I went camping with Brandi over the weekend, and tbh it's been a slow Monday, trying to jumpstart myself back into gear.

That doesn't have anything to do with the actual reason why I'm writing, but I'm going to tell you about it really quick anyway...

I started reading a book called Tattoos on the Heart around the campfire on Saturday. It's beautiful. I don't want to overwhelm your inbox so I won't re-tell the story here, but I did put up an Instagram post with a bit of the story tethered to it, here, if you want to read it. Let's just say that I have struggled not to believe that God hates me, on and off, for a long time (more context on the post itself), and author Gregory Boyle had some beautiful words that acted as a kind of shackle-loosing for me.

So anyway, I should go camping more often. You too, maybe. I commented in The Fraction Club's Mental Health Channel in our Discord server to let everyone know that camping out of the reach of internet service is a wonderful mental health exercise, and I stand by it. Haha.

Hope you're doing well at the start of this new week. Needless to say, this has been a... uh... weird year.Personally, I had a bunch of hopes and dreams about getting back out on the road after taking some time off in 2019.

I doubt anybody’s booking house shows and welcoming a bunch of strangers into their living rooms right now...? ;-)

Nevertheless, I am going to move forward with at least one dream this year, and I’d like to take the next few weeks to invite you on the journey with me.

This is, perhaps, the biggest project I’ve ever undertaken throughout my entire “career” as Levi The Poet...

In order to do this thing justice, I need to take you back in time with me to...

Elementary school.

That’s when the dream began.

If I’m honest, it has haunted me since.

I started taking writing seriously in fourth grade.

I can clearly rewind to the day I wrote the poem that my mom hung on her bathroom wall for years thereafter, and I distinctly remember penning it in the back of a church sanctuary in Southern California.

My Boppa—who passed away last year—the man I affectionately named as his firstborn grandson, bought me half of a Costco chocolate muffin that the cafe was selling for 50 cents (a number I thought atrocious).

Fast forward to... middle school.

I filled journals upon journals with lyrics, poems, prose, stream-of-conscious exercises...

I even wrote half a book back then.

It was about a bunch of adolescent kids my age, getting naked and jumping off of a dock at night, only to open their eyes underwater and see a scary horror-film lady who would infiltrate their dreams like a bizarre Freddy Krueger (my mom’s PC crashed one day and took the entire novel with it — still bums me out).

[Not entirely sure what the moral of that story would have been... “Don’t skinny dip when there are demons in the water...?” Haha.]

My dad started going through my journals back then (which I didn’t appreciate), and told me that I should write a book of poetry (which I did appreciate).

He—convinced that someone would one day steal my work—made me mail my poems to myself as a “poor man’s copyright.” Apparently, the Post-Office stamp would hold up in a court of law when I’d one day need proof that I, in fact, did write whatever someone else would inevitably try to steal, first.

I was in seventh grade, then.

He believed in me.

Last month, I turned thirty-one years old, and was struck by the realization that I’m finally making that adolescent dream a reality.

Within the next couple of months, I am going to release my first-ever book.

I’m nervous, and excited, and scared, and thrilled, but if my wife’s words mean anything (they do), this will be—apparently:

“The best thing I’ve ever done.”

Trust me, my head already exploded with her highest of praise, so it's all downhill from here, no matter what you end up thinking of it. This isn’t just any book, and in the time between now and then, I’m going to tell you about it, and a bunch of the memories that have made these years worth living for along the way.

In a lot of ways, this book is ten years in the making. I’ve been “Levi The Poet” for over a decade now, and if you’re reading this, you’re a part of this story, too.

That said, I want to thank those of you who have texted me (go for it if you haven’t yet and want to — 505-209-8347) your favorite stories / memories related to this project, and the art that has come out beneath the Levi The Poet moniker.

I’ve tried really hard, throughout the years, to lean into this community—people like you—who have given me the privilege of creating art for a living. It has been fun / humbling / wild / hilarious / sobering / all of the above to read some of your stories in relation to this project throughout the years.

I’m stoked about this, you guys, and I hope you are, too. I’m constantly aware of the fact that none of this would be possible were it not for your support. Macklemore has this lyrics that I always remember about how: “Nowadays — make good music and the people are your label.” That’s definitely been the case for me.

So, thanks.

Can’t wait to share some fun stories and release some new videos and all kinds of stuff along the way, right up to release day (which I'll be announcing — in conjunction with a cover reveal, soon). Appreciate you for being a part of this life with me.

Levi