Saturday, June 6, 2009

I've decided tonight that I'm staying alive. (Day 183)

There's nothing more chaotic than the moments leading up to a Mexican wedding. While I'm not big on weddings, I'm loving this. Mexican chaos feels like home to me.

I'm sorry I haven't put who's songs are what. I'll totally correct that when I get home.

This is a short ass update. I'm off to Mexican Wedding, and then I get to see my boys in the Menzingers make Arizona somewhat palpable.

For some reason I feel great, honestly. Maybe it's because after today I can honestly add to my resume the fact that I've been stoned at a Mexican wedding.

God bless knee injuries!

-Until tomorrow.

There's nothing in the world like a Southern California night. (Day 182 & 183)t

The past few days I've just been really stressed out. As it is, I'm writing the from a cell phone watching Reno 911!

I need to find some sort of peace of mind, but I just have no idea what's to do. Perhaps I just need to meet someone new, but it would just feel so awkward, I wouldn't know what to do. I realized the other day that it's been nearly two years since I've been in a relationship. That kind of boggles my mind.

The truth is I don't think I would know what to do at thiis point. I are you even supposed to meet anyone, you know? Everyone I know has seemed to have moved on, and I have no inkling on what I should do.

The other problem is...I'm never just enough. I've never been good enough. They always fall for my friends.

I'm appling for a job in Milwaukee.

Maybe it's time - just left it all behind.

And everyone else.

-Until tomorrow.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

You make all the right reasons to fuck it up, you're gonna fuck it up. (Day 181)

Today's song comes from Against Me! Sink Florida, Sink off of As the Eternal Cowboy.

Today's gonna be a little something different. Today's update will be a short story called My Long Goodbye that I wrote a few months ago. It's a little long, know.

Hope ya hate it.

-Aaron Hale.

My Long Goodbye:


Lay awake. It's 4:55am.

The sun and moon are fighting for the rights of the day. I crane my head to look out the window.
Fog is placing on the window, and I can tell neither sun nor night will be victorious: Today
belongs to purgatory. Today belongs to the fog.

I haven't been asleep for what feels like months. I miss the back of my eyelids like I miss a
hole in the back of my head, though. Sleep feels like the enemy, sleep feels like giving in.

Sleep feels like the end. Sleep means this is really, really it.

I look around my room. There's not much left outside of a bunch of empty bottles, a notebook, a
pillow and these sheets. Everything I owned is in the trunk of a car. It only took four suitcases
to pack up an entire life.

Torn pages litter the kitchen tile like shag carpet thats seen better days. Ashes of what once was
now collect at the bottom of the sink. Occasionally a breeze will stir them, will bring them back
to life, if only momentarily--the final act of this play repeating in a dance that's doomed to
end once again.

It was February, and she was kind of new.

"So are you unable to look at all the pretty girls, or am I just special?" She shoulders up to me
with her hands buried in her pockets. "Mysterious only gets you so far."

It was summer, and I was in love.

Laying naked under sheets watching bad movies and play fighting until the distance between
air and bodies was too much to bear any longer. She'd bare her soul; I'd dip into mine, but
sometimes come up empty. I never realized how vacant I'd felt until she filled some hole
I didn't even know existed.

Tunnel vision sat in, and friends became distant objects on a road I was flying down.
No one seemed to notice, no one seemed to care. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

It was Fall, and true to the season, we fell apart in the ugliest of ways.

It's Winter now, and I couldn't take it anymore.

"Final boarding call, LaGuardia Flight 6170."

Hushed into a hallowed out aluminum tube. Six dollars for a glass of wine? Think of it as an investment
for the future. By God, it's already beginning to pay off huge dividends. Another glass, vicodin chaser
and here. we...go.

If it's bleeding you want, I've got blood. If it's broken bones you need to taste, let my marrow
cascade your forked tongue; I've been buried under the influence so long even David Blaine would've
pulled the plug at this point.

Now I'm speeding down a road in some strange new city, drowning to death under these god damned neon
lights. They say New York City is the Capital of the world. If thats true, then it's also the final
frontier for existence and depravity is the only sensibility keeping this city grounded.

I worked for six months in an office, buried under flourecent lights. Humanities glass coffin, come one
and come all.

I slowly lost my mind, starved to death for something true. Something real, something I could touch, feel,
fuck or face. But now the mirrors are playing tricks on me, my reflections on vacation.

