Saturday, February 7, 2009

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'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's just not fun. Even if music is the subject at 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.

Friday, February 6, 2009

We're missing notes, but whos looking? (Day 64)

Today's update is brought to you by the deliciously gay comedy styling's of Aaron Hale. Sit back, and enjoy the ride, baby. Because where we're going, we don't need maps or roads. Hear the engine hum, the radio sing and watch the road disappear slowly behind you, and wait patiently in front of you at the end of every rotation of the piston.

There is no need for caution, just enjoy the world blur behind you, the world rotate at thousands of miles per hour. Close your eyes and welcome the sun, because one day it's going to be dark and all you have left is the memory of when your skins pixels turned darker, and for a moment you felt a delicious warmth that despite humans best efforts, can not be replicated or replaced in the slightest by radiators, heaters or lamps. It's time to stop thinking, and make a move.

"Just do it."

Today was an interesting day, in many facets. I almost forgot to not only update Days Gone By (thank you for tuning in, my love. I won't ever leave you in the lurch again) but I also almost forgot to take my medication.

I'm actually surprised I haven't forgotten to take it yet. Sometimes things like that just slip my mind. The problem with not taking the medication is that you can miss a day or two, and thats fine. But while it takes fourteen days to enter your system, and allow you to build up your tolerance for it, it takes five days to leave your system. After that you have to go through the whole process of building the tolerance up once again, meaning I'd go from 200mg's (which I think is really about a self-esteem killer. I didn't think I was that crazy and imbalanced) back to having to take 25mg's, then 50, then 100.

The best I can equate this process too is,,

Not just regular sex, though, mind you. It's that crazy, wild drunken sex you have with a girl you've been with for a while, where you had to build yourself up to not only smack her ass, or ask for the ball-gag, but also to last more than fourteen minutes.

So finally you're up to full on hair pulling, ass smacking, name calling, punch throwing, hand cuff and ball gagging sex. Unfortunately in all this ass smacking, name calling forgot to safe sex it up one too many times.

Now that lady in the street, but a freak in sheets has a paunch growing. The wild sex is now on the shelf for nine months, and after that cock-block spawn is birthed, you put the sex on hold altogether for two more months. You might never again reach that dosage of freaky ball gag, safety word sex because you got away with it one, two, three times...but irony being a cruel bitch mistress, it pimp slaps you on that fourth time, just when you started think you were total money.

Thats what I've got going on with this medication. I can even compare it to a different type of sex (told you I had different theories, Velvet). Say you run down the cast and crew of bar cozies, and eventually you catch the old menacing herp-dog.

You wind up looking like this:

And thats not herp-dog. Thats Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, a horrible and deadly side effect of Lamictal poisoning. So I gotta make sure I'm on top of that. Because it looks almost exactly like a herpes outbreak. I have a hard time not terrifying girls as is, I don't need the stunt double for herpes keeping me company.

Now, it's not every day I get zinged. Even less likely is that I'm zinged so bad I not only have no response or follow-up, but am left embarrassed and stunned for thirty minutes. In fact, it's never happened. Ever.

While being called 'gay' (ain't no shame in being gay, by the way. I'm not, but I want it known that the Show Stopper is a friend to the community) by a girl (I'd rather have embers shoved under my tongue) I replied with, "Gay? I'll show you gay" while proceeding to do a very effeminate impression. However, this only prompted further hetero-gay-bashing against me, the Main Event. I finally retorted with, what I thought would be the end all. "I'd show you gay, but I don't see a penis anywhere near-by" and without skipping a beat, the heinous girl known as Joli replied, "You don't? That sucks for you." Implying I, Dudley Shale, had no male reproductive organ to call my own.

I'm not exactly the most endowed, and that shattered my already ice-thin ego.

May all her days be filled with unfulfilled dreams and hopes, only missing them by a cuticles length.

