tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68278468667759908902024-02-06T21:33:24.134-08:00Days Gone By.This is an earful. Yeah you could say I'm much to young to die.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.comBlogger234125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-34520687728657426492010-07-15T10:52:00.001-07:002010-07-15T11:19:36.175-07:00We Live Out of Focus (Pt. 3 'How a Resurrection Really Feels'.)We lived our winter nights under blankets on your drive way. We counted the stars falling. Oh, and how they fell towards the Earth around us, like vultures searching for carrion. We watched clouds roll above us like waves from some beautiful, deep, black ocean we could never get tired of drowning in. <div><br /></div><div>The ghosts of our pasts, those who'd come and gone and who's time with us was way too short swept through our streets. And we knew one day we'd march side by side with them: it was just a matter of how many more lives we had left. </div><div><br /></div><div>And what was to never return again? How bittersweet it was to fall in love, and let love leave. The damned deception of dealing with the defeat of a battle scar that no one could see, but those around us could feel.</div><div><br /></div><div>My father fought the good fight, and died with more honor and dignity than a martyr. Tangled in tubes and wires, machines giving an audible sound of a once fierce beat that forced anyone within a certain radius to dance to a tune that was infallible...now the cacophony slowly faded away. But it's a song that gets stuck in your head for years. That kind of song that when it gets stuck in your head, you might never remember all the words, but the chorus keeps you going.</div><div><br /></div><div>And we said goodbye.</div><div><br /></div><div>But oh, we kept singing!</div><div><br /></div><div>I cursed, I spat, I drank and never slept. Caught in the undertow I wished for your hand, but couldn't stand to bring you under with me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now I lose sleep thinking our best days are behind us. Reviewing photographs in an old shoe box, the color starts to fade. Funny though, I never remembered anything looking this bright before. </div><div><br /></div><div>I see you through a lens no one else can view. I take pictures that are mortal, but epic. I regret that once those moments were over, I could never taste them again. Only bitter reminders that it's in the past. The future is skewed; we live out of focus.</div><div><br /></div><div>How I wish for one more avalanche of your strawberry hair cascading me again. </div><div><br /></div><div>We hit a patch of turbulence, and the girl in front of me lets go of the arm rest completely. She embraces the chaos. I guess you can't kick, scratch, bite, seethe and breathe horrible words aloud. But in the end, you have absolutely no say in your decay. </div><div><br /></div><div>The lights flicker softly in the plane, and I thank a god I doubt exists for the chance to live in this time. No one can take that away from me.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-44831637101103124362010-06-27T23:39:00.001-07:002010-06-28T00:03:48.628-07:00Let down your hair (A different perspective, part two of How a Resurrection Really Feels.)It was cold out tonight. Those nights you loved most, and it makes sense that you'd make your exit on this kind of note. <div><br /></div><div>We met when we were kids, and I knew from the second I saw you that I was staring my destiny straight in the eye.</div><div><br /></div><div>My dad loved you, my mom...she didn't care for you. She always knew you were trouble, and I think my dad saw that mischievous spark in your eyes and smile. But he understood, and knew you meant no harm. </div><div><br /></div><div>You were so scared of him, which was funny. I remember the time he caught you sneaking into my room. You're right, they never talk about the noise aspect that comes with throwing pebbles at a daddy's only girl's bedroom window in the movies. Of course, the also used one pebble at a time, not a whole handful. </div><div><br /></div><div>He still laughs about how fast you ran, especially considering that he got into his old suburban and beat you to your house. What, exactly, did you think was going to happen? Did you think it was like a game of hide and seek, and you could be safe going to home base? </div><div><br /></div><div> I remember when we turned 18 and drove out to California just because we could. We stood on the shores of Mission Beach in San Diego. The sun was setting, and you kissed my cheek and said one day this would be all we knew. </div><div><br /></div><div>That night in the hotel room, we smoked weed and watched Conan. In all the years I'd known you, you'd always been so closed off. So when you opened up that night, I knew I'd fallen in love for real, instead out of necessity because you were the only boy I didn't despise. </div><div><br /></div><div>You got manic in that bed, and it was beautiful. I'd seen it a thousand times, and sometimes it scared me. But it was beautiful that night, when you told me your only fear in life besides losing me was waking up one day, and having fully lost your mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I keep having this dream where one day I wake up and the lights are turned off. And I can hear myself, deep inside my head, screaming and trying to regain control. But nothing changes. It never stops, and I never feel like I'm going to wake up."</div><div><br /></div><div>You were my first. I know I was yours, too. There's so much responsibility that comes along with that, and no one ever warns you about that aspect. This bond that can never be broken, no matter what. </div><div><br /></div><div>This last summer has been among the best and worst of my life. </div><div><br /></div><div>I knew what loomed on June 14th. You didn't, though. I didn't have the heart to tell you before hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now it eats at me, it rips at me, it destroys me wholly. </div><div><br /></div><div>Every time I close my eyes I see you rushing. So passionate about music, and literature. Captivating. I used to watch with a sort of perverse pride when we were at parties, and I watched you blossom into this new entity, the kind that could contain a room with his actions and what he was saying. You build people up, you rarely let them down, and when you did you didn't sleep until it was rectified. Despite being so damned depressed so often, you were so outwardly positive.</div><div><br /></div><div>When your dad died, you shut off for a year. I don't think I heard from you once. You always understood when another guy held my hand. It killed you, but you understood. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm leaving for Dartmouth. I got accepted on a full ride scholarship. I want to live without regret, but I hate that my hearts torn between the allure of the great unknown, and the passion for what's known. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't expect you to wait. </div><div><br /></div><div>We're at a crossroads, of where we've been and where we could be. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know it'd be so selfish for me to ask you to walk away from the life you've worked so hard to build. My door is always open, but I know you hate the East Coast, and I don't think you'd do well with snow. </div><div><br /></div><div>My door is always open. My phone line is never changing. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I don't expect the world to stop spinning once my hearts inevitably starts breaking.</div><div><br /></div><div>Please, come home.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-91353029359190676172010-06-17T03:02:00.000-07:002010-06-17T04:58:27.884-07:00Sometimes I just want to kick myself. (Part 1 of How A Resurrection Really Feels.)A voice comes over the loudspeaker. It's so early in the morning, you can tell they're just taking care of their daily prep. Lucky for me, I'm the test sample. <div><br /></div><div>"Hello, hello, hello..." mutters the voice lethargically. "god damn, I'm hung-over."</div><div><br /></div><div>I look around, and no one else has batted an eye-lash. </div><div><br /></div><div>It somehow grows darker outside. I'm asked to turn off my phone, and electrical devices until we're at a certain altitude. Everyone else just closes their eyes, and prepares to wake up fresh as a daisy in a new time zone. I look through my texts one more time, and think, "Sometimes I just want to kick myself."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Sir, when the sign asking you to put on your seat-belt is on, that also means turn off your cell phone. When it goes off again, you can turn it back on." She doesn't mean it rudely. In fact, she says this with a perfectly legitimate smile on her face. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Just...another minute, okay?"