When in Rome we shall do as the Romans, When in Hell we'll do shots at the bar. (Day 65)

I want to take some time, and thank some people. I wanna thank the guys over at Stereo Kill, Our First Year, Have Tumor, Will Travel, Bitter Press, Emptying the Bastille, Nike (it still seems so strange to say that...), Tom Rumbold and so many, many other people.

About five months ago, I made a mistake, one of my only. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I'm not passing the buck, I did something wrong. Everyone does, though.

But it seemed like the hammer came down on me a lot harder than it should have. You have to understand something, I truly hate myself. I do, so I usually feel what happens to me, I feel like I have it coming. But this being the only infraction I'd ever had, I'd felt maybe things should have at least been handled in a better way.

I'd put a lot of heart and soul into Racket Magazine. It might be a lot of poop jokes, and drunken banter, but I never sent in anything I didn't feel was at least up to my standards of decency.

Near the end, I'd gotten really burnt out. I wasn't going anywhere, as far as writing goes, and I could only ask the same question so many times before I just wanted to stop talking, period. It just felt like so often I ran out of things to say, with any aspect of writing, and writing all together just became unfun.

I couldn't think of anything to write anymore on my own, because everything else felt so thematic it became a chore. It got depressing to have no outlet when everything felt like it was so wrong.

The past two years of my life have simultaneously felt like a blur, and seemed to drag. It feels like every sentence spoken seems like ten years ago; It feels like every day just happened a few moments ago. It's so hard to get a hold of things.

So I rode it out, because there were times where it was still fun. I worked hard to make something out of myself, I want so desperately to be anything besides mediocre and plain. To make the best out of anything, at least just for myself. I want to carve my name into a stall in a pitstop on the road less traveled.

I tried to get my name out there. I tried to have fun, and it was a lot of the time, but emotionally and creatively I fell into a slump of nothing. Rock and Roll shows are an amazing experience.

Getting to meet people who you admire, respect and who inspire you is a blessing, no doubt.

Getting to stand on stage while legendary punk bands TSOL, Big Drill Car or DI play sets so impassioned and precise, that the kids playing on stages near them would never leave their kind of impact, or have that kind of effect on anyone.

Or getting to stand on a side stage with future legends like Against Me!, Rise Against or Fake Problems...it's those moments you cannot ever take for granted.

But when it's all said and done, it feels so mundane and droll. You don't have the heart to continue, you don't get that rush of feeling accomplishment when it's all said and done. Not like it used too.

Transcribing was the worst. You basically waived all rights you had for creative thought. Theres little to no difference between that, and sitting in a cubicle as a lawyer for a video game company. Your close, but so far away.

One day Jesse Jackson just pissed me off to no end. The rest, to be honest, is the on-ramp to the road my life is currently on.

Politics were something I could always write about, because no matter what...I will always have that pit of anger filling with flat out hatred. Eventually, I couldn't stand it anymore, the things happening around me without me having so much as a scream.

"Rebel yell from the pits of Hell."

No one was standing up and saying anything anymore. No one. Every thing is so complacent, so jaded, so lackadaisical and scripted. Danger doesn't exist anymore, in the way of us as citizens raising our voices. Hollywood likes to think they accomplish something, but they are so detached from every day Jane and Joe that it just falls on deaf ears.

Or causes become cosmetic. Fads for slogans and posters to push a product.

We allowed the Patriot Act to happen, Guantanamo Bay, wire tapping, torture and defiance of our own constitution. Theres cameras on every corner of our streets...but who cares? The new season of Survivor is in full swing.

And it burns me. It simply does. And thusly, I found my inspiration in the goddamnedest of places. Deep down in them guts; Filled to the brim with Piss and Vinegar.

Life itself began to take such a harrowing toll, and I was in the place to bring some smiles to people. I shared a password, and the rest is history.

But I always felt a little hurt how I was tossed out on my ass. I understand one has to protect themselves, but I'd have given anything to anyone at that magazine and I feel in the end, I was the easy removal.

I wasn't bummed about not being there anymore. It felt like a weight off my shoulders, honestly. All of a sudden I had stuff to write about again. But as a friend, it kind of sucked.

But I was so scared what happened had ruined my chances of ever succeeding again at writing. Journalism was certainly out, but I mean...I didn't necessarily care about that. I don't have the patience or desire to write about Johnny winning the pie eatin' contest at the County fair, and oh lookie hear Donna and David Collins are expectin' twins.

Not for me.

"I have an addiction to fiction, words translated into words written. Absolving, absorbing start and ending transmission; I believe in a stories vision."

I have respect for journalists, sure. But thats a type of work I can't see myself ever gaining any type of fulfillment out of. Rules, and deadlines and...it's just not fun. Even if music is the subject at hand...it just. isn't. fun.

Being tossed out on my ass from Racket is the best thing thats ever happened to me. And while that month was Hell for so many different reasons, but right now this year is only a month old and so much has changed. It feels like a lifetime ago, and now I can start fresh with a clean slate.

I really thought though, that I had no one left in my corner. But out of the woodwork, more people than I could have ever imagined sent emails, messages, wrote columns or notes of support and thanks, of appreciation for what I did writing wise.

Every person listed above, save for Velvet, supported me in one of the shittiest times of my life, and were completely new to me.

Not only that, each and every one of those amazing people support what I'm doing now, who actually believe in it...and theres a few other people like that, too. It's a support I'd never gotten before, and I can't honestly believe it's happening.

Thank you so much. Every one of you, thank you so fucking much.

And a special thanks to my friend Austin. The support and friendship he's provided is so...unique, and honest. Thats all I've ever wanted.

Where I go now, I know I don't go alone. I've never felt this energized in my entire life.

Thank you all so much.

-Until tomorrow.