It's summer again,and I just want to fade away. Nearly a year later, and now I notice this hole getting larger
and larger, soon it will consume everything within it's pull. Liquid-based liquor lubricaints now longer
salve the burn, the tickle of vicodin is disappointing every moment it begins to fade.

Sitting in my room thats barely big enough to hold my four suitcases, starring at a television unplugged.
Whats the point of turning it on? What stations are left? "ABC, NBC, CBS--bullshit!"


I wrote her a letter the day I left home. I must have read it a thousand times since I've been here.
It's the one piece of plaster left keeping these walls standing straight. If theres ever a next time
I'll be sure to brick.

Staring at these words that poured from my fingertips, the last honest part of my being, I don't recognize
the hand writing anymore. The papers folded, the inks begun to smear and fade. It's another stiff shot
of Black Label. I guess when it's time to place your bets; you put it all on black.

"I don't know what I want anymore, Neil. I just know that I don't want you. At first it was cute, the way
you'd make light of every big fight. At first it was cute the way you didn't know where you were going
in life, but god damn it all if you weren't heading blindly down that road anyway.'s just not
cute anymore. I want a life. I wanted a life with you, but you're so stuck in the here and now. But whats
going to happen when you wake up and the here and now has turned into the 'there and then'? I want us to
be that couple...that couple you see in coffee shops reading books and drinking tea, or dancing slowly
at some show in an art gallery."

I've never liked the taste of coffee, and I can't dance.

"I'm so, so sorry. Whatever it is you're looking for I pray you find it, and you find it soon. The days
gonna come when you're out of road and out of time. I can't be your navigator anymore. I don't think I
ever was."

I clutched that ring. I clutched it in my palm for days afterwards, yet it always felt so cold. For weeks
it laid in my pockets, buried under lint and change.

There was a seven hour layover in Chicago. Midway between heaven and hell lays a thousdand broken hearts,
and a million broken dreams. This is midway--between the here and now, and the there and then.

I kissed that ring, closed my eyes and swung with every ounce of strength I could muster. Three months worth
of pay now glistens in the air as it heads towards the tarmac. I'd burn my whole billfold if it meant leaving
everything I was running from behind.

My brother, the deceiver and his wife the believer called me several times a day. Each time I'd stare at
the phone, wishing that chiming would choke; that the voices through the wire would fade.

After a month of constant calls, I was finally drunk enough to gather enough courage to face those voices.

"Neil, we need to talk."

And talk we did. Updates from home, from friends and faces I wanted so desperately to forget.

"You need to move forward", advised my sister in law "you can't keep running. What are you going to do
when you run out of places to hide in?"

"She's getting married, Neil."

Its times like these I miss the salvation of phone cards. When the minutes run out, thats the end of the line.
When the minutes run out, someone else has the common decency to pull the plug, rather than let this disease
ridden body continue to rot out while the heart and soul beg for a release. Life support is only comfort food
for those too greedy to let go. Please, just pull this plug.

God damn technology.

"Dad has cancer." Damn the Deceiver. Damn him.

"Please just come home." Begs the believer.

With the simple shut of a phone, this is ended.

Her words flooded through my ears one last time.

"What is it that you want?"

My last night in New York City, I stumbled blindly forth repeating the walk of shame, long gone was the
dance of dignity. To be honest, I don't miss it all that much.

What do I want?

I want to not wake up alone, or go through each day aching to not feel like every moment is wasted because
I'm stuck in this catch 22 of health vs. moving forward to the next chapter. Irony has a sense of humor.
One blacker than any Medieval period plague, one of gallows where your legs would never hit the ground.

I want for once to call the shots, do things on my own terms. Theres two types of people in this world: Those
who won't budge on things that are important vs. Those that refuse to rub anyone the wrong way. To go it
alone, on your own terms.

But if you're ever wondering if doing things that way is for probably isn't worth it.
You lose sleep, strength, and your will is gonna weaken. If you come across to the other side of the page
though, then God bless you. I don't know if I ever will. I don't know if I have.

I just know I'm still moving straight ahead.

It's raining outside. It's absolutely beautiful, and completely, wretchedly numbing. The way the moon reflects
off the tarmac, and the smell of fresh fallen rain drown the sensory; perception is skewed in this dreamers hindsight.

Somewhere out there is adventure.