</div><div><br /></div><div>She places her hand on top of mine, and continues to the back of the plane. Moments later she returns with some unidentified drink in a clear, plastic cup made to simulate class. However, worrying about class in coach, in a middle seat while Lindsay Lohan traipses across the screen in some wacky comedy. You see it in her hollowed-out eyes; she's trying to justify her addictions and proclivities for tabloid-rag front pages. "I still belong." And for a second I feel a connection to Lindsay Lohan. And in the next I feel a burning fire in my throat. Cheap whiskey on a cheap flight at some ungodly hour in the morning. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is class done with class. This is style done with style, boy.</div><div><br /></div><div>A story unfolds on the tiny screen in front of me. It's funny how something the size of a pocket planner can change every moment of your life. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hold the "End" button with less and less certainty. What's in front of me is waiting for me the moment this plane lands. For now I can pretend. That every mile conquered in the sky is an accomplishment. That I'm doing something with my life, and that if my dad could see me now he'd be impressed and proud. </div><div><br /></div><div>But at three in the morning, while the rest of the world is asleep, every thought is revolutionary. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thoughts like driving down a dark highway alone, with the windows rolled down and the Pacific in the distance and the radio screaming the playing field in equal parts entertainment, and relativity. Where the sun never rises again.</div><div><br /></div><div>The kind of relativity only the truly broken hearted, open eyed could ever actually relate to. The kind of relativity only a beating heart fueled by plasma, soul, rock and roll and love could relate to. </div><div><br /></div><div>The kind of relativity that when that singer sings so passionately, that when they sing good-bye, you feel that strength, too. </div><div><br /></div><div>See, for some of us, the worlds coming to an end. We're just waiting for the final rotation. We aren't nihilists, we just want that experience. We just want confirmation that that choking feeling in our chests was justified; that our intentions weren't vilified. </div><div><br /></div><div>There's a last second straggler just like myself. She isn't haphazard, she's just frazzled and tired. </div><div><br /></div><div>She sits near the front, and she's fidgeting nervously. She keeps going through her things, over and over. Like a record with a small skip, she continuously checks a small red bag.</div><div><br /></div><div>Outside the sky is so dark, the lights on the tarmac seem futile. Beads of rain decorate the street in a sheen of clean, clean evanescence. This city is washing it's hands of me. Tomorrow it's going to wake up with a clean slate. The grass is going to be just a shade greener; the sky just a little bluer, the air just a little fresher. </div><div><br /></div><div>The seat begins to pull me back, keeping in rhythm with the growing hum on the outside. Ears begin to clog with pressure. </div><div><br /></div><div>And in seconds the ground below me twinkles less, and less brightly. I stare in awe that I was allowed to escape without the ground opening up and eating the plane whole. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want to read. I want to listen to music. But what I want most is to live in this moment unmolested. </div><div><br /></div><div>The ground growing blacker and blacker, the air getting cooler and cooler. </div><div><br /></div><div>The girl up front, she's slipping on a light pink hoodie. And if I hand't seen it with my very own eyes, I would have never believed it.</div><div><br /></div><div>She pulled out a flask. I don't even know where you get a flask these days. Much less the brazen fortitude it takes to sneak one onto an air-plane, especially when it's made out of metal. Somehow, her exploiting an obvious hole in our Homelands Security makes me comfortable, and happy. The warming effect of my own drink helps, too. And despite it all, I'm smiling. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes it is those little things. Those small victories we achieve when absolutely no one is watching. When all the right people turn left, and we get the chance to sneak right and live in a different chapter of a better book. A book not everyone gets to read, because to read this book means your a lifer, whether you like it or not. You don't sample the fruit, you feed openly. </div><div><br /></div><div>But one thing...there is absolutely no turning back.</div><div><br /></div><div>She drinks without concern for regulations on flight safety. She drinks without regard for silly things like sobriety, livers, or taste. </div><div><br /></div><div>I find myself drinking with her pace, and having a great time trying to keep up. </div><div><br /></div><div>The lights are dim in the cabin, everyone else is sleeping. Dreams of flying, dreams that mean nothing, dreams that can, and will be forgotten. What a waste of what little imagination we have left.</div><div><br /></div><div>I keep getting sympathy drinks from the flight attendant. </div><div><br /></div><div>I keep racing a stranger that doesn't even know they are in the middle of a heated competition. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is mild turbulence, and while some of the slightly conscious grip their seats with half-awake white-knuckle fear, I relax and sink deeper into my seat.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was 1997, and we were just kids. We'd heard the adults constantly say how we were joined at the hip. I smile with half my face. The other half knows what the other is trying to ignore. I'm a friendly-fire casualty caught in the middle of a war I once fought in, and that's fine by me. </div><div><br /></div><div>But we were just kids. I guess in a sense we still kind of are, too. We took a trip with that church group out to California because it was summer and we hated the heat we knew. It's not that we believed in Santa in the Sky. It's that we believed in getting away from our parents, and exploring each other in sleepy churches next to the beach. </div><div><br /></div><div>We rode the Superman ride at Six Flags. The line was forever, and you knew I hated to wait. You always thought it was odd, throughout all our time spent that I'd hated waiting so much because usually I was so patient with everything. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was hot, and I felt sticky. You smiled, and held my hand. I think you always assumed that I was kind of scared of the ride. </div><div><br /></div><div>You assumed right.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I was excited, too. We got to be among the first to ride that ride. </div><div><br /></div><div>My hands gripped tight on the restraints, and I never got a chance to open my eyes; it was over before I had a chance to see it in full. It's one of my biggest regrets.</div><div><br /></div><div>I closed my eyes with you, and gripped tight. When I opened my eyes you were gone, and my hands were stiff and sore, like it was bone on bone for so many years.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now I can't help but lay back and let the chaos work it's wonders. See, I believe the world is coming to an end. So, if this is the rabbit hole, then I want to see how far down it goes.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-5937013005124989332010-06-10T17:50:00.001-07:002010-06-11T17:00:11.602-07:00How a Resurrection Really Feels (An intro of sorts).For the next couple of posts, I'm gonna switch it up. I'll be presenting the short story in it's entirety, for <i>free</i> here. It's called <i>How a Resurrection Really Feels</i> as the title of this blog would suggest. <div><br /></div><div>I've not written in this kind of capacity for quite some time, so I apologize for how shaky and rough this thing is gonna be. Truth be told, I have the premise in mind, but unlike real writers, this will pretty much be written here. Meaning I haven't worked it out in advance. Just a couple of cans of Hurricane, inspirational music, and trees.</div><div><br /></div><div>And a big dash of real life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday when I went to my job between jobs, I discovered this pile of papers at what's effectively my desk. What this means is that whoever sat there previously doesn't work there anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was looking for some information, when I came across this long letter. The author of the letter was a girl, the handwriting is kind of hard to read.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the letter broke my heart.</div><div><br /></div><div>It reads out like part suicide note, part revival, part desperation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Whoever wrote it has a strong addiction to heroin. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So in the next few posts will be a short story. We'll see where it goes.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-90055288742133292792010-06-06T09:30:00.000-07:002010-06-06T10:20:23.071-07:00Oh, I'm kind of like a sailor back in 1942. Yeah, I'm gonna fight the good fight but god damn I am gonna miss you.