Marah & My Midwest Memory of the East

I'm broke. Broker than I've ever been broke. Without the help of my friends, I'd be fucked. But I am slowly fixing it. And dreaming extra big for the end of this suffocating journey.

Seriously, hatred for one's job can lead to a reckless denial (I'm not talking about lines of gold laced coke off of a Puerto Rican hooker or anything, just too many expensive trips, camera lenses and meals out.) But I don't hate my job any more. Cause I got a new one. The Department Store can kiss my ass-as-big-as-a-muthafucka goodbye.

As I was walking down University Ave after my new job last Wednesday, enjoying the sunlight and looking forward to a night of home cooked meals, awesomely shitty television and editing photos, I thought about how great it would be if I were in a position to be financial free. At that moment, I would get a scoop of sorbet from the Crema Cafe and sit in their quaint Italian garden that overlooks Lyndale. But I need real food and the occasional cup of coffee (I've stopped drinking lattes cause they are just too expensive). I have seven dollars to get me through the week. I've got seven dollars to my name.

OH MY GOD

I just stopped dead in my tracks and mouthed the phrase "oh my god."

SEVEN DOLLARS TO MY NAME

That one phrase sparked the memory of song to me, my Marah song.
Smiling, I started singing softly to myself and moved forward again.

Got seven dollars to my name
Got sixteen cigarettes somehow I just ain't smoked yet
Got two shoelaces and two shoes
I should toss ‘em on the telephone wire as a monument to my blues

I'm goin' down to get a coffee
Gonna mean one less buck
Maybe six will bring me luck
Got a little shake I kept in the fridge
Gonna drink my bean and walk out smoking on the Walt Whitman Bridge

Faraway from these winter streets
On a cloudless day
Your memory
Blows away

Got a leather wallet on a chain
Got a picture of my lover's lips before they dried up under my kiss
A prayer in my heart I'm too scared to recite
Oughtta toss that stale loaf of words to the birds as a monument to my whole life.

I felt the connection in my gut. For that moment, for that seven seconds maybe, Marah made okay. I was so good.















For the rest of my Marah rock 'n roll weekend in Philly & NYC(and the peaceful times on the city streets & Coney Island), press here.