Posts Tagged ‘BMI’

Bring Me The Money

November 11, 2015

Or at least the secret password and internal knowledge needed to figure out BMI.

My friend alerted me years ago that he had listed me as the lyricist and vocals for While You Were Sleeping, an album he put together using my poem as a framework and inspiration point for the album.

I never did anything with that knowledge.

Well.

I started a BMI account.

But I never registered anything with it.

I have no idea how to do it and I have sort of let it lapse.

However.

I keep getting e-mails from BMI and most of the time I just think, oh there’s that again, maybe I should do something about it.

Then.

I never do.

But as the days wind down and the nights get shorter and chillier, I am thinking, hmm, what if there’s a few dollars there, I could use that money to go to Paris.

I also recognized that I wasn’t investigating it because the likelihood is that there is no there there.

I mean.

It’s sometimes a nice little fantasy, that somewhere, unbeknownst to me, just when I really could use it, say in a few weeks when I fly to Paris, there’s a few grand just lying around.

Granted.

I got my grand.

And I used it.

Have you seen my scooter?

Damn she is cute.

Still parked in front of my house, haven’t gotten the permit paperwork forms from my boss yet, but they are in the works and I will get them and when I do.

Watch out!

Money comes in and money goes out.

I also paid my phone bill today.

And that’s nice.

Because that’s it.

The only thing I owed money on.

Well.

Aside from my student loans, but we won’t go there for a few years yet, ‘k?

I believe in happiness and abundance and prosperity and God will give me exactly the right amount of money to enjoy in Paris.

It would be nice to be properly registered on BMI, however, and to that end I did reach out to my friend who is the musician.

And.

Yeah.

I should get a hold of the gentleman because in a google search I just came across an Andreas Saag remix of the piece.

Nothing of my vocals, but those words.

Well.

Those are words are wrote and if there’s a remix being sold I should think that I should be getting a smidgen of the proceeds from the sales.

I was also thinking, in a less capitalistic, I better get mine sort of thing, that I would like to record again with Sunshine Jones, and perhaps record the sonnet sequence that I wrote.

Thoughts.

Random and parsed out while I type.

I am spending too much time trying to flip around websites and seeing what is out there.

I don’t know much about many things.

I am distracted with thoughts of Paris, thoughts of dating, hormones.

“You should go on a date,” my friend said to me tonight.

Um yeah.

In what time?

I will say, I am pleased with the amount of reading I succeeded in getting through this morning before work, though.

I have a big paper I have to write next weekend and all the reading is done.

Now to winnow and sort and figure out what is going to go where.

Plus.

Um, yeah.

The other three classes I’m in.

I have to do the reading for those classes too.

So up a little early, again tomorrow, and reading some more.

I just have to keep up the momentum.

And perhaps I can squeeze in a movie date on Saturday.

That would be nice.

Although the movie I wanted to see, Rock the Kasbah, doesn’t seem to be playing anywhere.

Which is a shame.

I do quite adore Bill Murray.

There’s nothing out there that seems appealing either, other than the double feature at the Castro, but it’s big time commitment: Apocalypse Now and The Thin Red Line.

I mean.

Brilliant.

But will I be completely burnt out after sitting in the Castro Theater for four hours?

Too bad it’s not the movie that was on the marquee tonight as I pushed my bicycle up Castro Street towards Market.

Dazed and Confused.

Dude.

That’s like the perfect date movie.

Seriously.

But.

Not to happen.

It’s only running tonight.

I love the Castro Theater.

I’m not going to worry about Saturday.

It will take care of itself.

And if I’m to see a movie, then it will happen.

There’s other things for me to do.

Like read and write papers.

Bwahahaha.

Ugh.

There’s work to keep me busy and doing the deal and meeting folks and just life.

Which when I woke this morning, letting myself get an extra half hour, but still getting up earlier than I needed to so that I could read, I rolled up out of bed to greet the beautiful clear blue skies, high and blustery with wind.

The sun was out.

The day was bright.

My scooter parked in front of the house.

My bicycle, my steady and faithful steed, taking me to work.

The gratitude filing me up as I pedaled up Lincoln Avenue.

The hawks circling over head, lifted my eyes to the sky and I smiled.

Deep in my body, happy in my soul.

“Happy is my principle today,” I said out loud to no one in particular.

Perhaps just to hear myself say “happy.”

And I rode.

Knowing that I had a good job to go to.

That I still can afford to live in San Francisco.

That I am sober.

That I am healthy.

That I have amazing friends.

I have community.

I have a beautiful home.

I have a scooter.

I have a Macbook Air and an Iphone.

I have so much.

I have a trip to Paris.