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g124/ArmageddonPhotos/000_0800.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 324px; height: 432px;" src="http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g124/ArmageddonPhotos/000_0800.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Life moves.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've always had a fascination with airports and planes. I realize this puts me solely in the minority of people who have an opinion regarding planes and airports. But truth be told, all those planes going all those different directions make me pine to be on any one of them, going in whatever direction, with absolutely no idea as to what I'm going to do when I land.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I was a kid, I used to want to be a pilot.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But it seems that any time I go to get ready to travel some place, it's always for the wrong reasons. I'm always one step ahead, or one step behind.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Because of my wayfaring ways, I often wonder if people actually come in contact with as many strangers as I do. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">See, the downside of friendship is, that no matter how long you've been friends with someone, most of the conversations always start with a "hey, what's up?" and the thing is...that's more of a greeting. People rarely answer that question, honestly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I want to know.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Those who've been unfortunate enough to be along with me when I've been out and about, I don't know if they've ever noticed how I can make an instant connection with a stranger. I can't count how many times a friend has asked after I've finished a conversation with a stranger how I knew that person. And it always surprises me, the look on their face, when I explain, "Um, about ten minutes."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sometimes it happens over the internet, too. I can't tell you how many of people I consider close, close friends I've met simply through this blog, or older ones I used to do. And I'm finding that this is something of a rarity...but why does it happen so constantly?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I live in Phoenix, Arizona. I have since January. I've spent most of my life here, so I'm far from a stranger to these lands.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've grown to increasingly despise the surroundings. Not necessarily because of the heat. Though that in itself can get very close to unbearable, part of me likes that humanity could never replicate in a close way, real sun light. The way it warms your body, naturally. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But the people here...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's been a wide subject of debate, SB 1070. I won't get into my personal feelings about the bill. Truthfully, they've pissed off both sides of opposition/support of the bill at rallies. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But the hatred that's imbued in so many people here. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's been kind of a funny, sometimes scary thing. The actual race that I am. There was a situation in San Clemente, California where I was illegally detained by some racist cops. I wasn't asked for ID, asked for my name, or even simply explained too why it is John Q. Law was slamming me against a door, cuffing me and then shutting a door on my injury prone knee. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">People often assume I'm of Eatern/Arabic decent. I realize its because I grow beards. It was a lot worse before I grew my hair out, because when it my hair was shorter than my beard is when I found the policia upset with me existing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Often times at work, or other places people who see me daily will finally come up, and it never fails, say this (nearly verbatim): "Now...are you Arab? I can never figure it out."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My origins, if they are honestly at all important, are half Irish, half Hispanic. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But the other day, the worst its been in a long time happened. I was on the way to the bus stop to go pick up my check, when a woman in a walker who was sitting down at the bus stop walked away. I didn't think anything about it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was listening to some music, when about 15 minutes later she re-approached the bus stop bench. I could see from my periphery that she was talking, so I moved aside my headphones and asked her to repeat herself.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"You stupid fucking spic. Why can't you go back to your own fucking country? You have such an ugly language, you people talk just as loud as the niggers."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That's a lot to take in. Mostly because...anyone who knows me know I'm actually very soft spoken.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, and the racism thing bugged me a lot, too. Though I did wonder why Eva Braun could identify my race, and people who I shared a common ancestry with couldn't.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And so I go back to the idea of travelling. It's no secret that I'm planning on leaving this place. I just don't know to where yet. And this shriveled woman was somehow embodying every grievance I'd had about this place.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Worst of all, it made me never want to talk to another stranger again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yesterday I went to the market to buy my groceries and pay a bill. My card worked for the bill, but when it came time to pay for the groceries, it wouldn't accept it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now, your first inkling might be to say, "out of money." except I wasn't. The card is somewhat damaged, and it does this from time to time. It's frustrating. As it was in line at the store. I started to sweat because a line was forming, and I really hate holding people up. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Realizing that it was 110 outside, and that the buses only run every half hour, I started to walk away from the groceries. I'd been in the heat all day, I just wanted to get home and die in peace and (cold, air conditioned) climate.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When a guy behind me swiped his card through the terminal.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"What are you doing?!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That was my audible reaction.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What are you doing? You don't have to do this, dude. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"I can tell you have the money, but everyone deserves a boost once in a while."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I still don't know what to say about that. $17.45 was the total bill.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's just weird to me how something that I've actually done before surprised me that much. Not saying that everyone should go around paying for other peoples groceries, but why shouldn't something so kind and generous be so much of a rarity. Why does it take tragedy to remind us that we're all breathing the same air, and life is hard no matter who you are. No matter the amount of money in your pocket, no matter the hours spent wondering where life went as you wait for the 5pm mercy kill from work, so you can go home and be to tired to create, or do something you're passionate for. We're all in tight places.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And then I come across a comment a few weeks ago on this here blog, titled Over Fire (Joshua John). It was something, especially at that time, that I needed to hear. It took me days to try to figure out what, if anything I should say.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After some exploration, I found that the commenter has a blog of her own: <a href="http://setfiretothecatalyst.blogspot.com/">Set Fire to the Catalyst</a>. Come to find out she has very interesting thoughts, very good photography, and we seem to have some sort of bond. She's right, it feels like I <i>should </i>know her. You should, too. So make sure to click that link a few times, follow her, leave encouraging comments. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You know that quote, "I've always depended on the kindness of strangers?" That quote bugs the shit out of me. Get your act together, and move forward and be a responsible adult.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">However, I've always loved the comfort of strangers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Stay safe.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-19171129818604832772010-06-03T22:52:00.000-07:002010-06-04T00:17:48.560-07:00Somebody's drinking our last ration of victory gin; I'm sober as sin.