And I wonder, "Can anyone hear me? Am I completely alone?". So often, so often.

But right when I wondered it, I watched steam rising from the sewers. I watched it rise and dissipate into
the dizzying neon sarcophagus of Time Square, and a million lights racing. Theres no need for stars here; ours
flicker and flame, shimmer and fade. Every scar, every broken bone radiates in your veins. Every crack on that
broken heart is highlighted, and you feel it so fresh again. It begins in your chest, and then burns in a
sickeningly resonate, and strangely welcome warmth in your stomach.

And you thank fate, you thank destiny, you thank everything that you got to experience every thorn on this rose
you call your life. The pedals are there somewhere, and someday you may touch them. Breathe them, see them, be them.
But until then you welcome that lonely paradise.

Are you alone?

"Am I alone?"

And I stood in the middle of it all, and closed my eyes and held my breath. It felt like a lifetime.
But when I couldn't take it anymore, forcing myself to just listen; I found it. The answer, at least for me, to life.

Why I'm here.

It could be any day, any month, any year, any person and any goddamn reason. Everything can swirl and swish and sink you.
Theres nothing that can be done about that. But no matter what, I have no doubt in my heart that somewhere in
New York City, there's a cloudy bar filled with 20-somethings, all wishing to blossom out of the cracks they've
become wedged in.

And it's pressing 10pm. They aren't ready to leave; not by a long shot.

Let the mother fucker burn.

And the faith is found. There's going to be a band burning through a cover of the Ramones - Blitzkrieg Bop.
Everyone may not know everyone, but the one thing they have in common outside of blood, veins, bones, hearts, lungs
and life in general, is that when that "Hey Ho, Lets Go" hits, it hits really fucking hard. You can't help but raise
a hand, and just go with it. Receive that gospel from people, not Gods--the ones you know existed, and feel every
moment life gets too much, and you've lost the words to express your time spent here in Midway--between Heaven and Hell
lays a lonely planet.

But it's that moment you realize you're all alone in this world, and no ones listening that the entire world is
watching, and it hears every word you've got to say.

Burn motherfucker.

As long as there's a small room in New York City with cheap beer, and a chorus of one resonating to words
first written over 30 years ago, being sung now with a passion most religions wish they could tap with
their hymnals, life will be okay. It's something simple as that.


I woke in a release. Back at the starting point of it all. It's the day of a wedding--a new lifes journey
begins, the final nail is driven sarcastically into a coffin. My overkill.

I read that letter one more time before it burned in a sink. It read:

"I watched the tides of time flow through my life. But by the time I'd seen the one crest
breaking these shores it'd already retreated back to the sea. While I never like to linger
on regrets, I've always wished that on day it'd return. I always should've been me.
While I've never really lingered long on my regrets, I know now that everything
will eventually end, and sometimes you're so concentrated on the bleak foot prints on the
shore, you don't realize it could all wash away if you'd just take a chance and move.
This is the final chapter; this is my long goodbye."

I slept so well that night.

If you made it this far, God bless ya. Patience of a saint. Let me know what you think, pass it on if you want. Thanks for reading it (if you did).

-Until tomorrow.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

I'm writing words I never meant to say, and I'll let go, this photograph says so. I'll let go, I swear to God, of everything you told me so. (Day 180)

Today's song comes from Philadelphia's finest; The Menzingers. The song is an acoustic version o their song Keychain, and it comes off of their stunning debut album, A Lesson In the Abuse of Information Technology. This is a band you will want to keep your eyes peeled wide open for, because it won't be long until they start to catch on.

To simply call them a punk rock band is almost insulting. The Menzingers are an extremely diverse and melodic band, with elements of the Clash, Billy Bragg and Jesus' sweat all poured into a highly potent concoction of cacophonious orgasm. The melodies are so damned impressive, the timing is unbelievable and the lyrics...God, I don't know if there's any better wordsmiths out there today that even come close to what it is the Menzingers are doing.

I must take this moment to apologize for yesterday's update. In doing so, I was quite disrespectful to many people, and for that I deeply apologize. It was never my intention to come across how it was that I came across. It was extremely disrespectful and I acted like a supreme asshole to people far superior than I.

I genuinely do feel sorry for what I wrote, how I came across, and for the aftermath that came with it. I'm bottom of the barrel. Please believe my intentions weren't to come across as they came. From this moment on, the subject will now be one that will never addressed, and I will do the classy thing as it were, and simply stand back.

