I can tell you why I am not good at photography anymore.

             When I first dragged my mom’s old camera off the top shelf of the spare bedroom closet, I was more depressed than I had ever been in my 17 years on the face of the earth.  I had been making up excuses to borrow the school newspaper’s digital camera over weekends, and was starting to understand the basic principles of shooting, so when I found the that old Pentax, a collapsible set of mirrors neatly packed inside a metal frame, I knew I needed it.                                    Every inch of the leather-wrapped casing felt right, and created friction to settle my unsteady hands.  I was destined to accept familial tremors, but was determined not shudder my art.  It was the slow start that I needed.  As the adolescent world that I lived in became increasingly disillusioned from that of my parents’, it was comforting to know that as I failed here, it was just as my mother had failed too. 
              I soon found a similar camera, 10 years older than the first, purchased at boot camp on the heels of the Vietnam War by my father; and for the first time, I knew his failures were my own.  
              It didn’t take words for me to realize that in 60 years of existence his heart had maybe just once been broken; it only took pictures.  It didn’t take dramatized dinner conversation for me to understand that my mother once sacrificed the things she loved in order to go to college and find a sustainable job; it only took pictures.  And when I found myself at the most critical point in my life, a sobbing heap of a 17 year old child, I only took pictures.  
               Every week I would buy a new life at CVS, and with 24 chances to get it right my confidence finally increased.  I had spent so much time worrying if I was doing the right things, making the right choices, executing everything precisely that I hadn’t stopped to appreciate all of the little frames in between waking up and going to bed.  Some moments were just 1/30th of a second, and on sunnier days, others were just 1/1000th.  I went where the viewfinder took me.                                
                 It wouldn’t be years until I realized that I was so desperately looking for something inside of myself that I might have tried to capture it in a still breathing second.  It wouldn’t be years until my talent dried up, and my depression with it.  But after all that time, I can finally say that I’ve built a nest. It isn’t made of glossy impressions or pixelated junctures, because I know that existence happens outside of two dimensional worlds.   

a rough draft of a mix of a cover of a song.

Fourth of July

End of June & Beginning of July 2013

so the last week in June Ashly stayed over from Sunday into Monday, then on Tuesday Dani and I met her at Bantam beach then on Wednesday I ordered some shit from Redco and went with Dani to IKEA to get her new bedroom furniture.  I made four cables for Standby and three for myself with the Redco stuff.  I worked thursday/friday and went directly to Torrington after work.  On saturday night we went to Ashly’s friend Anna’s graduation party.  I left to get back home for the fireworks which was like a dumb time with my parents but whatever.  On Sunday I went to Phil’s and played an original jazz composition of Garrett’s and played piano on it.  Later we went to dinner at a diner with tami&jason, and when I got back to Danbury I went back to phil’s to continue playing music.  We layed down the head of Au Private with Phil playing bass in four and I playing drums in 3 - which fits the melody.  

I worked Monday/Wed/Friday of the next week but on tuesday I taught myself how to use Reaper and Reasons vocoders as well as Reaper’s MIDI.  On wednesday night i met jack at his house and we drove to terrywile and watched the mall fireworks from the rock ledge by the upper parking lot.  We then got in Jack’s car and got slammed by traffic on our way to Rishi’s house - but we listened to Led Zeppelin II, and when we got there we met up with chris mihaly.  Jack and i did my favorite prank of changing drawers and flipping posters upsidown in Rishi’s bedroom.  We played Just Dance Four and actually had a good time, everyon eat the party was very cool.  

On thursday I slept for about nine hours, woke up, red some Up in the Air in the sun and then went to Tami’s for a while.  After I got home I went to greg’s and hung for a bit, talked to Dan Berry about some MPT stuff, and played some tunes as the sun set.  We got pretty heavy and played some Stevie and some Hendrix and Zeppelin tunes, which were fun to throw in the mix.  I talked with the adults for a bit and then headed home.

A Songella

Polar Bear Soul Part II


When I was two years old, raised in day-care, hated home.
I was making friends with the kids in the trailer park across the street.

By the time I got to ten I already knew I wanted to go back again
the biggest fool around, stuck in 2003, I hope I can remember me



treated like your common reminiscent fool,
may your future be bright

And all the days, spent wasted, thinking about past escapedes,
just try and make it through the night



at the ripe old age of thirteen with my braces in and my skinny jeans,
I had my first real kiss with a girl from down street;
I told her that I loved her; I thought I’d been.


by the time I got to highschool I was so damn sad with so much to prove
15years of this; how could there be more?  Should I go out or just lay on the floor?


treated like a fool at 17,
may your future be bright
all the days spent wasted afraid of making memories
I think about them every night

(Source: jonbearr)