area.  I believe the face of therapy is changing.  Communities of color now have opportunities to work with therapists who look like them.  I don't believe therapy is only for white people.  It is a fact that historically therapy and psychiatry have been dominated by whites, but that is changing.  There is still a long way to go.  But if you are Latino, Asian or Black or you identify in some way outside the white mainstream and you are interested in therapy, there may be a therapist out there for you.  I, of course, don't know. But again, trust your gut.  If it doesn't feel right, don't do it.

People are often times afraid of what's inside them.  Therapy can help you find out what's inside you, what it is you really want, how to set goals, how to go about achieving them.  Therapy can help you build courage to face what's inside you and what's in front of you.  Therapy can be amazingly helpful in getting you out of a rut.  I feel like this may be the best reason to start therapy.  Start with one thing that you are stuck with.  It could be a relationship or work or anything.  It can be helpful to start with this one thing.  Use it as a jumping off point, and see what happens.

By no means is therapy the only answer.  For me, therapy is one part of the effort to feel better.  For me, it is a big part.  But for you, it may not make sense.  It may not fit with your world view and what you believe in, and that's totally cool.  But if you are wondering, questioning, therapy might be a resource for you.  It has been a wonderful resource for me.

with love,
Anthony

November Rain

work

It seems as if the world is conspiring against me. I am angry, frustrated, tired, and incredibly sad. Feeling rage. I don’t know why. I know work has been difficult and time-consuming. I’ve put in a lot of energy to make things right, to make things work, to make things go well. And things have gone well. But I still feel something akin to rage. I feel rage. It’s in my stomach, in the shape of a molecule, a molecule that is twisted and rendered tight, tied in a knot. I’m listening to Bon Iver sing, “At once I knew, I was not magnificent.” Maybe that’s part of the problem. You work so fucking hard, and you’re not magnificent. Nobody really gives a shit. As long as you don’t create a catastrophe, people are ok with you. And they carry on, without saying shit to you. Maybe that’s the world we live in.

In art, I am magnificent, I am beautiful, I am capable of genius. At work I am none of those things, at least I haven’t been notified yet by any colleagues that this is the case. Maybe I’m part of a generation that needs to be patted on the back just for showing up. But I work hard. I put my heart on the line. I put my soul into the work. I am compensated fairly.

But this song is more beautiful than any of that stuff. I feel like I shouldn’t care about that bullshit. Here’s to you Bon Iver. A toast. A glass of champagne. A little start to a big evening of dancing and revelry. You, too, Bon iVer, you too are beautiful. “Christmas night, clutched the light, the hollow bright.” You, too, are magnificent. You, too, are beautiful. Like my sister and my family and my bride to be. The love I feel is beautiful and magnificent.

Any day now.  I shall be released.

with nothing (not in a bad way),
Anthony

Ladies and Gentleman, Nina Simone

quotation

"It's difficult to believe in yourself because the idea of the self is an artificial construction.  You are, in fact, part of the glorious oneness of the universe.  Everything beautiful in the world is within you. No one really feels self-confident deep down because it's an artificial idea.  Really, people aren't that worried about what you're doing or what you're saying, so you can drift around the world relatively anonymously: you must not feel persecuted and examined.  Liberate yourself from the idea that people are watching you."
- Russell Brand

with love and italics mine,
Anthony