so warm in september

A different Fall. Redondo Beach, 2022.

(A poem set at my apartment in Houston in Fall of 2019, after May Swenson’s Four-Word Lines).

so warm in september

you’re there in front

of me counting the

stairs as we ascend

now, every day, thirty-

two, you told me

something i never would

have figured out by

myself, just like you

and i: soft brushes

in spaces we might

never have filled to

knowing with quiet moans

at our every parting

as brilliant morning floods

this bedroom with light

i wonder if you can

really see my eyes

when you close yours?

first conjure me from

the face out while

laying curled in your

long hair on our

flowered bed, a wall

of mirrors there making

you just half as present

as you are to

me, my love, every

place all of time—

now i never leave

without you, so i

am never alone since

i have known you

the walls of our

house hold me now

when you are gone

"Eudaimonia"

One of all possible human experiences: a rainbow over PCH.

Eudaimonia is a Greek word that can be translated in several ways.

It's often moved into English as something like happiness or welfare, and in its most generous iterations, it ends up as a phrase like the fullness of human experience.

So, that mix in mind, a short meandering movie ft. some friends, a snippet of Pablo Neruda’s “El Mar,” some acoustic licking, bikes, all the colors, the ocean, and my girl—the usual glories.

A vision and a hope; balance caught in forward motion: Eduaimonia.

A short movie ft. some friends, a snippet of Pablo Neruda’s “El Mar”, some acoustic licking, bikes, all the colors, the ocean, and my girl. The usual glories.

"Mango" - Live

Part of the Who Wants To Listen To A Draft? series, Scott came to town and we recorded everything we know.

This is a new one, once off live with a bunch of friends in the room. Live is fun because it's way off gold — the best part is the babble on either end: “Mango”.

Scott eating a mango in the wild.

I know you like cool links.

A wall at big wave bay near Hong Kong, upon which is spray painted the phrase, "surfing is for everybody; spread the stoke"

Since we’re posting radical things, here's a picture of a wall outside Big Wave Bay near Hong Kong. As I was suiting up, I took this photo. Spread the stoke, dudes.

Check it out, folks: I'm starting an email letter called, Slide & Mix.

In an attempt to dig me out from underneath a mountain, snow pile, haystack of information and ideas that I don't know what to do with, I'm going to send them to you.

The email will be something like a light version of this blog: some music from me and the crew, maybe a poem or two, links to the best things I've read in a while, and a banger of a playlist. If you have any interest in any of the things on this page, this newsletter is for you.

As a sampler, check out this week’s playlist, courtesy of Müj and yours truly: … but you're the only fan I care about

Idea: I hope to integrate interviews/ conversations in the near future, too, so if you feel like having a cool conversation and want other people to participate in it/observe that thing doing its thing, let me know.

In the interim, subscribe using the form now permanently on the side of this page and here. Maybe you'll dig.

“The Thickness” ft. Greyson

Here's another lightly polished vault selection, “The Thickness”.

This track feels like my first real foray into production, like a real one with Garageband, and even though it's not a shooting star, it feels like a first. It's also a collaboration: my voice and some drums, WP again on guitar, and a producer I used to know in Houston named Greyson on this particular mix.

A little bounce from circa 2017 for your Thursday morning.

Thiccness of a different style here. Captured on a hike on Maui.

The Vault

I've been trying to make a point lately of going back into the vault of my hard drive and listening to all the half-mixed, incomplete recordings I’ve made over the years.

It's an ongoing project and I'm not 100% sure what I'm hoping for, but I've been doing some light polishing and my plan is to post as many of them as I can. It's a rough-cut gem kind of scene in there but as Robert Glasper says, “don’t talk about the lab if nothing ever leaves”.

Here's this morning’s shiny one, “Beer Run”, recorded by Mr. Will Post in the closet of an apartment he and I used to share on August 16, 2016.

An open mic shot of the two of us, from around that time.