I'm dipping out on that note, but before I go...on our way back home from Chandler (yay comic books! Fill the pain, animated cells...fill the pain) we got stuck in a traffic jam I've never seen in my life. For God's sake, I live in a cow-tipping town, this should not have happened. It took thirty minutes to go two miles. After weighing the options of laying under the eighteen-wheeler to our left (this was on an interstate. Interstate means fast. We went 3 miles an hour) and realizing that it'd take forty minutes for the eighteen-wheeler to mercy crush me, I decided to just hate life comfortably in the car while screaming the words along to Fugazi's "Waiting Room".

What made it even worse was that this week I'd discovered that, and pay attention science nerds...Scientists have made it possible, and succeeded, with TELEPORTATION. As in, hey I was in my bathroom and now I'm in the girls locker room,. and now I'm in Paris, and I didn't move a muscle. MY PARTICLES MOVED FROM HITHER TO HITHER. IT TOOK SECONDS.

Teleportation was a concept nerds made for our secret world of science fiction (the chicks in our movies have really big boobs, too) and we believed in it so much, we done made that possible. It may only be light particles, but we also created a black hole recently, we're teleporting...up next, Magic: The Gathering and Dungeons and Dragons will no longer be shunned, as they will exist. Break my glasses will you, Star've just sustained 8HP damage and oh, mage to heal you. Enjoy working in a Jersey auto shop until you die angry of liver cirrhosis at the age of 49, Jared. Enjoy it, for I've gained 20EXP and now I'm president of Boobtoucher town; Population: me. No ugly chicks.

-Until tomorrow.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

They paved paradise, put up a parking lot. (Day Day 63)

This past week has been pretty strange, actually. First off, I want to introduce an "artist" named...oh, we'll call him David McFuckstick. See, David McFuckstick fancies himself to be a champ among the writers in Ireland, and thats fine. The Irish are some of the most over looked poets and writers of all time. I think it's because no one can understand them.

Back to the point at hand. See, Mr. McFuckstick recently finished up a short story that was well received in his little community, enough so that he had decided to go the DIY shortcut, and print it up himself. He was going to be doing an in store at a cafe, pub and little bookstore.

Way to go, Mr. McFuckstick. Way. To. Go.

The only problem is, the story he was pushing...was mine. He was pushing Shootin' At a Mound of Dirt as his own pride and joy.

I was stunned when a nice person in the aisle of Green alerted me to what was happening. I had no idea this was happening. And it's not that I care too much, honestly. It really isn't that. I mean I do for the simple fact that a) I don't think the story is even worthy of being pinched, but b) I don't like when someone cannot write something from their own mind, of their own volition.

Any writer who claims he doesn't get a line, or borrow one here or there, or slip a slight homage maybe one in a thousand people might get would be lying to you. In fact, throughout File Under Powerviolence, I reference, pay homage/give a nod or use a line from bands like Dillinger Four, Descendents, the Clash/Joe Strummer and the Mescalaroes, Connor Oberst, the Misfits and the Thermals.

And I only do this out of respect for these bands. God know how much JD Salinger, Charles Bukowski or Mark Twain have inspired so much of what has happened. Theres a story in the book called twentyvolVe. It's one hundred percent an homage to Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer, Jack Kerouac's Sal Paradise and JD Salingers Holden Caufield characters, respectively.

But to flat out rip someone off, word for word and pass that off as your own expression...thats completely bullshit. It's the lowest form of existence, and you might as well steal my identity and buy a Porsche (not that you could with my credit).

Go fuck yourself, friendo.

Also, in interesting and more WTF-type of news, a subsidiary of Nike (you know, "Just Do It") has now linked me on their site, My Air Shoes.

I got an email informing me that I was now linked, as a part of their desire to introduce people to all forms of things they found interesting on the internet. While I'm flattered, I'm also slightly surprised and part of me wonders two things: First of all, where the shit are my shoes? If I'm selling out, I either want some of the new Kobe shoes (or the Alkaline Trio Shoes!!) or even let me design a Powerviolence shoe! Angry, fast and sexy, baby.

But two, given the history that Nike's had with human rights and children doing all that work, I'm a little apprehensive. But I don't think theres anything wrong with them linking me (I will be linking them, too, as there are a lot of really interesting sites they have linked) because I'm not "supporting" the shoe, or anything. I'm actually really excited about this prospect, because I mean...this is a huge step for me. Big things seem to be happening for me lately, and it's a really exciting time for me.

