This one goes out to every pretty girl I’ve crushed on and sung to.

Ahhh! Breathe deep, feel the sun and smell the rain. Here are just a few of the things I found after coming out of hibernation last week from what seemed like the longest, darkest, most bitter winter I can remember.

The storm’s howling away outside. Came up out of nowhere. Air around us went solid, palpable, whiting out everything.

White wine and a cobalt Chagall.
I find myself transfixed by the ache

Finale of proof that it is always dangerous to leave an artist alone in a room with a sharpie.

Some recent fun on a Sunday afternoon. Co-written with Blaine Loyd, recorded live.

Question: “Why are you hangin’ around the women’s dressing room, Brandon?”

All that anger and pain and tension wrapped up into one crystalizing moment, prepping you for what’s coming in behind it. That great steel beast called life, barreling down the tracks, headed right smack for you.

Slicked back like riverwater on moss,
my hair in slivers almost cauterized to scalp,
kept back in a newsie’s cap for picture day.

Continuation of proof that it is always dangerous to leave an artist alone in a room with a sharpie.

A new tack: Stripped down YouTube clips for TGST, straight from my living room.

113,000 tires were brought in to Mac’s Tire Recyclers on Elvis Presley Blvd. during the latest round of the city-sponsored recycling campaign. The effort has the dual benefits of cleaning up illegal tire dumps and putting cash in citizens’ pockets.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so very sorry. My people can be anything, do anything, fix anything. Anything…anything but death. Death is always the intractable thing.”

Atoms, with their inherent emptiness and refusal to be observed. There are no spinning solar systems of red, blue and black orbs. There is, maybe a green blur of subatomic uncertainty. Everything you know is filled with vast expanses of nothing.

Continuation of proof that it is always dangerous to leave an artist alone in a room with a sharpie.

A look at a two day fashion photo session from behind the camera.

When she stood there on the edge of the roof, gazing out over the twisting lights of the city basin, her willowy body barely hidden under a light blue medical gown, something in poor Karen just broke.

A slack tempo ragtime for the next time you find yourself ambling in an alleyway in the Crescent City.

Further proof that it is always dangerous to leave an artist alone in a room with a sharpie.

Had a bit of a nervous tick with my shutter finger this week.