Jordan Daniel

Whether Jordan is writing acoustically under moniker Borderline Angelic, scratching out club beats with experimental project Electric Dreams Fantasy Boy, exploring 8-bit sounds and field recording with the electronic Pareidolia, or even playing homage to David Byrne and early ska in Captain Sizzle At The CBGB - the founder of Sudden Epidemic and the "voice" of Jane Lane plays music wherever he goes.

When not dancing the tango with lady Music herself, Jordan enjoys croquet, Regina Spektor, cooking, The Dark Knight, Magic: The Gathering, composition notebooks, horror movies, Terry Gilliam, concerts, quidditch, Blue Indigo, Mel Brooks, Richard Linklater, Photoshop, the internet, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, milk, Stanley Kubrick, new wave, Moog, the color pink, and the number 136.

You're The Only Shape I Pray To...

Touch and go. Stop and start. A million jumpstart conversations. It's so much easier to get the right words out on paper than it is to force them out of my mouth. There is only so much sound I have rationed within unquenchable silence. Singing my message across a canyon made of dusty gold - maybe an echo will reach you. The distance is far too much to swallow; I've filled up on telephone calls and postmarks. Now, when you are close enough to scream your name, no words come. No words will ever come.

It's the substance between the first words I can choke out and the ending punctuation that kills me. I can't carry the weight of my words because I am so scared at what I want to say. I'm so scared to say a lot of things that I have choked back through tears only few years before. Distance might be a barrier. I say we tear it down and hold eachother close in unity. Irgendwann fallt jede Mauer.

I know that I fear losing you.

The oncoming weeks will bring me exhaustion and confusion. Business and endless beginning and completion will scratch a calendar into my skin like anicent practice. So many things to be done. So many things needing to be started. I'm stumbling around the remains of so many ideas; I can not decide where to begin. I'm probably going to start in full force on my screenplay once the Revue is over. Time chokes me.

Even with things that seem so clear and planned inside my dreams, I'm flustered and suffocated with where to begin. What should I do first? What do I have to do first? A million phone calls and messages play out like a game of dominoes in my head. Rentals and money. Exchange and trade. All the while, creativity is forced to flow. Maybe these pressing issues will encourage me to get things done. Maybe deadlines and invisible finish lines will help me on my race towards success. There are so many little reasons behind this project, I don't think I could handle losing them.

To get the words out. To find strength. To hold a finished message. To have the world see. To build friends. To build monumental achievements. To keep her here; yes, to keep her here. To never lose touch. To never become an image in the back of a scrapbook. To never become a ghost. To never let go of the people that will so easily let go of me. To explain; hell, to try and explain. So many reasons. I'm sure I'll be able to bring you all to understand them in time. Maybe I'll bring myself to accept them in time as well. Until then, I'll leave the notions of a wonderful celluoid dream suspended in the 'now we' and 'let's'.

I'll clamor as we raise the curtain.

I Need You So Much Closer

Okay, so maybe I'm a hopeless romantic. Maybe I'm far too much of a poet at heart; maybe I dance in sonnets and rhyme to endless reason. Maybe I have built too many dreams in frivolity. Maybe I like it that way...I feel myself pulled in every single direction at once. I am on the wall and on the ceiling. I am floating...floating like the angel I've only captured in borderline misinterpretations.

Cinammon red apple. Stunning. Eyes like I've only imagined. Breath-taking. I am the hopeless boy on a hopeless fall. I am autumn in my descent; I am silent and screaming. A laugh that can break you in two. Amazing. You met me at a very strange time in my life. I can almost be free; I can almost talk uninhibited. I can almost forget boundary and release the 'me' I've missed so much.

I find myself struggling for words...I'm almost speechless in my fingertips. I am jumping and crying and breaking down for all the things I've only been able to daydream about. I'm dancing a million moonlit serenades to songs playing in my head - Miles Davis, or some Cole Porter - and I'm pulling myself together and picking myself apart. I am my mind searching for words and only pulling out a million repeating sentences. Oh, silly questions. So many silly questions.

I find myself on a Candyland maze of step forward and back - once again, my fate is decided by a fucking card with another color on it. I find myself pacing around in my head. This distance seems farther than ever before. My romanticism falters. I find myself trying to be creative and failing admirably. I find myself being the perfect nothing.

A scene ends, a movie begins. Improv your heart out; the script is simply thrown away in the realization of dismal failure. I have to have some sort of chance...I have to not be the only person here feeling this...this...what is this? Some indescribable sense of connection? Something rediculous? Something...real? Do I dare say, real? A chord rings out in dead silence. A perfect comfort rests quietly over the landscape. The mountain range of need sinks slowly into the sand. The humor of the situation. The deafening chorus of a thousand voices. Am I not alone here? I hope I am not.

I can always write beginnings. Only she can write endings.

Strange Lonesome Monsters

Tick, tock; so pass the quantitative drips and drops of every day. A beautiful crescendo of unbridled beauty floats delicately over soft sand and rests peacefully down to rest. Unconscious facts and faster comebacks. We walk with our backs broken by the weight of invisible angels; an invisible collusus. We only weep to forget weeping...we only laugh to forget pain...we only dance like a trapeze artist on the wind to escape what we can not see. The future - our future - our horizon somewhere beyond the mountains of our dreams and the deserts of our fears. Oh, this desert has worn away at our every breath - all our words now dried up in an unquenchable thirst of language. An oasis of freedom awaits us somewhere over that horizon.

