Sometimes when the music comes, it brings its friends
Hospitality is one of my strong suites when someone comes over
We’d didn’t do much of that whenever I was growing up.
Maybe not because we wouldn’t
But because people didn’t come around.
These self organizing colonies
Their structures
Their complementing elements.
Are they alive?
“… I don’t know anymore”
When the music comes, it is an unstoppable force. Nothing controls the muse as it demands its passing. The years of 2015 and 2016 were creatively vibrant. It was the closing of my synthetic exploration with my EP, Bulbs, and it was opening season for what would become my most successful release, That You Are Mindful of Him, and my brand establishing compilation, Words & Music.
During that time I was bombarded with a shower of songs that came to me in dreams. I would wake up in the middle of the night to document what I could, then go back to sleep. This is something that most songwriters often experience. I never let go of those songs. Something was special about them.
At the time I was single, sober, and had become quite the religious zealot. All three of these features would break down and would have to be reestablished and adjusted. Fast forward some four to five years later and here I am: on the verge of my next compilation, single, sober, and striving to be as authentic in my faith as possible. Then, comes “Coordinates”: one of the songs from my dreams.
I’d teamed up with Kelly Zwern in early 2019, and we started writing music together. Initially, it was pressing on my heart that she collaborate with me on “Coordinate”. I was scared because it was “my precious” (like they all do). She became an informant as I continued to sit on the egg.
Last night the song hatched. A word from a friend via text message would cause the first crack, and before I knew it the structure, the lyrics, the tone were all present.
And that’s how it happens. You lay an egg, and you never know how long, or if it will ever hatch. But when it does, you’re covered in fluids, the hormones rush, and you’re in love.
The Paperboy by Lee Daniels is one of the darkest movies I’ve ever seen. It’s also at the top of my list of most favorites. I don’t have a lot to say about it, as it requires that it be seen for one to know the depth of it. It’s not for faint of heart.
It features a lot of high-end actors, and it’s one of Zac Efron’s more serious roles in his early career, which most people can appreciate.
I want to note particularly the end seen whenever Zac Efron’s character and Matthew McConaughey’s character were riding in a boat in the swamp after their father’s wedding. It was very surreal.
I watched this movie for the first time in a long time, and I loved it all over.
Words & Music by Terrell Brinlee is the first full-length release by This Intangible Existence; the disc contains the most familiar works by This Intangible Existence, including "Flamingo Fandango", “ODE to Mars”, and “Interspecies Love”.
Words & Music Vol. II marks the redshift in the narrative. The record is lyrically more Christ-centered than the previous installment. It most notably features the “River Hymn” and “Calling Out Your name”.
On February 6th, 2020, my sister and I went to see Sarah McLachlan at the Hobby Center in Houston Texas.
Whenever I started playing the piano in the late 90’s, I told myself that I wanted to play the piano like Sarah. During my lessons with my teacher, Janet Powell, we would regularly go over Sarah’s repertoire. I learned many themes, chord progressions, and melodies from her work. And often times, I’m reminded of her songs whenever these certain things occur in other musicians music.
Sarah’s performance was amazing. She is a superior musician and vocalist. She is true to her work in that she reenacts the music just as you expect to hear it. She performed this concert as an acoustic set, which is what I’m partial to. It was like we were sitting in a room together without the glitz of a band or a recording.
I tried to walk in with no expectations, but of all things, I wanted her to play the song “Wait”. Since the song was not released as a single, it was reasonable that she wouldn’t play it since so many other songs have come since then; however, she played “Wait”.
I was also introduced to a lot of her newer music, with a different perspective of the live event. The most notable thing was that when she play “Angel” it was like I was hearing it for the first time. It was like I was that kid in 1999 swinging in the front driveway, listening to what, at the time, was saddest and most moving song I’d ever heard—and so I wept not just for me, but for him as well because he was seeing his musical idol.
