Finally finished !!!
A few years back, I witnessed a mass squid suicide in Tofino, BC, and as I stood standing over one of the poor creatures taking its last breaths, I was inspired to write this song. It’s about a squid romance… I was imagining a promise between a girl and a squid to come and find each other… Surely no good could come of such a coupling, but I sure liked the idea. It took me a long while to get this song recorded, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out… (It will be on my new album, and I was lucky enough to have my friend Skip Heller play some of his fancy guitar on it).

Forbidden Underwater Romance (the Squid Song)
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I will come for you if you don’t come for me
Yes, I will come for you, if you don’t come for me

I’ll wait for you out in the sea, I’m gonna come for you if you don’t come for me,
and then I’ll wash up on the shore and break your heart

And I’ve got two arms to hold you with, eight more to tear your flesh, three hearts that beat for you, and blood as blue as death

I’ll wait for you out in the sea, I’m gonna come for you if you don’t come for me, and then I’ll wash up on the shore and break your heart.

I will come for you if you don’t come for me
Yes, I will come for you, if you don’t come for me

I’ll wait for you beside the sea, I’m gonna come for you if you don’t come for me,
and then I’ll wash up on the shore and break your heart

And I’ve got two arms to hold you with, two lips to steal your breath, one heart that beats for you, and blood as red as death

I’ll wait for you beside the sea, I’m gonna come for you if you don’t come for me, and then I’ll wash up on the shore and break your heart…

And then he washed up on the shore and broke my heart

Something just dawned on me… It seems that over the past few years, I’ve been constructing an adult version of my childhood vision of life, without being terribly aware that’s what was happening. Actually, what brought me to this whole realization was laying on my (newish) white shag area rug, singing, feeling all of a sudden like there was no such thing as time. I feel like I’ve gone back to a place I maybe never left. My home doesn’t look like my home did when I grew up, but some meaningful elements have appeared…

When I was little, I never wanted riches, marriages, nor children. (Not that I am opposed to those things for others). What I cared about was music, drawing, and animals. I would lay on the living room floor, (we had white shag carpet), where I’d play records, and sing Dolly Parton songs when no one was listening, wishing I was brave enough not to care who could hear. (I would also stuff my shirt with bunched up face clothes, and drape a golden colored tea towel over my head as a wig while I sang, though saying so always feels like a slight over-share). I don’t have blonde hair, nor do I own a wig, but I have my own boobs, and now I go on stage to sing, because I always knew it would be so much fun. When I close my eyes, I’m back on the white shag carpet of my youth, and it no longer matters who can hear…

My mother might say this ‘accidental reconstruction’ of my childhood is what she means when she says I have ‘arrested development’, (although she might have other illustrations to prove her point). Either way, I figure some things are so innately important to a person, (like blue bedrooms, art, and old country music), that they always will be, but sometimes we get caught up in careers, family obligations (or perceived obligations), and life in general. Sometimes we let the opinions and ideas of how other people believe we should live constrict us. Sometimes, we just lose our way… I’ve started my rebuilding at ground zero, it seems.

I always wanted a ‘magical dog’ as my closest companion. I had a stack of cards from National Geographic called ‘Dogs of the World’. I took out the long haired chihuahua card and tucked it into my scrap book, knowing that one day such a creature would find its way into my life. I wasn’t allowed to have a dog, so I’d pray for one of my teddy bears to come to life. One who would want to come everywhere with me and do all the things I loved to do. Frances is all those things. (And more).

I also always loved things that were a hundred years old, (because it seemed so wondrous to me, as a child, that things could stay in the world for that long). I loved finding deceased creatures, and putting them in boxes or jars filled with flowers, making sure they were comfortable in their final resting place. I’d admire their stillness, and contemplate their lives. Now I have a collection of creatures from over a hundred years ago, each one, a life not forgotten. I wanted a hair salon of my own (like my mom’s neat-O cousin had), and I wanted a bubble in the world that I could call my very own; A place to make art and have music, and holy shit! I suddenly recognize that it’s all here in front of me! Nothing’s changed, yet everything has changed. All the things that were ever important are still here, and here again. (Even the white shag carpet)! Life is pretty swell.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve made a lot of changes in my life, some of them very difficult, and some of them very sad, but I never quite felt like I was on the right path, so I found my way back to myself. (As cheesy as that sounds, and I know it sounds pretty cheesy). Leaving a LOT of things behind that were very comfortable, I don’t feel very anchored, secure, or safe, but I feel free, and suddenly happier I than I ever knew a person could be. I try to do all the things I ever wanted to, especially the things that scare me the most. (I made a conscious effort and decision to do that on my 35th birthday after hearing of a man who became wheelchair bound, bitter and hateful for all the things he’d never get the chance to do). I’ve probably mentioned that before, but it’s funny how the words and experiences of a stranger can change your life. Best thing we can do is share our thoughts, experiences and ideas of what makes our existences better, or even worse. (My mother told me that, and she’s terribly smart). For some, the words we say will ring true, for others, they might look at us and say, ‘Whatever, nut-job.’ But, either way, I’m writing this all down, (because I feel like it)… And, tomorrow, I may wake up with my fingers fused together, or my hands and arms may be replaced with wings… (I’ve seen Black Swan).

If you’ve gotten off your path to joy, no matter how painful, I say, clear out the fuckery, and get the hell back on the road to Happy Town, because it’s so worthwhile !! And the beauty of the path to yourself is that no one else knows the way, so you don’t need to wait for anything, or anyone to take you there, nor do you need anyone to come with you. (Not that you can’t bring a friend to Happy Town, I’m just saying you don’t need to)! There are no signs to say you’ve arrived, you’ll just suddenly know you’re there. Who knows, you might even be lucky enough to feel it ahead of time, and be able to sit back, look out the windows, and sigh…

PS. In Happy Town, sometimes you get to have apple slices dipped in Nutella for dinner. Just thought I’d mention that…

Happy Monday, everybody!