In other more important news:

My pal went to a therapist today, and I really hope it works out well for him. Lately he's seemed really blue, and I feel bad for him.

I really love and respect the hell out of him. He's a hell of a talented writer, an extremely funny guy, and he's probably one of the nicest people I've ever come across. I don't feel comfortable sharing his name, I feel that he should be the one talking about his issues with his name attached if he wants, and it isn't my decision to exploit him for that.

But I wish I could link him write here. He's a fantastic writer, he's such a great guy and I really think he deserves a lot of attention because he's talented in many facets and I just would never be able to understand if someone wasn't an immediate fan of this guy. He's just an awesome person, and in the past few months he's become one of my closest friends. He came into my life during a particularly turbulent time, and he's always been understand and there for me.

I can't say I'm comfortable opening up to many people. God, it's taken me a long time to peel back a few layers with a person who I'd consider one of my best friends. But with this guy, it was almost instantaneous how we both could just speak, and interact and be able to just get along so well.

I'm privileged and nothing short of blessed and lucky to know him. I truly, truly am.

And lately he's been going through a lot, and I want him to know I think about it all the time. I know he'll get through it in only the most fashionable, awe striking and cool way possible, because he makes Fonzi look like Richie Cunningham,

But I hate that he's under stress, under pressure, falling into anxiety and depression. I know he feels apprehensive with going to therapy, and taking medication isn't something he's ever expressed a positive interest in. But I also know that in able for him to be able to get where he needs to go, these medications will only help make him unstoppable, and impenetrable.

"Make the bastards chase you."

I've been reevaluating so many things lately. And I have to be honest, there have been little tweaks I've been making, and feels good. I feel more energized, excited and focused than I may have ever been.

But lately I've been so stressed out, anxious and whats really worrying me is how easily I've been losing my temper. Thats completely out of character for me, and I don't know what to do, but I need to do something fast.

One thing I've realized lately, is that I'm really anal about...pretty much everything. I wish I wasn't either, but I'm such a stickler for authenticity, and things having a node of precision, and it gets in the way of the bigger picture. I have no idea how to change this, but I wish I could.

Every time something is slightly off, I'm pretty sure another hair turns gray and I wish a kitten was dead. I want something beautiful gone to rectify this ugly atrocity.

Right now I just want to cringe.

So instead of yammering on and on about a necrosis, I present to you a video from East Bay Punk band (fronted by none other than Billie Joe Armstrong), Pinhead Gunpowder. It's an awesome cover of Jonie Mitchell.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

If I could get so high I'll leave behind my problems, take 'em out with the empty bottles. (Day 62)

Sooner or later everyone bails. I know that much. Whether things get strained, or people just drift's something that happens. And it feels like it's happening right now, and honestly it sucks.

The moment you show that full hand, you either have to prepare for something potentially great or potentially disastrous. But either way the gamble is worth it, because at the end of the road you can at least raise a fist in the air and say, "I made it. I truly lived."

The gamble is worth it, even if you lose your shirt. I don't regret anything about the gamble, but I regret how so often my callousness, and way of shutting down effects those around me. Because it just ain't pretty. It really, really isn't.

The lyric today, and I've never talked about the lyric for the title of the post before and probably won't again because I hope that if people don't know it, they'll plug it into Google and discover the whole context for themselves, and maybe even check the band out.

But the lyric from this title post comest from Against Me's Cavalier Eternal.

I can't really say most of the songs I love are songs I feel would fall into my top songs of all time, but this song in particular is one of the top five. I rediscovered this song a few years ago after a particularly bad break up. But at the end of the road, I realized the only thing that was bruised was my ego.

I've never been one to technically cheat, but I can't say I was 100% 'faithful', and I really doubt she could, either. Sometimes people aren't meant to be together in any capacity outside of maybe a hook up here and there, or just friendship with strong undertones. The magic is being able to discern where it stands early on, and figure out how it's going to play out.