We only wish and dream and hope because we do not recognize our potential to do anything else. We only pray and praise because we are far too weak to look to ourselves. We find love in others for selfish and blinding reasons - far too vain to pry our eyes from the mirror of our likings. Looks like books, and passions like fashions. Our eyes are like headlines reading like scribbled satire. Our deploration for ourselves only digs the grave a little deeper; only adds another period to the end of another sentence on the page.

How beautiful it would be to rise out of ashes and bathe in divinity. How easy it could be to look past the common human flaw and focus on something so much more - look past the death and the disease...the plague and the pardoned...the lucky and the rest. How can we accept a hand from heaven if we have marked the words of men over our eyes in intricate designs of deception? We will never look much farther than this. With the shattering claps of bombs like thunder, and the dying hiss of transistor radio...we survive. Somehow, we survive.

I want everyone to look at themselves. Look at their names. Their faces. Their mannerisms. I want everyone to look at themselves in the mirror. Think about what you never say aloud. Think about what you are too scared to believe is true. I want you to curse and swear; I want you to strip yourself far past what is 'you' and find 'human'. Find the basic urge and need; the basic want and jealousy. I want you to break your heart; you won't need it where you're going.

Oh no, you won't need it where you're going.

"All we need is a little more hope, a little more joy. All we need is a little more light, a little less weight, a little more freedom.

If we were an army, and if we believed that we were an army, and we believed that everyone was scared - like little lost children in their grown up clothes and poses.
So we ended up alone here floating through long wasted days, or great tribulations - while everything felt wrong.

Good words; strong words. Words that could've moved mountains. Words that no one ever said. We were all waiting to hear those words and no one ever said them...and the tactics never hatched...and the plans were never mapped...and we all learned not to believe...and strange lonesome monsters loafed through the hills wondering why...and it is best to never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever wonder why.

So tangle; Oh tangle us up in bright red ribbons! Let's have a parade! It's been so long since we had a parade; so let's have a parade! Let's invite all our friends! And all our friends' friends! Let's promenade down the boulevards with terrific pride and light in our eyes: twelve feet tall and staggering. Sick with joy with the angels there and light in our eyes.

Brothers and Sisters, hope still waits in the wings like a bitter spinster; impatient, lonely and shivering; waiting to build her glorious fires. It's because of our plans - our beautiful ridiculous plans. Let's launch them like careening jet planes. Let's crash all our planes in the river. Let's build strange and radiant machines at this Jericho waiting to fall."

Built Then Burn (Hurrah! Hurrah!) - A Silver Mt. Zion

I'm Drinking Stars

Firecracker pleasantries stream down around me, followed by scattered shouts of exclamation. Sparkling daydreams and the perfect movie ending; raining down around me in a million whispered wishes. "I love you." "I need you more now than ever." "I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met." Friends and frivolities come alive in all directions. A thousand premeditated conversations, midnight confessions, and pointless 'resolutions'. Happy, yes. New, yes. Year, yes. Dear, dear. How we lose track of time?

The only people I wish I could say things to are too far away. Away from unanswered phone calls and petty words in light of this new chance. A new chance, I say! Numbly submitted to another toast; another promise; holding our glasses up and holding each other so tightly. Yes, we are scared. Yes, we are completely alone in the dark and calling out for some company. We are lost without any particular destination. Yes, we are afraid.

Well, what do you want me to say? Piece together some retrospective of the time we take for granted until the last fleeting minutes of another digit off the calendar? Well here, a gift then: Hurt, Zoloft, Jack Daniel's, writing sentences that end with question marks, genius demise, writing a new map, ...her..., day one two three every day the same, routine and scheduled reasoning, music from another room, Rachel, playground rivalry, the Man in Black, losing more than breath, endless Friday nights, pulp, "LOVE" from the top of the world, screaming to the silence, sense, fireworks oh fireworks, godspeed, discord, a Velvet Underground reference, and another night bespeckled with Fabry's vinyl collection, hello agains, and a crystal ball controlled by the countless hopefuls and their chants of '10...9...8...7...'.

I'm sure these all have proper residence beside my sly smile and nostalgia. Running a movie reel without sound; frame-by-frame plays of things come and gone. All fun and games; I enjoyed every second of it, let me tell you. A second passing on a huge clock somewhere - all over the world, chaos is abound with loving tendencies and playful persuasiveness, but have things really changed? Are all the cries of 'NEW YEAR' and 'HAPPY' a morbid joke? Is it a reminder that there is no way out of this hopscotch? Yes, routine and daily aging awaits you. Yes, the same loves and hates are still a phone call away. Yes, this is the first day of the rest of your life.

"...and so I laughed until it didn't hurt."

The sparklers will slowly die and the remnants of a nation shall retreat to the shadows of 4:00 AM. Fives will change to sixes, cars will lie dead with drunk feet, and a magnificent memorial to another year gone will be left in a war zone of cold receipts and fading laughter. A monument...fading, fading. So shine the stars to welcome the sunrise?

11:59. This is the first day of the rest of your life. Just breathe. Stop.