Mori Evans

What?

You want me to tell everything about myself? ON THE INTERNET?

I mean, don’t I already have Facebook to steal my identity?

Alright, well I first came into kiwae’s life in oh what was the date? *checks yahoo calendar* Oh yes, sorry, March 30, 2009. There was someone else before kiwae but we didn’t get along so much so I just took a wee trip south to meet my new…owner? Foster mother? Gag. Roommate? Let’s go with that. Of course, she was dead broke by then and couldn’t afford anything but make wigs and use googly eyes. Actually we’re pretty broke right now, I’m shocked no one’s called me out on wearing the same pants in every photo. But let’s just put that year in the ‘Back when we were young, we were so poor…’ stage.

I’m living with a former weeaboo so I’m getting used to everything being Asian related…so what’s with the “ne”, “tadaima” and “Itekimasu”?

I like…pianos, jazz, uh, vocal jazz? Um, improvisational jazz? Let’s just say lots of old school jazz but not funk/fusion/and all that other weird sub-genres but I’ll give an exception to old school r&b, Sigur Ros, Nujabes, and Tokyo Jihen. Cake…with coffee or tea- three sugars and cream/milk/whip cream/whiskey. Eating. Sleeping. If anyone offers me a drink or a smoke, I’m taking it, damn the consequences if I’m not interested in them. 🙂

What I don’t like, oh, long list here:

Metal, heavy metal, Maroon 5, pop music, still not into jrock or kpop for another. Lolcats. The combination of strawberry and banana. The combination of strawberry and chocolate. Almost 70% of the clothes kiwae made for me. AHEM. Thanks but really? Time to make me into a real boy and all that and get me clothes that suit me, not your weird fantasies, ok? Thank you.

Though I was only just a young lonely head at the time. I waited a year to get my body and thus start enjoying going outside. Hmm? What? Background story? I didn’t think I need to mention that. Sigh.

[This is the somewhat elaborate bio story I created for him. You can totally skip this.]

Okay, I used to live in Chicago before coming out here to California. I was adopted by an old black African-American gentleman. His kids were already grown up and didn’t visit him much or at all at that point, his wife passed on, and saw this as a sign to do ‘fatherhood’ right again. That’s what he always told me when I’ve done something wrong. When he took me to his small house, he found an intricate bracelet and a small piece of wrinkled paper, which turned out to be a receipt for the bracelet, hidden underneath my baby clothes written “Mori.” Yeah, totally sounds right out from a book doesn’t it?

My adopted father tried to teach me everything he could while he was trying to find gigs to play jazz piano pieces to pay for my diapers, food, etc. I go wherever he went and he luckily had many good friends to care for me while he improvised on the piano. So music was a huge part in my childhood. You could say that it was the second thing I loved the most. Number one being my dad. I learned to play the piano early and would sometimes help out earning money playing at events and ceremonies. I didn’t realize it then but I was just there to warm up the crowd before the real band showed up. Right around that time, he started getting sick. Coughing so much he couldn’t speak because it hurt. I managed to convince him to go to a doctor to see that cough. …The doctors confirmed it was lung cancer, from all the smoking he did and the joints he performed in.

He passed away when I was ten, on his eulogy I played a song that I’ve been composing while he stayed in bed. It was probably the only song that I played key for key, no improvisation. One of his friend’s, I can’t recall his name anymore, asked if I wanted to make a cd, sign a contract, and all that but my heart wasn’t interested in recordings. That was my father’s dream and I couldn’t do that to him. I love to play live and in the now. That song was for him and him only. There wasn’t much to his will, his house went to his oldest son. The money to the sister. I got some money but I can’t touch that yet until I’m legal.

So enough of that sad stuff, I was passed around until the real foster agency caught wind of me. By then, I just entered high school, the foster family was pretty lenient. I wasn’t close with the other kids. The parents didn’t care too much what I did as long as I come home before one of the foster agents come and ask questions. So I was mostly nonexistent while at their place, only going there for the food and storing my clothes. High school was a pain, I could’ve been making money during the day but no, we gotta learn useless things. Hanging out with old cats (musicians) most of my early years, I didn’t watch tv a lot or go on the internet, so I was mostly hanging out with the rockers because they had free cigarettes and drinks. There was another guy in the group and I was willing to call him an actual friend. My best friend probably.

I was getting tired of the crazy weather of Chicago by 15 and wanted to go somewhere warm. A close friend of my dad’s was going to California for a gig and asked if I wanted to come, he didn’t know I was a foster kid then. So of course, I had to say yes. We skipped town a few days later. I was so hyped up that I forgot to say goodbye to my friend. I hope he’s doing well…

Of course, explaining how I arrived bodiless is another story for another day. I’m tired of talking of this.

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