Now baby take my temperature, it's 150 degrees. I am burning up, I am keeling over and no one is saving me. (Day 3)

I constantly worry about getting old and becoming irrelevant.

I hate the idea of turning on the radio one day, for some unknown reason (because face it...radio hasn't been a beacon of decency since Journey stopped being a powerhouse) and hearing some song I'm familiar with and it being considered 'classic' rock, or hip hop.

Ever more so, I'd once been so opposed to having children...but as time has progressed, I don't think thats something I would be so against anymore.

But what would my kids think of me?

My tattoos, my ideologies...what if I fucked 'em up worse than I could've ever imagined?

Would they ever hear a Chuck Ragan or Alkaline Trio song, and think it was lame like a lot kids do about their own parents music?

I know I'm focusing a lot on music right now. But to me, music has always been the greatest benefactor for humanities soul. It's one of the few things, cosmetically, all of humanity has in common. While we might not all be Beatles fans (like me), or appreciate acts like Fall Out Boy, every culture in the world; East and West can agree on music as a whole.

To sing deeply from your soul, despite what your voice might be like, is one of the most ethereal things we can do in this life. To hear a composition that can break your heart, or put the pieces back together can save more lives than all religions and self-help books combined.

When asked if a person could have any power they wanted, inevitably right up there with flying, and instant sex-making is the wanton desire to read peoples minds, to know their inner-most thoughts.

With music, you do get to hear that. Whether it be the pinning loneliness in Morrisseys' croon, or the guttural yell coming deep within them guts of Roger Daltrey.

But I hate getting older. I hate the idea of not being able to go shows any longer, and it depresses me more than most things I can think of at the moment. Where do you go when that day inevitably comes that the one thing you connected with, that you knew 100% of the time you could go to when there was nowhere else to turn.

It's hard for me to talk to people. It's extremely difficult for me to do this blog, but it's easier than face to faces, because I'm the person that listens rather than speaks. What makes it so much easier through this blog is I don't feel like I'm directly talking to anyone.

But where do you go for solace when the rest of the world seems so wrong?

I've never had an answer for that question, and as a result I've buried myself in music. I've spent more on headphones than I have on shoes in the past few years.

And I can't help but feel that I've made a mistake.

Earlier this year a man close to me, and my family was stabbed to death outside of the church he helped build. All for his car.

The hardest part about losing him was that I never got a chance to breathe throughout the situation. As much as I'd wanted to be angry at his assailant, I couldn't bring myself to do so and the only thing I felt was guilt within myself. Pissed at me for not being able to've been able to grant myself the ability to feel something I think I should have, because I don't believe he'd have been angry.

But everyone around me who knew him had a place to go. So many people found comfort in God, and the 'good word', which is all well and good...except that I'm an atheist. Many people found comfort within their families, and loved ones...and I'd never felt more alone than at that very moment.

At his funeral, reading his memorial script, I got the full picture of him. A man who'd lived through two wars, who'd lived a life. Who'd seen the world, sometimes on his own terms, sometimes on the terms of the worlds strife. A man who'd started a family and touched peoples lives. And it struck me that he'd accomplished a lot of this by the time he was my age of 23.

And I had no where to. I have nowhere to go, now. Theres not been a day where I haven't lost sleep over his death, and how someone could live through two wars...who could be a Preacher. Who could harbor faith while seeing humanity at it's darkest, and provide comfort to a man who was dying. How someone could exist like that, and die over his car in a dark parking lot is the hardest part for me to swallow. It's things like that that make me realize I could never believe in God.

And the only thing I felt I could turn to was a song, and I hate myself for that. Instead of being a human being about it, the only thing that kept me going those first couple of days was Chuck Ragan's song, "Do You Pray?"



It's not like there weren't people willing to listen. I just never knew what to say.

Even now I don't know what to say. About anything that effects me directly. Whether it be these god damned pills, or that god damned death....the only thing I can do is just listen to something that hits me like scripture.

And something rings so hollow about that.

Thats really all I've got today. Please feel free to email me at: aaron.halewilliams at gmail dot come, message me on AIM: Herextoinfirmary; MSN: aaronracket@live.com; or yahoo: armageddonhale@yahoo.com. Or of course, leave a comment.

And feel free to spread the word. Thanks to those who do.

Take care. Until tomorrow.