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1121/3168872076_47dc577012_m.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 180px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1121/3168872076_47dc577012_m.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Time waits for no man.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>The world is a wide open place, and it's up to us to discover it in our own way. I know what it's like to give up completely, on anything and everything. But I also know what it's like to find that fight again. Buried deep in the recesses of my mind was the will to keep going on.I was nearly homeless. But due to the good graces of some people, I was able to get my footing.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>It can be terrifying, too, at times. Because this time there is absolutely no </div><div>going back. The thing is...I know for a fact I don't want too.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I think about those I've lost contact with and the reasons for it and I kind of feel like...yeah, maybe it was for the best. For whatever reason we were negative spots in each others lives, and truth be told I don't think I've ever been happier. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because life is new again. That wanton desire to explore, to see, to try new things again is there, and it beats harder in my chest than my heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So I sit here wondering where I'm going next. But I know I'm going to enjoy it more than ever,</div><div> because this time...fuck, it just really...<i>really </i>counts this time.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Inspiration in a time like this is absolutely crucial.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>See, a while ago I began writing a book called <i>Open Roads and Brick Wall</i><i>s</i>. But for whatever reasons I could never seem to just end it. Later on in the book it just became, not necessarily a laborious and tedious process...just one I couldn't figure out exactly what tonality to leave off with.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But it's times like this good tunes and good visuals really inspire the desire to exist, live, breathe</div><div> and explore the depths and crevasses most people wouldn't dare.</div><div><br /></div><div>It can end in only one way...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>See it boils down to this: I don't want to wait for life to get better. And I hope no one else wants to wait for it to get better. If it sucks, go out and change it. Every one has a bunch of sad stories,</div><div> and I empathize with that. But why leave off on sorrow?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We can be a lot more.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So we work, we play...and what else that fills up the time between, well, that's there too. </div><div><br /></div><div>Giving up on yourself is one of the most desolate feelings in the world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I want to concur every great city in my own way. I want to work during the day, explore during the night and sleep when I'm d-e-a-d. And I plan on doing just that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Stay safe, and until next time, make sure to check out some truly awesome and visually inspiring</div><div> pictures. They're gonna evoke a reaction out of you that's going to</div><div>make you want to go out and get a camera and get in touch with your inner shutter bug. And while you're at it, buy something.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="http://velvetonholiday.blogspot.com/">Velvet On Holiday</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>P.S: Below I've included a few of my pictures as well.<br /></div><div>See, this is gonna be the summer of photography....</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdEbmLFUW-EkDG2rl90pPHSL07CDbhNAwca1xXsyzoVMyF51mHurK9r2TdpE6Ym9ZbF4yPUFmkLw05nM-RdskYE6CzBqyo2Dkzdi4zKFm2ytMkr_Gu-DHPYNlnRA17ZGQgpOK8kqyHKCTE/s320/ArtIsHard-vi.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 255px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478807401585333570" /><div style="text-align: center;">Toltec, Arizona. Oh, the joys of urban exploration.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiexCSMiKVYaf8oC4qRfAGf6Ke-m4UoptmMsXnlUcLuIGs7g1xMslEZuDrRk-OJH-y0SZJ7sp6xqUktJtToqYWfMKXNAKTGUfNey1vP_-O7LylZJddHOy_wGW11cpk9sFA6ZCfa8e-yvDr8/s320/ChiTown-vi.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 220px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478806795827050978" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Southern California.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM7UiP1NLmQur6bcYma3SlBwyE2qXiuZ406dl083-M4WHd7My0eIiliSydhfjB287z-G4O_62wB8UzA8-PzgPBXcL2uua6AGCp7YSP12BAlUFT3-xytmZW_9WDiHUs5qoMj9MrGO5iW1pd/s320/l_fca68e2325616ec70994f004609729b0.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478808056242666178" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Every where I go, they have make a fuss...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisF8a4bh6dTU8S14xIVACTdc9FFsfGSOrCEjXcLR2oF3QbETmw0rfeaDHf-6lS5VSpCGjZZqZQAUaflCHHuSy_Nox1cDG9B1zwSFq7v7a5wOxMDYjTrnBfbu8RaZ2ObT55L9lUZR9567GL/s320/SKYLINE2-vi.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 217px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478809087563521442" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Awesome skyline. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgycCvqjIHIkPbYUUJZdjjIdftPwWlcKgow38ORCNBZWROfLAue0EritYtqLy4Du69KCs_Pw6PORWLfTgzdis_tkxprcW-zNVeRgcKTaapvdj269KvBE5KxPowtReTkjC2lRe-e3TYPzjSa/s320/TheHighCost-vi.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 231px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478809784959054130" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Outside of a homeless shelter. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1085/3167936483_fcd4eaa3e4_o.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 640px;" border="0" alt="" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">See you on the other side of the shutter.</div><div><br /></div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-65282587485983351312010-05-31T09:34:00.000-07:002010-05-31T21:14:08.959-07:00Suffocation, Modern Life in the Western World.Happy Memorial Day, all who happen to read this!<div><br /></div><div>It's sweet to have a few days off to spend with your families, drink beer, barbecue, river raft, a whole bunch of things. And man, those things are a lot of fun to do.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the reason why we can do those things is because there was blood shed. Not to stop on a dime, and be one of those people. Truth be told, war should always be the last result. But there are times when not only the future of your somewhat infant country is in peril, but also the freedoms of other Nations as well...it's truly amazing that people younger than I gambled their futures to maintain the way of life they had at that time. </div><div><br /></div><div>I really often wonder what some Veterans might think of the advances in modern technology. If they, even for a millisecond in moments of cease fire, if it ever crossed their minds how far this country would go. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just take a second and really appreciate what it is you have. If it weren't for the bravery of youth, we wouldn't be living the lives we live now. For better or worst, there is ALWAYS a chance to better our lives; the price of freedom was paid with the blood of those who came before us, people we can never possibly meet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-86763525653088581892010-04-26T22:11:00.000-07:002010-04-26T22:48:32.799-07:00Over Fire (Joshua John)I grew up with a kid named Josh. He was a close friend my entire childhood/teenage years. In fact, a good portion of his youth was spent under my roof. He was the last child in a long line of siblings, and I kind of this that by the time he was 8 or so, his parents pretty much let him raise himself.