I Ran My Fingers Through Your Hair And It Felt Like Water


The week before tour started was a hectic one, involving me and Margaret trying to throw together an hour-long live show, record a four-song EP, and, when possible, sleep. Because of this, moments of rest were few and far between. One memorable one, however, was the spontaneous recording of this song, which happened after lunch one day. That morning had seen us very frustrated with the state of our show, and in an attempt to break the funk (or to facilitate it), I decided to try some guitar loops. This one came together in about 10 minutes (at the end of which I pitch-shifted it all down an octave, making it feel kind of like it's in slow-motion), and as soon as it was finished, I called Margaret into the room, and we laid on the floor listening to it for around 20 minutes. It kind of requires the listener to meet it in a place as still and delicate as the one it occupies, and that, for us, was a really blissful reminder of what we were trying to capture with the show. Not sure what stresses are ailing you at the moment, but, assuming there are some, I hope this helps in some way. 

Much love,


A Letter on July

If you knew me in 8th grade, you knew I had a single on iTunes. Everyone did. The song, entitled “Downstream,” wasn’t anything to write home about, but write I did, to about every person I knew. It took a month to go live on iTunes, and I still remember sitting in my mother’s car on January 29th 2009, typing my name into the iTunes search bar, and jumping to show everyone what had come up. I was overjoyed that my music was now in the same digital marketplace as all the musical giants I had been listening to for years, and I wanted to share that feeling with every person I knew.

The same thing happened in my junior year of high school, when I opened the shipment of the physical copies of my first CD. They were shrinkwrapped. The simple suctioned plastic that surrounded every album I’d ever bought now sealed something that I myself had made, and held within it a validation and a promise that I was moving in the right direction. I carried at least one CD with me everywhere I went, showing it to anybody who would be willing take a look for months to follow.

These moments are some of the happiest of my life. They represent, in small but tangible ways, the gradual movement towards a love, a life, and a connection I’ve been dreaming of since 7th grade, and I cherish every second of them. They don’t come often, but when they do, all the curiosities and confusions of life drifting about the atmosphere seem to find a place, and fit perfectly, and become beautiful in their returning.

Today, I have the joy of announcing my first tour. It’s going to be small, just 9 shows, but I’m really excited. My friend Margaret McCarthy will be joining me throughout, and while still undetermined (send me any requests/suggestions you may have), the setlist will feature a healthy mix of new and old songs, all balancing somewhere between warm electronics and acoustics. If you have the chance to make it out to any of the shows, I’d love to see you there (also, do let me know you’re coming so we can get tea before or after).

Thank you again to everyone for all the support over the years. It was remarkable in an iTunes window, as well as underneath glossy shrinkwrap, but seeing my name on a tour poster today was surreal in a whole new way, and I am so humbled to have people who choose to listen to these strange mp3 files I make. I’m really falling in love with this whole music thing, and I look forward to sharing all that I’ve been working on with you very soon.

Much love,



Poem - In Changing Ways

Yoyo. Years, it seems, have passed since the last blog post. But summer is nigh! Hold on, sweet internet passerby! Fluency was never a strength, but frequency is on the way. 

Also, here's a poem I wrote a couple of months ago. Tell me what it means!


There was no definition, nor color,

No changes, no change,

Just the silhouette of a spine

That bends backwards.


It stands before an oak, a great oak,

I can't imagine it doing so much longer,

There are tongues in the grass,

Lean back we say the oak is too great,


But the spoils of sitting are numerous,

And I have not courage to lick,

But He does, and each day He

Does, in changing ways.