In preparation of the concert I went over a lot of her music. The lyrics to the song “Black” were painted on my ceiling along with posters of Sarah on the walls. I’d never played this song on the piano before, so I let myself to it. These words spoke to me so deeply as a teenager.
Earlier this year I started reading Out of the Silent Planet by C. S. Lewis from the recommendation of Steven Fenly and the enthusiasm of Kelly Zwern. I’m a horribly slow reader but was inspired by Miryam to be better at it. I can say that in 2019 I read more than I had in a long time.
One of the most important tricks to being a better reader (in word or music) is reading something that you’re interested in. I found out if I like the idea, and the story is fun, I’m more likely to read it. I found this in Out of the Silent Planet. This story spoke to my heart and has informed my art—I think this is why Vanessa Carlton says you should read more to write more.
I wanted to chime in here so that I can remember that I spend my Christmas holiday finishing that book I was reading. I’m thankful for it… and now on to Part Two, Prelandrea.
“…All I have to do is remember, the journey calls, the leaves will fall…”
Last year around this time my single, “Leaves”, was released. It’s an old song for me, but as the machine would dictate, it showed itself at one of the most appropriate times. This year around, the song was waiting for me: making itself more relevant than ever. It’s since grown some little spheroid berries or “moons”—Christmas berries.
During this holiday season, I had some friends and family over for dinner. Usually in my bathroom there are grease pens, so I can write messages on the mirror: little mantras and sayings. On the bathroom counter I wrote, to remind myself, “the journey calls.” This was a call back to “Leaves” and an encouragement to myself. During a bathroom break some unknown person wrote below my words, “Respond”.
Respond.
It was the truth written on my bathroom counter, and something that I hadn’t thought of at all.
I’ve recently started going to a new church. My previous church experience was toxic to say the least. Becoming part of a new congregation has me a bit stand offish. I’ve been waiting for the right time to inject my musical prows, but last week the pastor called me and asked me to play… Christmas music…
I accepted the task, received the lead sheets, and began to prepare. Most would know that I’ve previously been opposed to standard Christmas tradition, but this year I didn’t care. This year I embraced it. I took to ‘Pete’, my instrument, and learned some new hymns for Christmas… and I was happy.
Today I played for this church for the first time, and towards the end of the sermon it was mentioned that we shouldn’t be hesitant to serve our local group of believers. I felt like it was speaking to my heart.
So with that, after a time of being out of service and hunkering down for the darkest days of the year, I will choose to remember “the journey calls”, and I have to Respond.
Also, completely unrelated, the following is a picture of Ms. Perdue
VSCO Queen
Today I slept through everything. I had multiple dreams of note: My car was broken into and Eminem stole my girlfriend, but one sticks out strongly—
I met a man who was to act as a music producer for me. He has long blond hair and was well built. His studio and headquarters were in a huge house that was on a huge piece of land. Many people worked for him and he had a large entourage. Many of the scenes in the dream overlapped as dreams do. One scene, I watch as he was getting dressed in his office. It had sleek dark purple reflective tiling along the floors, walls, and ceiling. It was like he was getting fitted in a suit. He told me that a judge would be coming by in a little while so that we could all sign papers that would give them power of attorney over my creative decisions; I did not like this.
The most intriguing episode of the dream was in a wide-open field of the land that this house was on. It was surrounded by mountains, and I was standing at a cliff. Multiple people were also with us. These people were like peers of mine who had also signed under the producer. They felt like friends or people that you would work with, but there wasn’t anyone that I knew for sure. Standing at the cliff I peered into the sky and saw what appeared to be Saturn, but looked like the moon when seen in the brightest part of the day against the bluest sky. A white outline of a circle appeared around the planet, and a string of ambiguous text or symbols seemed to quickly type across the diameter with the planet in the middle. It looked similarly as if I was wearing an augmented reality lens, but I wasn’t wearing anything on my face. As I saw this I was filled with a deep fear and lament.