<div><br /></div><div>It's not that they were bad parents. They provided, had game nights, loved to cook...the whole gauntlet. They're both successful, extremely intelligent beings. Both lawyers, in fact. </div><div><br /></div><div>Truth be told, all of Josh's siblings turned out to be pretty big successes. Many of them being lawyers as well. Josh though, he never really went down that path. He was more of a loner, who was much more content spending hours doing absolutely nothing on his dad's computer at all hours of the night in his fathers law office. </div><div><br /></div><div>Josh began to have seizures right around the 7th grade, and not a lot of people really knew how to deal with him. It wound up alienating him from some people in a way, because it was such an odd concept at the time. Most kids had never really seen something like that transpire, and truthfully if you've ever seen a seizure take place, you know that they can tend to be very frightening. </div><div><br /></div><div>But he was like a brother to me. In a lot of ways, even though he was older, I wound up kind of looking out for him at times. </div><div><br /></div><div>When his mental illnesses became too much (at the time) for our very modest elementary school to handle, he was referred to a school...I guess better catered to people who's needs were similar to his. His parents had me go with him his first day to kind of watch out for him. </div><div><br /></div><div>But Josh....Josh is a special guy. I mean that in a very positive way, and I know I have to be careful with the context considering his above listed mental illnesses. </div><div><br /></div><div>But he could make anyone smile. He could make anyone laugh. He was, in a way, the price of irreverence. He never cared, one bit, what anyone ever thought of him. </div><div><br /></div><div>And at times that put him at odds with some of his older brothers. They'd tease him to the point of him needed to physically remove himself from the same zip code. It's not that they rubbed their success in his face; truth be told they were trying to push him to better himself an realize all his untapped potentials. Believe me, he had many. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I understand how it all rolled down to him. Despite being the youngest, his parents we're somewhat older than other parents (oddly enough, that's one thing he and I bonded over, given that my parents were also a bit older that most of the kids parents at our age.) But he brought a whole new definition to the term 'latch-key kid.' </div><div><br /></div><div>But he was always, I think, viewed as the black sheep of his family. Everyone heading one great big direction forward, and him always seemingly in neutral. </div><div><br /></div><div>But the signs, they weren't what anyone really looked for. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think for me a lot of how I perceived his actions were eccentric, but just...Josh. That's the best way to describe it. He was just himself.</div><div><br /></div><div>He didn't listen to the right music, like the right movies....he didn't like parties, or anything like that. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I think he fought hard to try to come across a bit more normal, to fit in.</div><div><br /></div><div>The older he got, the more erratic his actions became. He'd go months without anyone hearing a word from him, or seeing him. I remember once literally having to kick down the door. The sight of him sitting in a rocking chair, staring mindlessly at a tv in a dark room while drinking out of a huge jug of wine (literally) was something that really sticks out to me now. I should've seen it then.</div><div><br /></div><div>I broke up with a girl that I truly loved on October 16th, 2006. Josh, in his way of supporting, really kind of trashed her a lot during the following two weeks, or so. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd bought her an early birthday gift a few days prior to getting dumped. Cursive tickets on Halloween. One of my favorite bands on my favorite holiday with my favorite girl. All signs pointed towards October 31st, 2006 being my favorite day ever.</div><div><br /></div><div>But she broke up with me, and I decided to go to Cursive anyway. Josh had offered to go along with, which was surprising, because crowds weren't his thing. </div><div><br /></div><div>I won't get into the details because it's so petty now, so unimportant. But suffice it to say, after that evening I resolved to cut him out of my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>He was negative, he had a tendency to take things, like friendships, for granted. he'd bad-mouthed a girl I was still very, very much in love with. I walked away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the next few weeks he'd call, try to get a hold of me. But I always looked at the caller i.d, and ignored the call. Eventually, around the end of December the phone stopped ringing. A few months later I packed up everything, had a going away party (sans Josh, which felt weird then, too) and left. </div><div><br /></div><div>Occasionally over the next few months I'd think about him. Wonder how he was doing. But goddamn I was so angry with him, so hurt, that I just kept on going. He was a touchy subject for a while to come.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually I moved back to Arizona, same area, back with my parents. I dealt with my fathers cancer and knee surgery, chased a girl, got tired of chasing her and started chasing another, began writing seriously, and before I knew it, it was October 31st, 2007. </div><div><br /></div><div>I kept on going.</div><div><br /></div><div>About a year and a half later I got the last phone call from Josh I think I'll ever get.</div><div><br /></div><div>It seems he'd went off the deep end. He'd been in a home once a few years ago when he and I were still close. But in the conversation he told me, and I can still remember the...emptiness in his voice. He was asking me if I'd told a judge that he heard voices, because they took his license. He told me, in fragmented sentences that were so eerily jumbled...how he'd attempted suicide a few times, lost his license (which always meant the world to him. It was always the one part of his life he could control with out seizure or behavior medication) and how he'd been to a hospital a few times.</div><div><br /></div><div>He asked me, and I remember that for the first time in the conversation he showed any emotion, he asked me if he could see me. </div><div><br /></div><div>This time I wasn't angry. I think at the time I was, but it was more to mask the chill it sent down my spine; his voice had almost being laying supine, but when he asked to see me, there was a hint of...something. Something sad.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I turned it down. </div><div><br /></div><div>The other night Josh was brought up in a conversation, and I remarked how I'd hoped he was in good health, and happy. The other people present wound up telling me how he now lives in a mental care facility, not an institution.</div><div><br /></div><div>And that the thought of me sends him into a break-down. That he has severe nightmares about me.</div><div><br /></div><div>It hit me in the gut like a truck. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't really know what to say after that, except that all I could do was write about it. It's included below.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wish somehow I could give him peace. </div><div><br /></div><div>This song is called "Over Fire (Joshua John)."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>Take a seat my old friend</div><div>It's been years, my God what's happened to the time?</div><div>I heard about the spells in your head</div><div>A motion in a black ocean</div><div>Swallowed alive by these waves of regret</div><div>Another bullet in the chamber to live with</div><div>And I'm so sorry for the tremors</div><div>The shaking, the scars that no one can see</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll bite my tongue even though I hate the taste</div><div>Rough days and demons dancing in plain sight</div><div>Voices shouting, but mouths sewn shut</div><div>If I could, I would take the brunt</div><div>Stay awake through the shakes</div><div>If it meant you could get a nights worth of sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>It feels like I've lost a part of myself</div><div>The memories rust shut, an honest man turned into a liar</div><div>I break at the thought of you freezing </div><div>Even though this dance is held over fire.</div><div><br /></div><div>Heard the saddest song sung </div><div>Solemnly whispered from the tired soul of a caged bird</div><div>Mourning the memory of flight.</div><div>Churning in the guts of the imprisoned</div><div>Captioned for the deaf, a dream to fly higher</div><div>No longer dragged over fire.</div><div><br /></div><div>My brother, take a seat</div><div>It's been years, time just pased us by</div><div>I dream about the spells inside your head</div><div>Constant moments and thoughts of bad days</div><div>Filling you to the brim with dread</div><div>And I'm so sorry....</div><div>My mouths rusted shut, and there's nothing I could say</div><div>Just know that I'd give it all without hesitation</div><div>To walk by your side over fire.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time, stay safe.