Junk to Someone...

Treasures to me.

Everyone gets attached to things, and I'm no different. Honestly, I might even take it a little farther than necessary sometimes. I tend to collect random little trinkets and keepsakes to commemorate places and times in life, often wondering some days if I might blur the boundaries between sentimental sap and shameless hoarder if I didn't have someone to keep my in line.

Aside from stuffing the pockets of my brain with commemorative snapshots of what amount to seemingly ambiguous memories for most people, I have piles of physical novelties that can take me back to nostalgic places and wistful times past in an instant.

It may be borderline uncool to admit that I also love antiques, and/or just plain "old" things. Some might disagree scientifically with the hippy-dippy metaphysical notion that physical objects have the ability to retain certain "energies" that they have been exposed to, but I'm really not so sure. The only thing that I can say with certainty is that I find myself drawn to and inspired by objects that have a history of some sort. Whether it's a marvel of this dimension that we don't yet fully understand or just a placebo effect brought on by my own fragile psyche, I have to admit that I just feel inspired by random things sometimes.

So with that in mind, I'll get to the meat of this blog. Inspiration. More specifically, a few things that I own that seem to inspire me on a regular basis. Some are reasonably new objects with sentimental meanings, some are much older than I am. But either way, these are some of the things lately that seem to add the extra spark needed to ignite my passion whenever it feels a little stagnant.


I have a thing for old-timey anchors. Specifically, I associate the essence and symbology of an anchor with what music means to me on a fundamental level. It grounds me, and it keeps me feeling stable in a world that sometimes seems anything but. Always has. So this hangs on the wall in my studio over the monitors, and I find myself glancing at it often. My cerebral state tends to get a bit frantic (ie: psycho) during the writing and recording process, and I've found that focusing on this symbol is a great way to redirect my energy when I start feeling overwhelmed by an onslaught of random ideas and whimsical musical thoughts.

Harmony Guitar:

This guitar belonged to my great uncle, then my father, and now me. Harmony instruments were originally the off-brand musical instruments of Sears & Roebucks back in the day. They were never known as great quality guitars, although their electrics have made a little bit of a resurgence in recent years thanks to retro/garage/blues rockers like Jack White from the White Stripes and Dan Auerbach from the Black Keys. This guitar was no doubt a folk and hymn-playing machine back in its day, and I love thinking about all the countless hours of play that caused the significant fret-wear on it. It's in pretty rough shape by most standards, but I still pick it up from time to time to see if I can squeeze a little leftover magic out of it.


This is a ridiculously kickass painting done by Sherry Arthur, and I'm a big fan of her artwork. After having it for a while now, I still find myself stopping to look at it as I walk past. It's a mixed-media piece, so it has old book pages underneath for me to peruse if I look close enough. Not only is she a great artist, but I've found since buying this painting that Sherry is apparently a great person as well. That makes her art mean more to me as an independent artist, as I'm not even remotely a nice guy and I hope to learn how she manages to pull it off.


This old trunk belonged to my great grandfather around the turn of the century. Last century, that is. Man, did they know how to make shit back in the day or what? I know for sure that it survived a lot of weather and a few cross-country trips around World War One, and lord knows what else (I'm not sure how old it actually is). Much like myself, it only gets more attractive with age.   I don't know what it is about this thing, I just want to sit and stare at it. I know that every dent and every scratch has it's own story, and I find inspiration in the way it seems to constantly and stoically suggest to me that I don't know squat about hardship and I certainly don't know dick about life.

Little Green Flashy Dude:

This was a random Christmas gift from my special lady friend last year, and it makes no sense. It's a little green mutant rubber ducky with floppy hair tendrils and a faulty equilibrium, and it lights up and flashes when I slap it. If I'm in a foul mood or feeling discouraged about something, I can always smack my duck. When I find myself in times of trouble, rubber ducky comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom... He doesn't say anything at all. He just smiles and I find it whimsical.

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