I then had a vision of a woman. She looks and was dressed as Beyonce’ during her 2017 Grammy performance, but it was not her. It was like an omen or a prophecy of something bad to come that was being impressed in my mind.
I was crying and had my face buried in the embrace of one of the friends around me. It was as if no one was seeing what I saw, or understood why I was so upset. I peered back up at the sky to see the anomaly again, then back into my friends embrace; more impressions entered my thoughts: a dark black space with Saturn infrared with something larger lurking behind it.
I lifted my face again and I saw the woman from the first vision walking toward us. Again, I was filled with fear and lament as she approached.
And now for an even more unexpected third installation of a theme that I had no intentions to write about.
I have to remember that the smoke beckons and bellows from the thrown of men and devils. I have to remember that I’ve come far enough to know that I don’t need to run away from who I’ve become. I don’t have to inhale a cloud of mysticism, myth, ritual, or spirit. I have to remember that my body has become a dwelling place and that I’ve no need to clear the air of the presence that occupies the room.
Drug culture is a dangerous culture. Cigarettes are shepherds and Marijuana is the gate wide and welcoming. Clad in a Lofi view and hours of beautiful music.
I have to remember that I don’t need to run away; for from what there is to run, I have already.
As I was coming to this screen to type these words, I thought about what I wanted to say. What kept coming to mind was, “I have to remember”. I knew that I was wrote something about that recently, but I couldn’t help but believe there was something else that was written since then.
Either Way.
I have to remember that my call was something greater than just to be a musician. I have to remember that I wasn’t called to be the greatest singer. I have to remember that I wasn’t called to be the greatest piano player—that I wasn’t supposed to alway express the most sweet-delicious-luscious harmonies that would make some of my favorite artists say, “That guy knows what he’s doing!”.
“…To be a minstrel in the courts of the Most High…” a Levite of sorts. I am to accurately and passionately declare the Gospel. It just so happens to be that my medium is music. Regardless of how I spin the record, write the words, or reharmonize the chord, it will always come back to the Gospel.
I dreamed that my grandmother laid moments away from death. She had her arms spread out wide as if she were free-falling or in flight. She was smiling, and as the sounds in the space centered to a silent swelling point, I heard her say. “Praise God!”. There was a flash of light, and her body was taken. All that was left was this strange stone cast or something like a reverse impression. The eye of the right side of her face was fixed on me with a red gleam in it, but she was gone.
Since I started working from home my sleep schedule has been awful. Particularly this holiday season, I’m struggling. It easily becomes more than just not sleeping. It translates into lonely hour of no human activity while you’re stuck in a room in the middle of a dreary Dallas suburban home after everyone has gone to sleep.
Regretting things. Considering things. Wishing things.
it’s been miserable, but worse things have been before. I have to remember how bad it can be. I have to remember the consistent coughing up of phlegm due to my poor choices. I have to remember that my decisions are not other people’s, and that my faith is not equal to my religious practice.
I’m not who I was ten years ago any more, and it shows.
Relationships can affect me even when I don’t interact with the people in question for a long time. It brings me to consider rash and sometimes dangerous decisions. These echoes of person resonate brightly in my mind; it’s as if I’m in the bottom of a well, and they’re unaware that I’m waiting for them to pull me out.
I’ve recently started working in Ableton Live. It’s foreign to me. I’m not sure how long it will be before anything comes of it. It’s exciting to journey through a new creative outlet. Similarly, I’ve been writing a lot and allowing myself to move through this new landscape of intangible space: a land of Ivy and Crystal. Being in this space is refreshing and adventurous. Though I’m in this new place, old songs continue to come around; two, in particular, are Judee Sill’s “Lopin’ Along Thru the Cosmos” and Matchbox 20’s “Rest Stop”. I love these songs; they seemingly sit under my hands so naturally. They’ve been a part of my artillery; their meanings and melodies continually refresh my heart.
I’m excited to be in this season; I’m looking forward to the future.