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-61839657630118041192010-04-18T08:28:00.000-07:002010-04-18T08:43:12.364-07:00Do you think about me now and then?Two posts in less than six months? Insanity. I've decided to start making time to write again. My dreams have been on pause, but lately life has seemed to want to unravel. So instead of sinking to the beat, I've decided to go down swinging. <div><br /></div><div>Even on my worst of days, I'm still doing about a thousand times better than Scott Heisel. </div><div><br /></div><div>This job I've got has played to a deeply repressed part of my self. The kind that would kill a thousand men just to secure the almighty dollar for a moment more. And I hate that portion of me, but lately I've just played to the hidden side of myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm about to be with an apartment because of some shifty managers disregarding their own rules and logic. </div><div><br /></div><div>And every thing feels like it's dying around me. </div><div><br /></div><div>But for the first time, even without her by my side to help fuel that fire...I'm damned angry, and I'm hitting harder than before. The writing I've done is so much more impassioned. I've gotten a lot more responsible, I'm enjoying life a lot more, despite this past month. I'll wind up on top, or die trying. </div><div><br /></div><div>But with the realization that the apartment situation, that's literally been a Hell-Hole situation since minute one, is coming to a close I realize I can...go anywhere. Be anything, or anyone. </div><div><br /></div><div>So it's exciting, but bittersweet at the same time. I've lost a lot of people lately, but I've also gained some that I know would hurt to lose. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The title from today's blog comes from Kanye West off of 'Graduation. "Homecoming" featuring Chris Martin of Coldplay.. If you haven't, check it out. I think it's something most people could easily relate too.</div><div><br /></div><div>And in relation to me, this song helps remind me that the situation I've got...</div><div><br /></div><div>I've lived in Arizona most of my life. My dad, mom and cat are here. Close friends. </div><div><br /></div><div>And there's this line in the song, "But if you really cared for you, then I guess you'd have never hit the airport to follow your dreams."</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, for too long I've put other people in front of me. And the thing is...that's not some good karma thing, necessarily. It reeks of cowardice for not taking a chance. </div><div><br /></div><div>So maybe I don't care for her.</div><div><br /></div><div>Or maybe it's that I do and I just want to not for a few minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love the story of the Phoenix, and think that with each passing year the City that bares the same name follows it's homage a little closer. Minus the borderline-racism, homophobic undertones. </div><div><br /></div><div>But maybe I just want to see it from a distance, and try to make my own happen. It's a strange time, so who knows what's going to happen.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-17496515174485346382010-04-11T19:46:00.000-07:002010-04-11T20:17:17.862-07:00Well, somebody's drinking our last ration of victory gin. I'm sober as sin.It's been a while. That's something of a common statement, though, whenever I update this blog. <div><br /></div><div>See, it's not that I don't have anything going on...it's that so much is happening that I just want to keep it to myself. Every moment feels like I'm struggling for something, and I'm just not entirely sure what it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some moments it feels clear, and others it doesn't. And the reality of the situation is the person I'd go to for this has gone. </div><div><br /></div><div>There's another line in this song in which the blog is titled after, and it goes "And maybe I owe the Devil a little something just to keep things stable. Cause last night I realized that I was nothing more than just a servant for his plans." that seems so fitting to what's going on.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I'll back track a few months:</div><div><br /></div><div>It was January, near the end of the month. I was moving, and so were my parents. I wound up moving to Phoenix, they...well, I'm not sure where it is they live, honestly. </div><div><br /></div><div>And since I've been up here, I feel like is completely alien, now. I have a job I don't entirely hate. I work 50 hours a week, and I don't honestly mind. I've met some interesting people, been some...interesting places, and so life is just shaping into something good. I need to work on being a better friend, but asides from that...it's been nice. A swirl of chaos, and it feels like....something.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I moved here, I moved here the night of the AFI show. I lost my keys to the apartment literally that night, which is something I rarely do due to those clips. I had to rely on a public library for a while, and then I got a job. </div><div><br /></div><div>I saw the Alkaline Trio perform, and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. </div><div><br /></div><div>I put so much faith in someone, and was burned horribly by them. I still feel like I failed that person in so many ways.</div><div><br /></div><div>I lost the best friend I ever had over...what? Exactly what? Some unresolved issues on both ends. At the end of it, though, it was my pride and ego that severed that tie.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I start in a new position, where I sit here and I long for just one more moment, one more night on the beach drinking with you, and just enjoying the ride and thrill of knowing you. </div><div><br /></div><div>I dream of California. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first time I went to California was with my parents when I was a kid. We'd went to visit my uncle and ex-aunt in Quartzite, and we drove across the boarder. </div><div><br /></div><div>The air felt better, cleaner...and now, every time I think about the taste of that sweet air, the damp cool breeze that eternally seems to flow...the very fact that if I had to say what I thought paradise was, it'd be California. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've spent so much time there. I've made a lot of memories there. Hell, in <a href="http://achtungdisaster.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-left-my-heart-in-southern-california.html">2008 I realized that after a trip, I'd left my heart in Southern California.</a> Clumsy me. And while it's not in the same exact place that it was before, it's still their relishing the breeze.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I feel like I just can't go back. A lot of what I tried hard to build with my early 20's is just....gone, you know? And that's where I want to be.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going back to school soon, which just...sucks because I'll apparently never sleep again. But I'm going for radiology. </div><div><br /></div><div>The future holds a lot. Like St. Joe Strummer said, the future is unwritten.</div><div><br /></div><div>So lets get some pens and build something this summer.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-33724439131272512512010-01-20T12:30:00.000-08:002010-01-20T15:14:06.397-08:00A Decade Under the Influence.So...it's been quite a long time since I've updated this. Truth be told, I pretty much considered this blog to be dead and gone. But at the behest of <a href="http://www.velvetonholiday.blogspot.com">Velvet</a>, who convinced me to do a decade in review blog, I guess I couldn't say no. Mostly because she never really listens when I tell her no. <div><br /></div><div>In order for me to really commit to doing this decade in review, I'll be doing a series of ten posts, one for each year. After that, I'm not really sure about the future of this blog, but honestly does anyone actually care? Probably not.<br /><div><br /></div><div>The first ten years of 2000 was a gigantic swirl of mass confusion. And while many tragedies occoured (Katrina, Tsunami's, Earthquakes, Gaza Strip and 9/11 to name a few) there were also many great things that happened, albeit on a slightly more personal level.</div><div><br /></div><div>So without further adieu, a decade in review:</div><div><br /></div><div>The year was 2000. I watch many documentaries, and one thing that always strikes me is that when I come across one from 1999-2000, it stuns me just how much our world around us has completely changed. It can be something basic as how much cellphones have evolved, the implementation of personal computers and high speed internet into everyone's house or how much popular music has changed. While it's by and large just as shallow and vapid as it was a decade ago, it's a clear-cut improvement to the days when Fred Durst ruled the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Or it can be something obvious: How we in the Western World view security now. But I'll get into that more in later posts. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the year 2000 I started coming into the person I am today. While there's been much in the way of my own personal evolution, there's also been groundwork laid as well. But what I hope to capture in these next few blogs are changes. Changes from then to now, and hopefully illustrate for myself what I can do to further myself towards a better future, and hopefully appreciate the past a bit more than I do now. </div><div><br /></div><div>I graduated from 8th grade in 2000. I was 14 years old at the time, and to be honest that's such a strange reality for me. That merely ten years ago I was 14. </div><div><br /></div><div>When we walked, the two songs played ad nauseam were Vitamin C's one hit wonder, "The Graduation Song (Friends Forever), and good god if I never hear that awful song again I'll be eternally grateful. The other song was, obviously, Green Day's "Good Riddance" (Time of Your Life). </div><div><br /></div><div>Green Day was my favorite band at the time. Definitely a gateway band that got me into bands like Anti Flag, Thrice, Operation Ivy, etc. </div><div><br /></div><div>The afternoon of my graduation, prior to walking, I decided to dye my hair green. It would be the last time I saw my natural hair color for four years. Needless to say, when walking across the stage when it was my turn to take my diploma, I decided that was the time for the great unveil. </div><div><br /></div><div>You ever have a dream where you're naked in a room full of people? I've never actually had that dream. However, I've lived what I assume would be a real life equivalent. Well, I was wearing clothes, though. Some found it hilarious, some clapped...some looked mortified, and my mother...well, I'm pretty sure I've been dead to her ever since. </div><div><br /></div><div>That night, I went to a graduation party at a girl named Chardae Vigil's house. It was a pool party. My closest friend at the time, Mike Mumme (who was a year older than everyone at the party) and I went. I'd had a crush on Chardae ever since I saw her for the first time on the first day in Kindergarten. I was surrounded by people I'd known my entire academic career, my closest friends on the planet. People I'd grown up with along the way. I didn't know at that time that this night would be the last night, the last time I would ever really see any of them. That this was the final time any of us would spend time together. Years later, when coming across any of them, it would be so awkward. How much we'd changed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some passed away. Some have children now. Some have completely disappeared into the unknown.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the party was over, Mike and I walked home. A cop pulled stopped behind us and informed me that we had been breaking curfew, but he let us off.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later that night I saw Nikki Sideravidge. While I'd always had a crush on Chardae, I can truly say at this point that Nikki was my first love. However, we never dated. But be that as it may, our relationship would be one that I've seen play out similarly several times in my growing years. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd met Nikki about the middle of the middle of 8th grade. She was a very unique personality, beautiful, but not in a traditional way. My entire life, I'd never felt right walking in my own skin. A teacher I'd had when I was in third grade, and then eventually again in my Sophomore year in High School had noticed the change. "You always seemed so withdrawn from yourself."</div><div><br /></div><div>But she somehow got to the core of me in such a way that no one had previously. She also opened up my world to many different things. She was the first real live girl who's breasts I saw. That was just...special. She brought out what would ultimately be my sense of humor. </div><div><br /></div><div>But with the good in her came the sad. She was the gateway to many things in my life, one of them being my first expose into the foray of the real world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nikki had had a rough past, one I don't feel I need to get into within the confines of this blog. But he confessions to me were heartbreaking. One afternoon, while playing video games with her younger brother, I walked into her room to see if she'd like to join us. I caught her holding a bag of cocaine. She lost control of herself, and started weeping. </div><div><br /></div><div>Over the course of our friendship, I would watch her sink deeply into confines of addiction to numerous drugs. A lot of boys used her, and she knew it. She just had a lot of trouble ever saying no.</div><div><br /></div><div>My friend Josh and I both became close friends of hers. Eventually Josh would wind up dating her, which really sucked. He was one of my best friends, and she was my first love. But I still stuck it out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Her house was so unique. It was a new house, and the house had a bright red roof that you can see from miles away. </div><div><br /></div><div>I still feel pangs of nostalgia every time I see that roof. </div><div><br /></div><div>She moved away later in the school year. I wouldn't see her again until my first day at High School, my first few moments as a new student. From then on, our contact would become infrequent. The last time I saw her was earlier last year. I think about her often, still.</div><div><br /></div><div>That summer was spent hanging out often with Mike and Josh, and a girl named Christina Jones, who was like a sister to me. I wound up seeing Green Day for the first time at the Warped Tour.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Warped Tour that year was held at Manzanita Speedway. I caught bands like the Suicide Machines, Snapcase, Weezer, Green Day, The Donnas...and dozens of others. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, in Arizona during the summer...it gets quite hot. It reached, at its highest peak, 136 degrees. Kids dropped from heat stroke and dehydration at every corner. My father Ed had driven me to the show, and occupied his time around Phoenix while waiting for me. At one point he got dinner at Burger King. While he ate, security guards and officials of the Warped Tour brought attendees of the tour in to get them water. Because of this, there was little room. A group of girls who'd came in to eat as well, asked if they could share the table with Ed.</div><div><br /></div><div>They turned out to be the Donnas.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I started High School, I felt out of place right away. Because of this, I wound up only attending the main campus for the first half of the year until I felt like I couldn't exactly take it anymore. I wound up spending the rest of the year going to night school. </div><div><br /></div><div>I worked at Taco Bell for the first time when I was 15 years old. The transition into night school really left me feeling hollow, and for the rest of the year I felt quite despondent. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, my life long love affair with punk rock music and punk rock shows began to hit a true stride. I'd made a friend named Lisa, who to this day remains one of the greatest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's all for now. See you next time!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-51546939272891101652009-10-07T00:52:00.000-07:002009-10-07T01:02:52.904-07:00There's no more room for love.Song - Chasing Hamburg<div><br /></div><div>Artist - Polar Bear Club</div><div><br /></div><div>Album - Chasing Hamburg.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So I'm back, at least just for an update. In the interim, I've been busting my ass to achieve something, to become something...to plant the seeds and move forward from this niche I've dug for myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>Basically, I've been working hard at school. Sometimes I don't achieve the grade I set for myself, and it kind of eats at me, but I keep plugging away. </div><div><br /></div><div>I turned 24 this past Sunday. I spent it with some good friends.</div><div><br /></div><div>I woke up early that morning, and had to breathe it in. I wound up staring out the window watching the clouds roll by, my favorite kind of day. In these past few months I've met a lot of new people, and I've started to meet...me. A part of me I never really knew existed, and it's kind of interesting. </div><div><br /></div><div>I realized how much I've changed, and where I've stayed the same. </div><div><br /></div><div>I messed around this year, and got my heart handed to me covered in rock salt and regret. The last time that happened, I wound up hopping on a plane to New York.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've never had a problem running, it was just the direction I was having an issue with. </div><div><br /></div><div>But now I'm running in what I hope the right direction is. </div><div><br /></div><div>And the other day, I decided to self publish my first book, which is a compilation of short stories. It's called File Under Powerviolence, and I've posted a few of the short stories here. If you like, you may certainly buy the book. It's pretty much a donation-based project, and you can either email me (aaron.halewilliams@gmail.com) or leave a comment here, and we can figure something out. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm still not sure what I want to do with my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm done with that hurting. For real, this time. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Everythings alright now, babe, more than you know."