“Who’s to say I can’t do everything? Well, I can try, and as I roll along I begin to find/ Things aren’t always just what they seem/ I want to turn the whole thing upside-down/ I’ll find the things they say just can’t be found/ I’ll share this love I find with everyone/ We’ll sing and dance to mother nature’s songs.”

— Jack Johnson, “Upside Down”

I’ve always wanted to write a book. And compose a song. And be a rock star. And so much more. But I never really knew why. I suppose the sense of power inherent to controlling the emotions of an arena full of people had something to do with it. That and getting the girl.

Worse than the not knowing why, however, was the not knowing how. I plucked at my Alvarez constantly, sloppily imitating Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page and others. To be honest, though, I never really tried very hard. As far as the book writing goes, I didn’t even go so far as to pick up a pen. Laziness aside, I felt as though I needed a master plan before beginning.

Fortunately, some answers have begun to emerge over the past two years. Ironically, it began for me with the “how” instead of the “why.” In that regard, spontaneity has been essential; taking opportunities as they come at me without second guessing my skills or desires — writing contests, acting classes, auditions, jotting down poetry, singing karaoke and writing for The Daily. Nothing big, just anything that serves to break down inhibitory walls and develop the muscles of creative expression.

Removing all such barriers has allowed for a cross-pollination in which each discipline informs the others. This is what makes publications such as Bricolage so interesting: Seeing how a student can draw connections between his evolutionary studies and the ballet lessons his mom subjected him to as a child.

How does this tie into the aforementioned “why?” As I’ve begun absorbing these and other experiences, I’ve found that there is a larger human dialogue that I’m compelled to participate in. Better yet, it could be that I actually have something to say, something of value to add to that dialogue. After all, what is communication without a message?

So go ahead: Throw yourself into the stream of our collective consciousness. Let the pressure build to the point that you can’t read a single sentence for want of writing your own, or when listening to a single note pains your heart, not as a result of what it has expressed, but because of what you have left unsaid. If you can’t sing your own song, find someone who can. Allow the currents to circulate and filter through your mind.

Just be sure to clean the lint trap first.

I Got Stoned and Missed It: The Best from Shel Silverstein — Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show, 1971-79

Shel Silverstein once said, “I want to go everywhere, look at and listen to everything.” This indomitable spirit was evident not only in his poetry, but in the way he lived his life. As a songwriter, Playboy cartoonist, children’s author and ladies’ man, there wasn’t anything Silverstein wouldn’t try his hand at.

Being a jack-of-all-trades allowed him the greatest freedom of expression. A simple, unsophisticated drawing could perfectly complement his poetry, readily explaining why Theresa was so terrible in asking for the middle pancake. Likewise, Silverstein’s collaborations with Dr. Hook proved to be a handy outlet for his grittier, goofier songs.

“Freakin’ At the Freaker’s Ball,” “I Got Stoned and Missed It” and “Looking For Pussy” are pretty self-explanatory and representative of the band’s together. However, there are also many touching — or perhaps I should I say sensitive — moments to be had. For example, during “The Last Morning,” he laments “trying to shave a face that I don’t even recognize.”

In addition to his work with Dr. Hook, Silverstein wrote songs for Johnny Cash, Marianne Faithful, Kris Kristofferson and many others.

A Perfect Stranger: The Island Anthology — Marianne Faithful

“At the age of 37/ She realized she’d never ride/ Through Paris in a sports car/ With the warm wind in her hair.”

— Shel Silverstein, “The Ballad of Lucy Jordan”

Marianne Faithful was perhaps the original Courtney Love — simultaneously a victim and beneficiary of the rock-and-roll lifestyle, helped along by The Rolling Stones and her relationship with Mick Jagger. She didn’t achieve much critical acclaim, however, until the drugs had taken their toll, giving her innocent voice a hardened and weathered edge.

This compilation takes the best from her 1979 album Broken English and subsequent releases. Skip over the first third of disc two, though, as it devolves into a cabaret of self-parody. Her cover of Shel Silverstein’s “The Ballad of Lucy Jordan” and the brooding, self-indulgent “Guilt” are highlights, capitalizing on Faithful’s disillusioned, broken voice.

Fresh Picked — Reggie Miles, 2005

Don’t let the album’s title fool you. Fresh Picked isn’t chock full of cutting-edge indie-rock, but rather, contains a random assortment of goofy, blues-based songs sprouting from everyday experiences with produce, governments and livelihoods gone bad. In the vein of Shel Silverstein, Reggie Miles has let his inner child roam uninhibited, pulling down thoughts at random, while plucking his guitar strings intuitively.

Hailing from Sultan, Wash., Miles has honed his skills on the streets of Seattle, performing at Bumbershoot, The Northwest Folklife Festival, Hempfest and many other local venues.

That Miles has been a struggling blues musician for 30-plus years is not surprising when one sees song titles such as “Homeless Broke and Hungry,” “Blue Collar Blues” and “You Can Be a Street Musician,” adorning his first compilation of original material.

Although much of the humor tends toward the obvious and juvenile (as a substitute teacher, some of these songs were inspired by and written for a younger audience), Miles manages to move past any Larry the Cable Guy comparisons. Just when you think you’ve landed in the middle of an episode of Blue Collar TV, Miles slips in a Bush jab, lays down some sweet sounding slide-guitar work and smoothes it over with his medium-grain raspy vocals — a mellower Joe Cocker, perhaps. If you’re looking for a good laugh, check out “F-R-E-E”, which is intelligently written, with some perfectly placed vocal inflections.

Miles’ soul really shines through during the quietest moments, though. His delivery of potentially banal lines such as, “Wasn’t it just yesterday? Our lives entwined as one/ Sharing love and laughter/ Damn it, that was fun” from “Only Memories Remain” is so heartfelt that the listener can practically see Miles’ life flashing before his eyes.

Be forewarned that this album is the farthest thing from hip and flashy. It’s just Reggie and his Resonator — homemade, no less. Check out his online offerings, including the topical “Katrina Blues,” which he says will be featured in an upcoming documentary on the disaster, to get a feel for his style (http://www.motagator.net/bands/129).

Curious George — Jack Johnson and Friends, 2006

What’s there to say? It’s Jack Johnson. He could lay down a dictionary audio book and I’d snatch it up. Like Silverstein, Johnson has the ability to make the mundane meaningful. I’d tell you to buy it, but you probably already have.