1 & 1/2 Years

A musician, depressed and sometimes suicidal, recalls his discovery of playing music, the formation of his band, and the eighteen months that followed.

Storytellers & Artists: Beautiful - D.Lasala, Jon Rodgers, Jay Miles

Year: (c) 1996


(Everything is Beautiful)

Everything seems alright.

Everything is beautiful.

Everyone seems just fine.

Everyone is beautiful.

Everywhere is all right.

Everything seems beautiful.

It's beautiful.


Lying in a tub of lukewarm water.

Listening to a close friends song.

Inspiring a recollection overdue too long.

Memories are rungs on an infinite ladder, dissolving as you climb on.

Nostalgia is a brief illusion, ambivalent, but then soon it's gone.

Water cold will flow.

The water's flowing through my mind.

For one and a half years.


Somehow, he found hope without knowing.

In San Francisco, a friend saved his life unknowing; by passing an instrument to him.

With nothing else, he learned to play quite quickly.

The suicidal boy became a confused man, and with unmeant help, his new life began.

The instrument showed the pain was slowing. But though he had a new belief, the loneliness was growing.

Then he got fired, so he bought a pack of cigarettes, a plane ticket, and back east he was going.

A suicidal boy became a confused man. With the unmeant help, a new life began.

He traded this for that, then smiled where he sat because he thought he found just what you need.


Gotta pay the rent now, baby; I gotta get a job.

I gotta do it quick, and it seems I gotta look to stay ahead of the mob.

Some don't like my earrings, and they all hated my face piercings,

until I found a place that is so understaffed, they don't seem to give a fuck.

Jonny boy and Jon Juan made friends with Davey.

They all worked in the ice cream store, and you know they were not lazy.

They were just too busy without enough workers.

It was enough to make you dizzy, a minimum wage circus.

There he met the little girl who showed him her navel.

There was a ring in it that proved she was able to offer him affection.

He blew an eyelash wish, but you know they don't come true.

No, they don't.

Gotta wake up now, baby; make it to the store.

Gotta make the muffins and the bagels.

Eight o'clock, I gotta open the door.

Then after lunch, you know they want their damn ice cream.

The line never ends.

Down the block, it descends.

Into infinity.


"We got nothing else, so let's start a band."

I tightened a stripped bolt to make the engine run.

I'd changed it several times, and several rhymes had begun.

But when he's alone he's crying because the mirror is lying.

It's laughing and showing a face that isn't his.

It's simply searing what he's been repairing—damage from youth that impairs his sight.

Acoustic man, wired to the board, explore your soul. It's been ignored.

He's had enough now.

The challenge has somehow convinced him it's over, that he's lost the fight.

He's mixing a drink to help him fall asleep. With vodka and pills, he'll end it all tonight.

When the first third to join the band, he was a fighter who lost his gloves.

Twelve years with no hope since they're gone.

Blinded by pain and binded by potion.

Then a notion of change made him look to his Lord.


The second third to join the band.

Frightened inside the man.

I know loss is all you see.

Maybe I'm wrong, because when I see you play your song,

I see the strength to set you free.


The sun is going down now.

If only you could see.

You've seen it before, but not now with me.

But I'm not watching the sky, just the walls.

The room divides, and the shadows chase all.

Thought I could help you, which shows the fool I am.

I can barely help myself to dinner from a can.

I knew you weren't the one, but I tried to pretend.

Now I watch the sun with the memories I spend.

Little girl, will you change?


A fly is trapped in my room.

It's crashing into windows.

I think it's gonna die soon.

I'm trapped in my room.

Looking through the windows.

But I'll be out soon.

It's May now, and I'm in training.

Mind and body to break free.

Wandering through New Haven, looking for a path to lead me away.

I love the light; to feel the light. But I'm not right no more.

I love the want, to feel the want. But I'm of want no more.

Lying here on this hillside. I feel as dead as the leaves on the ground.

But I know I'll come around.

I don't feel older or wiser.

Even though now, I'm twenty-three, and all the best things have come to me.

This is not what white light sounds like.