"And it wasn't the other men, cause there were other women."

That kinda bums me out from both angles. One because I'm not particularly confident with a few things about myself, but also because it kind of bums me out because I'm not that guy. I'm not that guy that does the creeper walk of shame the next morning hoping nothing is a dead give away.

But things happen I guess.

"This just isn't love, it's just the remorse of a loss of a feeling. Even if I stayed, it just wouldn't be the same."

For a while after the break up we tried to make it work out again. Hanging out, doing stuff like a couple would do, etc.

But I think the worst mistake you could ever do is continue to have sex after you're broken up with somebody. Theres just too many implications and harbored feelings, and at the end if you don't feel a twinge of anger building in your might not be human.

"Gonna make it to the moon tonight on a one-way kamikaze flight; If I could get so high I'll leave behind my problems, take 'em out with the empty bottles."

The only proper way to deal with these issues of hurt ego, broken feelings, etc that I've found is alcohol. It's the great equalizer, because sure enough once the haze of liquor is out of your system you can evaluate everything properly, because down at the bottom of just can't fall any further. Plus you can't hurt anyone, so why not punish your liver? Fuck you, liver for detoxifying and producing biochemicals necessary for digesting. You think you're so great because you can regenerate? Only lizards are supposed to regenerate, freak. Digest this whiskey, bitch. When cirrhosis sets in, you won't be no pretty no more, fat ass. Lets see you regenerate now. Prick.

"Someday I'll call you from a pay phone in a truck stop on the road and you'll tell much better off you've been on your own."

That might be the case.

The reason I rehash this tired story is because of what I've learned from it, and in part what I've lost from it, too. I've lost a lot of myself, and the only way I know how to keep from making that mistake again is to just completely shut down.

But the irony is that just fucks things up so much worse than I could've ever known.

A lot of people have come and gone in my life. But theres one person I don't want to ever be gone. Ever.

And I want her to know whatever it is I need to do, say or how to act to keep her the way she is, and make her comfortable again...I'm willing to do that.

I just wanted to give insight into the douchebaggery that is HaleCo.

Otherwise, I'll always be cavalier eternal.

Until tomorrow.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

To the rhythm of a time bomb ticking away. (Day 61)

Theres a lot I want to talk about, yet nothing leaps off the pages. How last night went, and how I wanted to tell you it was okay. But I'm taking an alternative route.

Today I got my knee checked up on. I've never had a doctor's face just drop while looking at x rays.

I had to go get fitted for a custom brace, with steel/the works.

While I was sitting in the lobby waiting to be seen by the practitioner, a Greek Orthodox monk walked into the lobby. Like, really.

For so long I've threatened to become a monk. An honest to God monk. So we started talking.

But before that, he sat down on the other side of the room, and picked up the bible. He went straight to Revelations. I guess me and the monk have something in common, in that aspect.

When he was done I asked him what religion he was, and he told me he was a Greek orthodox monk.

"That a serious religion you got there."

"It has to be serious, Salvation of the soul has to be serious."

We talked about the process of becoming a monk, and what went into it. His cellphone went off (I was surprised that he had one) and I shit you not, it was the sound of church bells ringing. That part didn't surprise me, actually. He spoke in Greek, the whole nine. This was something of a new nature.

Far from my minds eye was my eviscerated knee.

So where do I go from here?

I'm thinking about coming off the meds. After all, What Would Greek Orthodox Jesus Do?

Until tomorrow.

Monday, February 2, 2009

I do agree the experience is quite enticing if I don't get distracted by all the drinking. (Day 60)

What do shots of everclear get you? Heartburn and drunk, and both happen really, really quickly. That's something I learned this past week.

And for some reason when drunk like this, I try to pursue activities that require um, whats the term? Coordination. Thats the one.

Late into the night I played Rock Band 2 while attempting to hold a conversation on the phone. One can only try to play El Scorcho so many times on hard before giving up. At least I tried least I tried.

But every time I wind up in Phoenix for an extended period of time, I really just don't want to come back. The things waiting here for me are things I'm just getting so tired of dealing with on a day to day basis. I've been patient, perhaps so much so thats it's becoming a character flaw.