A late morning of over the phone therapy, music, reading, and toast before the day starts.
ill be migrating to my desk in a moment. I thought it was a good time to share a song I just wrote. It was encouraged by my songwriting circle, and I’m so thankful that they would push my out of my comfort zone to reach a mark I wouldn’t have otherwise.
Happy November everyone.
Over the past few weeks, I was bombarded by the honesty of children.
One of them was very young; she told me I was weird. You could tell she wasn’t exactly trying to be mean; it was more like she was trying to engage with me admirably. In fairness, this was in the parking lot after dancing at a wedding reception.
The other kid was a teenager and it was during a Sunday morning meet and greet at a Baptist church. He asked me if I had a girlfriend and then told me I look fruity while he gestured to my hair.
I’ve learned two things about this over the years: “it takes courage to unashamedly be yourself and allow that to be expressed outwardly”; and, “you can’t be offended whenever regular people can’t pallet, recognize, or understand your expressions, regardless of its substance.
Check out my latest playlist I’ve been jamming on Spotify ⭐️
Completely unrelated - I just saw The Black Cauldron for the first time, and it’s only a tad underrated unlike that YouTube video essay tried to make me believe. It IS very spooky thought ;)
I don’t believe in Euphemisms, as they often lie and skew the truth.
I hope to give an honest depiction of who Grandma was, and to be considerate of everyone’s experiences with her, as the narrative swings from some of the darkest times to some of the happiest times of our lives.
What is important for us to remember in Grandma’s death?
I could tell you the stories she told me…
As a child, she once fell in the kitchen, catching herself on the hot wood-burning stove. Later that day, with bandages on her severely burned hands, she was given the easy job of guiding her family’s beast of burden, one of the gentler chores of their agrarian lifestyle.
Once, when she visited an aunt’s house with all of her cousins, they slept on the wooden floors of the kitchen, where it was most cool in the summer night. Later, she was awakened by the eerie sound of chains dragging outside, and upon looking out, she saw the appearance of a ghostly figure at the front gate of the property, seemingly trying to come in.
Before marrying her first husband, she spent a short time on her own in Houston where she attended vocational college.
What’s more important than these things is the expanse of her legacy. She was the true matriarch of our family: a consistent beacon along the barren thoroughfare of Highway 90. Regardless of how far we traveled -- Texas, Mississippi, Tennessee -- there would always be a home for you in the muddy water of Louisiana: a place where she was always awake in the darkest hour, ready to welcome you home. She always had a bed for you, and she always had more than enough food for you. She had one of the most eclectic collections of things you’ve ever seen in your life. By the time you were ready to leave, you’d have more than a box full of some of the most obscure items you could purchase on late night television; jars of homemade preserves; and a handful of soft peppermints.
As wonderful as all those things sound, it’s only fair that I mention the reality: that though we loved her very much, Grandma was a very difficult woman.
I experienced this firsthand in 1989 when I was left with Grandma along with my sisters, Vicky and Becky. Grandma became my mother at the age of 61. Growing up in the 90’s and the 2000’s with two elderly people (both experiencing mind-wasting diseases) was very hard. Because my sisters were older, they would move out before me, and I essentially became an only child. Over time and for an assortment of reasons I believe most of us can relate to, I began to severely resent her; in 2009, I left her house, blaming her for a lot of things.
Over the next ten years, I would come home at least every 6 months to visit her. I would start to notice she was a little different every time. Month by month, as parts of her began peeling away, she became a new person over whom I was no longer able to hold any resentments.
I was able to forget the mean things that she said.
I was able to forgive her.
We are forgiven with the measure by which we forgive.
If I could intercede on her behalf --
If in your heart there is any bitterness, resentment, or disdain for her --
I hope you can come to a place of true forgiveness.
I don’t believe in Euphemisms, as they often lie and skew the truth.
All of creation yearns for the revealing of the sons of God (Romans 8:19),
&
It pleased God for the fullness of His deity and Godhead to dwell in Jesus Christ (Colossians 1:19).
