More Light!

Ahhh! Finally here--December 21. More light from here on out.

There's something big in me dying off this year (you know your old stuff dies off in the winter, right?). I'm not sure what it is yet but I'm paying a lot of attention. I don't want to have to do any of this again.

For me, winter (especially Nov.) is like the Sunday night of the year. Where you have to recap everything that's happened all year and turn and face what's next. Not always fun, especially if you haven't done the work to make what's coming next (Monday morning) a joy, but always valuable.

For the first time in my life, I'm really looking forward to Monday morning. They don't feel like they used to. When I dreaded them. Now I know I don't have to leave myself to make money, be happy, have a relationship, be a good son, etc. I don't have to leave myself, period. I've learned that broke and hungry and alone, now I get to experience it rich and full and in love. No small feat, but exactly what I want. Happier than a monk in the real world. (WIth a better haircut, too--if I can reference T-LA).

And there's enough time. Time. Time Time. That's all I've ever really wanted. I haven't really told many people this but in the far back reaches of my mind, I've always wanted to be a master of time and space. To master time and space. To feel like I want to and know I can feel wherever and whenever I want. To be permanently home. Funny that I've gone without a home for much of the period where I've learned this. Sorta like Malcom finding god--freedom--in prison. A lot of times it takes the exact opposite of what you want for you to demand what you want. (If you're homeless, or in dire straights, take note. you are closer than ever to exactly what you want. I promise. You still have to go get it, but you're closer than when you were just walking around unconscious).

I've also been re-thinking White Gold. I don't know if I'll do the whole design side of things. My priorities are enjoying myself, music, relationships, my family, having time to grow and learn, and spending time with friends. There should be plenty of money from the book, the album, the movie and the paintings to keep me flush. I'd like to do a magazine, a clothing line, cars, etc., but trying to control products is a serious drag. As all designers know. The wonderful thing about art is that it can be more valuable a little rough around the edges. Not so a pair of pants. Starry Night has parts where you can see bare canvas. And what's up with that wierd shaped tree?

Especially in today's homoginized economy, a little relaxation should be worth many times more if you've got the balls to ask for it.

As for those who spend even more time and stress trying to make things look rough the "right" way, trying to be cool (as I did for years as a graphic designer), well, you may just have to forgo the feelings you want this time around. I can tell the difference.

What I want is: to go to the gym three days a week for 2 hours. To make most of my own food. To eat at home with my wife and kids. Sit down dinners. Hot food. To spend 2 hours an evening/night in bed with the woman I love. Playing, relaxing, loving. To be there for my kids. To see the games and scraped knees. To play music with and for them. To raise a family in love and watch that change the world. To have the time it takes to learn from what we know, and make music and paintings that reflect that. (And movies).

What I don't give a shit about: cocktail parties, bars, drinking, social ambition, being seen, networking, knowing more people more superficially, trying to escape myself.

I've been watching the classics on TV the past week or so. The Sound of Music and The Wizard of Oz. I'd never watched the whole SOM before, thinking it trite and corny. It's actually really good. Every song (but one) a hit. Pretty amazing. My favorite is My Favorite Things. Just a beautiful song. If for whatever reason you can't feel it from Julie Andrews, check out the title track on John Coltrane's album of the same name. Unbelievable. One of the best pieces of recorded music ever for my money. And then go back to Julie 's version and ask yourself if you allowed yourself to feel it from a white woman like you did a black man. (I didn't). My friend Riz once said that the most hated on racial group was white women. He said no one would dare kill off, rape, and maim black women in movies like the do white women. I don't know if he's right, but it's an interesting perspective.

I'm mastering the songs I have done for some Christmas presents (don't tell). I still have a few presents to buy but am pretty well done. Looking forward to seeing all the family. I've got an e-mail off to Barneys book buyer and am praying she can feel me. Whether or not anyone ever buys a single copy of The Love Artist for $120, premium mass culture is the future. That I guarantee. It may happen today, it may happen in five years. But it's coming. And it's going to be bigger than video iPods, King Kongt and video games combined. Enormo! So get ready to buy what you really want. And make what you really, really want. Cause bullshit won't pay for much longer. And anything else will just be a job. Hell, if you start now, you can own significant waterfront real estate. Do it because it's what you want, and because you'll be twelve times as happy, and be able to feel your wife (husband) and kids, and yourself; not because it'll pay, but do it baby. The sex is much, much, much better as well.

Sooner or later people with money (that's us!) will have to admit they're spiritually bankrupt and sooner or later those with soul (that's us, too)! will have to admit that they want to pursue beauty, health, the truth and love. And that that costs more than factories fearfully cranking out pre-ripped jeans (you really wear acid-wash?), coffee and smokes, and fucking.

True love's gonna pay my friends. And it's gonna pay big!

Once they figure this out, they'd be stupid not to read the book. (Da Love Artiste, yo!) It'll save them thousands in time and New Age dead ends. And get them the feelings of love, and the blowjobs, that they've always dreamed of, years and years quicker. $120, $220, $440—if money doesn't matter than it doesn't matter either way, yo! Call me a sell out (and a few of you have recently--way to keep me honest!), tell me my priorities are messed up, ignore me and refuse to write comments, mutter "what an arrogant fuck" while you secretly tune in (yawn)—do anything you want and I'll applaud it, that's the whole deal!—but write a better book and I'll buy a copy for whatever you have the guts to put on the cover!

Lovs of love, and Marry Christmas!