When asked why I simply didn't just move to the Valley Area, I realized it was a question I had no proper answer for.

I've been wanting a big change to happen. Things have begun to set in motion that imply that a change for the better could be coming along, but for right now I can't say I'm exactly pleased with many things happening.

I've been working on File Under Powerviolence for a very, very long time. I wanted to try my best to do something new, to be diverse and able to do more than tell the same story with a different title and words. I have interest in writing the same thing a thousand times again.

Now I'm knocking on the door of being finished. It looms, and by the end of this week the long process of writing this book will be finished. It feels like I've been carrying this on my shoulders for so long but the weight's slowly been alleviating itself and I can almost feel what it'd be like without this weight any longer.

All it takes is that final push. I can't wait for this to come off my shoulders, I have to forcibly remove it.

And the thing is, with all these things I've been wanting to dissipate from my life, they've all slowly started to come off my shoulders, too. But if I want this to happen definitely, I'm going to have to forcibly remove them. It's elementary, and I'm sitting here trying to find university answers for simple arithmetic. I've just never been good at math, but what I'm getting at is sometimes the simplest answer is the right one, dummy.

A lot of things will be changing. As a forewarning to any, and all close to me. It will be starting as of today. I'm sick and tired of being the patient one weathering storms when theres a warm room waiting for me. I always wait until the last second to decide I don't want hypothermia. Even in the cold; you're still gonna get burnt.

I'm done putting the shoe-shine to scuffed boots. I've got things in my life I've refused, flat out, to face and in doing that I've all but gone completely gray dealing with the stress of not only knowing these things exist, but shutting myself out so much that when I do peak through the feels wrong. And I don't want that. Not anymore.

I used to be confident with all facets of my life. Every single one. But I'm like the dare-devil that broke a leg in 8 different places for the first time. I healed, and now I have the knowledge of what pain can in fact happen, and so I only dip my toe half way in.

I got my heart ripped the fuck out of my chest a few years ago. Say what you will about the time frame, or who she was, I just do not care. I have zero feelings for her, but just knowing how it felt has caused me to not want to open up much with anyone. Just knowing that that can exist has caused me to never give 100% of myself with any matters pertaining to the heart, and in the process not only have I hurt myself, but others in the process. I've completely over-looked any possibilities for something great because I let that fear dictate my life. To be quite honest, I'd rather feel that hurt again rather than feel numb like this anymore. I'd rather feel it a thousand times over than this.

And it might not seem like much, but for the past three years I've all but withdrawn completely from almost every person I know (friend or other). I can only think of two people where I don't have that filter, and I'm really glad that I can be that open with at least them, but it made me realize that if I can't be myself without fear of repercussions, then thats a person I just do not need in my life.

So it's time for a little bit of reevaluation.

I take this time to introduce many people to the door. Because from here on out, if anything I've ever said offended you, and there was no legitimate cause, or you feel that you can't deal with it...go on, and let yourself out. I'll hold it wide open for you, too. The lovely parting gift is a big fuck you, and have a good one.

I hate to be all like, "Me, me, me" but honestly I don't see anyone having the courtesy that I give most of the time. I don't see people saying sir, or ma'am un-ironically, I don't see people holding doors for strangers or listening to everyones problems like I do, for the most part. There are a few people like that, but in the end, humanity as a whole is infatuated with the smell of its own shit.

I've removed myself so much from existence as a whole, the phrase "this isn't about me" isn't something I say only when I'm in trouble or called on something, but more of a motto entirely. I've let myself become convinced that I'm always in the wrong, that I'm always wrong and that nothing should be about me...and worst of all, I've allowed myself to become convinced 100% that I suck, and I'm worthless.

And you know what? Things about me suck, welcome to being a human being. But I don't suck. I'm really happy with a lot of things about me. I still say sir, or ma'am. I do have manners no one else seems to have. I'm considerate, I work hard to push myself as a writer. I'm there for anyone, even complete strangers when they just need an ear.