In death, Grandma stands before the Lord Jesus Christ
And in her death, I hope that you will consider where you stand with Him.
I hope you remember her in the smell of citrus – peelings of Satsuma – the bittersweet of cumquat.
I hope you remember her in the heat of a Louisiana evening, and the roar of the cicada.
I hope you remember her face in the window above the sink as you stand at the end of the hall with the sounds of dishwater and country music during the latest hours of the night –
I hope you remember her.
On August 5th, 2019, a little more than a month before her 93rd birthday,
Dorothy Elizabeth Sellers Brinlee --- Grandma --- My mother
Died.
I just finished the anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion. It fed my childhood fantasy of piloting giant robots while fighting giant monsters, and It dealt with a laundry list of emotions for me: masculinity, loneliness, depression, and relationships. It also grazed over ideas and concepts like the singularity, Kabbalah, and homosexuality.
I’m not sure if I think the show was good or bad. It was slow moving, and the more entertaining bits seemed to go by in a flash. More so, the context of the story spoke louder than anything else. I’m usually left hollow any time I finish binge watching something, so I won’t over state my emotions on the series; however, I recommend it to any anime fan.
So many of my best friends and favorite musicians had an amazing show on September 8th, 2019. I was fortunate to be there and take some video of the performances. I respect these people so much, and it’s an honor to call them my peers.
I hope you enjoy their performances in the playlist below:
I got to spend time in Austin at the CD DIY Musician’s Conference, and I had such a great time. The video below shows the fun. Check it out! Also, the Spotify playlist below that is of all the cool musicians i met along the way. Check out the playlist.
On August 5th, 2019, around 4 in the morning, my Grandmother died. It’s a common story for most people in my generation to talk about their grandparents dying, but I believe mine is a little different.
My parents divorced whenever I was two years old, and I was brought to Grandma’s house to be raised. My first memory of her was when I was a baby: I was lying in a crib, she was standing over me saying things that you says to babies. We were in the master bedroom of her house. She had just given me a bottle of Root Beer, and she was putting me to sleep. During my formative years, she saw that I had everything I needed, and I saw her watch her husband waste away from Parkinson’s disease. She and I fought a lot, and it’s hard to say if we were even friends. I left her house in my early twenties, and left her to herself. I visited often, and every time I saw her another layer of her would be gone. She would become a new person that was easy to forgive, and easy to love. Every time I left her house I dealt with the hard reality that it could be the last time I saw her.
I’ve been dealt the card of death multiple times over the past few years. Each time is different—varying from one extreme to another. This time it was blunt force, delivered by my father over the phone just hours after she had passed. The impact would seem faint, but over these past two weeks I have come to remember grief and all of it’s forms.
These are difficult days.
I think it’s important to note that the idea of “forgiving God” is heresy.
The Christian God, Jesus, and the Holy Sprit are at no time in history at fault. This is in direct contrast to humanity, which has been in and at fault since the fall.
I was made aware of the idea that “…we should forgive God…” about a year ago. It suggests that humans should “forgive God” for the negative circumstances that he has put us though in our lives—e. g., growing up poor, being sexual abused, having bad parents, or anything else that would dramatically shape a person in a negative way—therefore, cause them to hold resentment towards God.
There is absolutely no Biblical ground for this concept. As created and fallen creatures, we are unable to pardon lest God himself pardon us. To suggest forgiving God brings into the questions his goodness and righteousness, let alone his ownership of creation and the grace offered by Jesus’ death and resurrection.
A proper response to any resentment towards God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit is unequivocally our surrender to him. We must first recognize that we have been in rebellion against Him and His law.
I believe whoever came up with the idea of “forgiving God” probably intended for it to soften the blow of my previous statement; however, it heretically assumes that God is somehow at fault.
I will offer this anecdote. He is a good God who has loved and taken care of me my entire life. He is all-powerful, slow to anger, and capable of dealing with any problem that I might have with him. He gently corrects his children in love, and guides them to proper understanding of his character.
