Gypsy Dreamers in the Alley is a book of light. It is for the seeker of the mystical art of the song; the deadly serious pilgrim who is willing to sneak into the throne room of God and steal the secrets of creation. Gypsy Dreamers will do anything to understand the mysterious nature of what it means to be alive so they can incorporate those mysteries into their art or whatever means of self expression they posses. As a young songwriter I came to the startling realization that my idea of myself was standing in the way of the greater knowledge I was seeking. When I finally let go of my all my ridiculous opinions and egotistical pretenses, the veil slowly lifted and revelations began to present themselves. It was at that point I became less of someone trying to write songs, instead, songs began to "write me". This is the miracle of true songwriting; Gypsy Dreamers become living songs rather then someone struggling to write them.
Page one begins with a treatise on how to live a non-toxic existence. It is written in such a way that to elaborate on it would do an injustice to it's content, therefore I will begin this work with the poem in it's original entirety. It has no title. If you read it carefully, it will give you the vision of what the entire book is about.
"To live a gypsy life is simple. A man or woman looks around them; they feel the wind, see the wonders of oceans, stars, trees, sun, moon, and everything sentient, breathing beautiful life. They hear the tones of deep resonating harmonics from fathomless depths at the core of their being. They translate those stirrings into gorgeous poems sung to haunting guitar melodies. They dance in the dust, hold one another in fiery embraces in fields in quiet fields of burning kisses that trickle torrid cherry juice over the universe in thick syrupy gushes. The gypsy realizes that to partake in the worlds madness is the glaring opposite of life; the gypsy races to the mountain or the sea to dance wildly and swear to the forces of passion and beauty that he or she will never forsake the diamond life of blessings they've been given; the gypsy points their arms toward the God house, weightlessly ascending to the portals of infinity to forever rain down on we pilgrims the Venus songs that ignite our souls and blaze us into coals of laughter."