I have love and abundance beyond my wildest dreams.

So if I don’t get some royalties from BMI.

Whatever.

I’m still going to investigate though.

Seems the adult, next right thing to do.

And whatever happens.

I’m ok with it.

Because there is nothing at all wrong in my world.

Not one damn thing.

Luckiest girl in the world.

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One Take

October 28, 2015

Damn it.

I had the whole thing, ten whole sonnets, in one smooth, seamless, gorgeous take.

Except.

Fuck me.

I thought I had my voice recording rolling on my phone.

As it turns out.

I did not.

Damn it.

Ugh.

I recited ten freaking sonnets, all my vigor, all heart, my voice nicely warmed up and lush, ready to go.

I had already read them once through, catching the places that didn’t roll off the tongue, practicing the words that are a little tricky to pronounce, getting it down.

Then.

I read them.

God damn, I was pleased.

Until I looked at the time on the recording and it said seven seconds.

Fuck.

I don’t have the energy to do that again.

The gentleman that asked me to do the collaboration with him wants me to read them to him, but his schedule and my schedule have not synced up yet.

And he’s leaving for Japan on November 1st.

So, not like there’s a lot of time.

Maybe a snippet tomorrow, a slice of minutes where we might be able to connect.

I had never used the voice recorder app on my phone, had no clue it was there, frankly, I’m not into recording myself, although I do like the sound of my voice, but we had to record for our role play on Sunday in Therapeutic Communications class, so I learned how to use the app.

It is super easy.

I should have been able to record the reading, but I did not.

I will try again.

I would love to perform the poems for the gentleman, I like the idea of that, the poems do take on a different feeling when I am reading them, I know that well.

There is still time.

And I could probably also just read them to him over the phone.

Perhaps I will try one more time tonight to record them.

I suppose I could also ask for help.

Ahhahaha.

God.

I amuse myself.

My first thought, literally, the one that just leapt into my brain, “who the hell is going to want to listen to me recite poetry?”

Ugh.

Martines.

Stop being your own worst critic.

I have been told many times that I have a nice voice, I am sure that there are people who would like to hear me recite them and if not, at least have the patience to sit and record them for me while I recite them.

Maybe I will ask the dj I collaborated with, Sunshine Jones, to do a recording of them with me.

I would like that.

It was fun to record “While You Were Sleeping” with him.

That reminds me too.

I need to figure out BMI.

I have a song writing credit on the track as well as vocal attribution for that album.

I could have money sitting there and I don’t even know it.

Time to reach out to a friend who said they could assist with that.

I put a little pinch of money in savings today and I am close to having what I need for the scooter, what if there was some money lying about that I could put claim to, I could get the scooter sooner!

I need to address that.

I need to address many things.

Reading for class.

Writing papers for class.

Time management.

Transcribing my therapy session for Therapeutic Communications.

All the stuff.

All the things.

There’s a full moon tonight and what I would rather do than read or write or work on papers or record myself again, damn it, is go down to the beach and watch the moon set, but it’s cloudy and overcast and a drop of rain fell on my face as I turned onto 46th Avenue from Lincoln on my bicycle.

There is not moon to be seen in the sky.

Anything to distract me from the work.

Although, I found, wonderfully, that I was able to reel myself in a little bit today when I was having anxiety about getting enough reading done this weekend, that I recognized I was living in the future, afraid that I wasn’t going to have enough time and it was distracting, and unnecessary.

I called a girl friend.

I got some perspective.

I called my person and got more.

I can catastrophize to make myself feel like I am being pro-active.

I am used to responding to emergency and feeling hectic about getting things done creates an unreal drama in my head, an urgency when there is no urgency.

That if somehow I manage it all better, control it all better, I will feel better.

Instead of knowing that what I am doing, steady, slow, sure, progress, reading a little everyday before work and as much as I can on weekends, is getting me by.

Not quite as on par as the syllabus, but I haven’t yet turned in a paper late and I know quite a few of my cohort are struggling with getting all the work in and done.

I am ok.

And my voice is warm.

I can feel it in my chest.

The hot tea I am drinking is not hurting.

I may try to give the recording another go here in a minute and see if I can actually do it.

It also doesn’t have to be perfect.

I am performing for a one man audience.

A person I don’t even really know.

Although I feel a connection to.

And a deep appreciation for.

I feel like I have a patron.

Jesus.

That just gave me goosebumps.

It is something special to be asked to collaborate and to be sought after for my words, it is a huge compliment and although I know I will write for myself no matter what, I am not unaffected by having an audience.

It is an honor to be seen.

And.

Heard.

So with that thought in my heart, I go forth again to record the sonnets.

Fingers crossed!


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