Rooming House

I didn’t write this about the world, I wrote it about myself.

In a nutshell, this album isn’t about the world, it's only about myself and my fear about getting old and being alone and being broke and being sick. It’s a fantasy about living in a world where the word neighbor is being used as a verb, such as “we were neighboring down the road”, meaning “I helped the neighbor do their chores” or “we all had coffee at so-and-so’s house” or “so-and-so is sick and their kids have moved away so we’ll all pitch in and help them out”. It’s a fantasy about a world where empathy isn’t a bad word, where people practice gratitude rather than judgment and where patience and kindness replace anger and intolerance.

It’s a fantasy about a place where people still get sick and still die but we’re all thoughtful about what it means to be alive in the first place and we’ll cringe with grief at each passing and our grief will be shared and understood and held up as something sacred and important instead of something weak and foolish. It’s a fantasy world where money doesn’t get to decide who deserves medical attention, or enough food for a day, or adequate shelter for the night. In this world, in this kitchen, at this corner table by the window, within this small family of people who choose one another and accept responsibility for one another, each one gets a seat.

Rooming House Album