My actions, and reactions to being dressed down on the situation today were uncalled for. I was completely a giant prick, and I'm sorry. To both of you. You know who you are, and I hope these "famous last words" at least let you know that in the end, I realize it was my fault. I want nothing but the best for both of you. I've not been a good friend, I never have been...and I just...cannot apologize enough for this, for you wasting your time with me.

For any and all of it. Please be safe, be happy and have the best time you could ever have.

-Until tomorrow.

Monday, June 1, 2009

And if I hadn't set aside the fact that you were broken hearted, Hell knows where your heart would be today...maybe with me. (Day 178 & 179)

I've decided, and this might change, but I'll be taking Sunday's off of Days Gone By. Every day is kind of hard to keep up with some days, and plus it'd be nice to have a nice little break, and maybe devote some time to some other projects. Like, oh say...Nice Day For A Revolution! Speaking of NDFAR, it will be updated with chapter two here within the next 24 hours. I know it's been a long time coming for chapter 2, I just don't want to rush anything. It's about the quality with this. It's a passion, for sure.

Tomorrow is the Alkaline Trio show. I have no idea if I'll be able to make it or not, and that completely breaks my heart. It's been a rough year and a half, and I just needed one night where I could let someone else do the talking for me.

This song has meant a lot to me in the past three months. It's called Sorry About That, and it's off of their amazing debut album, Goddammit.

Here are the lyrics:

It hasn't been that long
Since we drank to the sunset.. until it was gone
And down with it went our pain and fear
As we slowly broke contact more and more with every beer
And we passed out in each others arms
Both admitting wed never felt better
Never felt so warm
But awoke in each others eyes
Without wearing a stitch of clothing
We were both deeply in disguise
And maybe I just set aside the fact that you were broken hearted
In my own special selfish way
And if I hadnt set aside the fact that you were broken hearted
Hell knows where your heart would be today
Maybe with me

It seems like its been so long since we kissed through the darkness until it was dawn
Up with it came our pain and fear
That wed already lost each other
We both knew that the end was near
Maybe I just set aside the fact that you were broken hearted
In my own special selfish way
And if I hadn't set aside the fact that you were broken hearted
Hell knows where your heart would be today
Maybe with me
Maybe with me
Maybe with me maybe with me maybe with me maybe with me.

Below is a song I wrote not too long ago, and will be recording in the near future. Hope you hate it.

The Blister Tree:

Oh blister won't grow? I won't be sitting vacantly dwelling on spit or inhaling smoke from trees
burning in the middle of the sea. Keep on stirring these feelings of repetition, Annie, she said
to me, "It's not my mission to keep on walking with you for all these miles." Baby please keep
feeding me future lines for drunk dials. Sweet brother in arms I saw you laying there bleeding
and singing, "There's a girl with bruised arms back home in Georgia Smelling of peaches and
skin as soft as beaches." Covered in Mercury dripping with jewelery, she now bows her head
silently tearing Fearing of flowers blossoming and drinking all her tears.
"We were supposed to age and defy each day." Oh blister, won't you grow? My fingers are
aching to break writing you every line that comes to mind like, "We could be so much more than
this. You know I never gave a shit when we slept all day long ignoring the world as it spins,
and we grinned and bit each others lips and said, "Fuck our friends." You were an American girl
with Irish thighs, and god now I'm wasting away. What I wouldn't do to kill the calm and call her
my own, but now she's starring she's getting married. We'll keep on pretending
we're moving, Annie, but now its getting Winter cold. She said, "There are right times and
then there are destinies. Somehow you never meant either to me."

Oh blister, don't you know that your welcome is now worn? I'd take the time to take the form
of some lost and lonely alley if you still believed in me. Actress please dont evacuate. While
the stage is burning, lets take some time to bask in the light. Better words from bitter pens
When means forget to justify their trends, animals now sigh...and I believe there's a season
begging to rain down plastic and lye. Bound and gagged, slipping and flaling we had our chance
to succeed at failing, but now they grasp us and take time to revive. Now pretty baby
don't worry about that blood staining your grandmothers rug, we're just draining in training.
They cauterized us to the ceiling with saline and screamed at the top their lungs, and begged
us to join, "OH IT WAS GREAT TO BE ALIVE!!"

-Until tomorrow.