I'm better than that, and it's time to cash in my chips on this bullshit hiding thing I'm doing. I'm done with that, and I'm done with people who can't return those favors.

Only one person heard me out when my friend was brutally slain. One fucking person. Later that day, I had to listen to people complain about everything from, "this boy is ignoring me" to "my job sucks, my boss is a dick" to "I'm so depressed because she won't return my calls" and to be honest, all those things can suck and people need to vent or need an ear, but only one person lent one to me on one of the hardest times in my life.

I have a friend, probably boarding on casual acquaintance, but my friend is in a somewhat popular band thats made some very unpopular decisions. He's faced a lot of repercussions for doing what was best for him, and at times it stresses him out...but overall what he's done has saved his sanity. He's one of the happiest people I've ever known because while people hate what he's doing, he's happy with who he's become as a whole.

And I'm not saying I'm not me. My personality is 100% genuine. Completely. But matters pertaining to me, or issues pertaining to me always, always take the back burner because I feel wrong in doing so. And I'm done with that.

I'm done apologizing for things that aren't my fault. I'm tired of being chastised for stupid, asinine and absurd reasons. I'm tired of being the one that can't be allowed an ounce of wiggle room because...who knows why? I deserve that much. I really do.

And I do appreciate people being upfront and confrontational with me about things. I appreciate honesty, but it's about time I'm allowed to make mistakes, too. Theres a small handful of people that are willing to let me do that. The rest just don't care about me enough to give an ounce of wiggle room, and to be get what you put in.

I'm out of cheeks to turn, and my neck is to sore to continue this.

Until tomorrow.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me. (Day 59)

Congratulations Cardinals.

Ever since you made the playoffs about a decade ago, I've held fast hope that one day you would stand in toe with the rest of the Arizona teams, and produce at least a decent legacy. And while I cheered for you every single step of the way, part of me is relieved you didn't win the big bass ring before the Suns. I think I would have lost my god damned mind.

Let me explain something. Ever since the Cardinals made it to the playoffs 10 years ago, they've been either on the verge of making it to the dance, or they've simply just been the laughing stock of the league. We've seen horrendous choices made by upper management, injuries, egos and just over all bad luck have plagued this franchise.

But cheer for the underdog, because at the end of the line, they will be the ones left standing. I really love this team they have right now, with minor exceptions. Mostly Boldin's cry baby attitude.

But Larry Fitzgerald has been the most impressive player this off seasons, not only for the Cardinals--but for the entire league. For the next few years he won't have to worry about job security.

This weekend was one of the best I've had in a very long time. It was just a lot of fun with people I truly do consider my closest friends.

It also happened to be my friends' brothers 18th birthday. He celebrated it by getting his daughters name tattooed on his shoulder. It looks pretty cool. I had no idea you could get tattoos done in swap meets. Apparently you can get everything. Including a baby.

I'll get more into this past weekend tomorrow. I'm really in a great mood and I want to go to sleep.

Guest updates are coming soon!

-Until tomorrow.

It's warmer in Hell, so down we go. (Day 58)

Talk dedication: I'm dead tired right now, and I really want to pass out and watch 30 Days of Night. But here I am, somewhat intoxicated and fighting with a crappy space button. I hate defective keyboards.

I hate using foreign ky boards, period. It's such an alien thing for me because my fingers are all used to my comfortably placed keys, and functioning space bar. But don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to be able to use it.

So tomorrow we find out if the Cardinals have what it takes to be the Champions. Why every team they've faced so far has continuously underestimated them, I may never know. The play book of Ken Whisenhunt is extremely deep, and it's really interesting to see him not blink in the eye of pulling a rabbit out of the hat. The Steelers are tough, but I have to think this is gonna fall in the lap of the Cardinals. No one outside of Arizona is really giving them much of a chance, and the media has already proclaimed the Steelers as the Superbowl Champs.

We'll see.

Tonight was pretty fun. I really dislike leaving Mesa. I do. Or the Valley in General. It just sucks going back down to Casa Grande.

Anywhoo...I'll give more of an update tomorrow. I need sleep and vampires eating bitches.

Until tomorrow.