</div><div><br /></div><div>Life still has it's trouble. But in that, I've lost weight, I've become more disciplined and...I'm surprised by that. I'm getting a little burned out, and I need to really snap myself into shape, but I'm well on the way.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope to move out soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just can't stop thinking about the coast. California, Oregon or Washington. I want to be...there.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's a long road, but I'm taking you with me.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-Until tomorrow.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-57229584602053161702009-08-31T21:17:00.000-07:002009-08-31T23:21:44.435-07:00One Year Forward. (Update 225)About ten years ago or so I sat in the back of a small, very old church in Toltec, Arizona on a very hard pew. It was actually the only pew in the church, kind of a direct contrast to the image one usually gets when thinking of a church; rows and rows filled with creaky wooden benches causing the more aged of the parishioners to be a bit more at ease than their younger counterparts, who's younger and more supple bodies would silently protest to the wooden apparatus that should never be called a piece of furniture, as that in itself is an insult to the fine craftsmanship of most other pieces.<br /><br />There were a few of us that sat in the back. A girl I wound up having a deep crush on for many years growing up, Christina to my best friend at that time, Mike Mumme, who wound up dating her at this time. This would be a situation that would repeat itself many times throughout the course of my life, often times seeing my good or close friends falling for the girl I happened to have feelings for. In fact, it's happened as recently as this year. While this has stung each time to varying degrees, it's proved that while I'm not exactly Casanova, I do have good taste. It has caused me, however, to wind up having to settle for girls more my...league. Much to my chagrin, and laughter of said friends.<br /><br />A few weeks prior the pastor that'd built this small, old church (Mike Mumme's grandfather) James Mumme had decided to step down from his duties to take it easier at the time. He would later build another church in Arizona City, and continue working just as hard. As long as I've know James Mumme, he's always been a short, slightly hunched, very skinny elderly man. In that regard, he's not aged a day since I met him.<br /><br />While everyone had been sad to see him go, James Mumme had always had an aversion towards speaking into a microphone, which may've been a stroke of genius, or maybe even more likely because of 40+ years of experience in being a preacher, James Mumme would speak softly. Now, there's soft speaking, and then there's the James Mumme way of soft speaking, which would cause everyone in the room to hold their breath for nearly the entire sermon, listening hard just to see if he was actually saying anything.<br /><br />So while everyone was sorry to see him go, I highly suspect some of the more aged were sighing a bit in relief, because hearing wasn't on their side. Quite often, on any given James Mumme sermon, you could hear numerous hearing aides buzzing and squealing due to being turned up at a decibel so maxed out, that any higher you could hear peoples thoughts.<br /><br />There we were, sitting in the back of the church. Today was now the second week with new pastor we'd chosen. We'd gone through interim traveling preachers, each applying for the position to tell their own version of the word of God. Eventually, through some process I don't quite recall (though I highly suspect it was that of everyone raising their hands when their choice was named, much like elementary school class elections were.)<br /><br />What was interesting about this preacher was his way of conducting things. While he was a bit older, (late sixties) he was one of those rare breed of the elderly that seemed to transcend age as a whole. I've been lucky, my step father who wasn't quite as old as he was (but still older nonetheless) has been one of those rare fogies, too. So it wasn't a shock to me like it was the other youth.<br /><br />But his way of speaking, how he would engage people...he would make it seem like he was locked eyes on only you, despite him speaking to an entire congregation. It's a manner of speaking in which I've emulated heavily, honestly. But his whole demeanor was a direct contrast to the prior pastor. While one was much more somber, monotone and demure...he was much more charismatic, vibrant and engaging. Instead of just reading passages, he would incorporate humor and tell stories as well, that you couldn't honestly help but become involved in.<br /><br />He was a natural born story teller. Either you have it, or you don't, it's not anything you can ever really learn. The seeds have to be planted instinctually, and the throes of life have to cultivate the crop, and from there it's something that flows naturally.<br /><br />Leroy Van Verth was his name.<br /><br />You ever think back to someone, and the most peculiar things surrounding them in their environment, or mannerisms...those ones you're sure that no one else quite remembers, that those things are what will remind you of that person years down the line? Leroy had quite the penchant for Peanuts comics. He had stacks of them, all lined up in a very precise order in this bookshelf next to his front door. He constantly read them, and incorporated them into humorous anecdotes in his messages.<br /><br />His wife Nina was always playing piano. She played piano for the congregation, but even at home they chose more often to read books and play music, rather than submit to the woes of the daily news. That always impressed me about them. And I don't mean to sound like they were oblivious to the outside world, far from it actually. More often than not, they would be reading newspapers. And while I never asked, I do highly suspect it was because news aims to desenthiesize and numb, where papers were tend to be more factual.<br /><br />So here we are, sitting in this church still trying to get a feel for this new preacher. And while I never have really truly been able to believe in God, there's something to be said for just listening to that side of the story.<br /><br />And then he regales us with this tale about how he was embarrassed to drive his car to church. That one kind of caught me off guard, because he was a very faithful customer of the Infinity brand. A very luxurious, nice car. But in a more humble way, if that makes sense. He then went into the tale...<br /><br />"Nina and I received our tags the other day. When we opened them up, I noticed that my license plate," he says as he pulls out the envelope containing the license plate, "Had something a bit unnerving on it. Especially being a preacher and all." He removes the license plate. On the plate, it had the numbers 666, eliciting a very large plume of laughter from his new herd.<br /><br />And that's how he was. I know that might not seem much. But it's that memory of him, the way he treated the youth in the congregation...I can't remember one time he didn't great me with a firm hand shake, and say, "What's the good news today, old sport?"<br /><br />Adults always talk down to those younger than them. He leveled the playing field, and chose to treat children and youth as intelligent beings. It was that show of respect that endured him to me.<br /><br />I'll always remember, above it all, how he was with his wife. How after so many years, they still seemed to have that 'Honeymooner' aura about them. Every evening, before it was dark, they'd walk their dog Amber, and hold hands.<br /><br />I've always felt that holding hands is the most intimate thing you can honestly do with a loved one.<br /><br />One year forward, today on this day he was <a href="http://www.azstarnet.com/sn/crime/255771">stabbed to death</a> over the same brand of car he was always faithful too.<br /><br />And it's been hard, too. Real hard. Because I've never had something like that happen to someone who was close to me. I've known people, friends who've passed away. But never their lives taken from them. And I'm not saying that that makes their passing any less tragic, because it doesn't. It's just that ripple effect that winds up hitting you so much harder than you'd ever expect.<br /><br />To this day, his murderer hasn't been caught. I doubt he ever will.<br /><br />Though I wasn't there, I still see it vividly in my head for some reason. He and his wife had just returned home from Portland, Oregon from a vacation. He heard noises outside, and went to inspect it.<br /><br />Stabbed to death in his own churches parking lot.<br /><br />But I think, above everything in this world....all the things that can be so ugly and vile, even at their most ugly and vile moments such as bleeding to death, there can be one triumph above all. I truly believe that that in itself is in fact love.<br /><br />There can be a lot of hits or misses. For Leroy and Nina, they were High School Sweethearts, something virtually unheard of now.<br /><br />But she got to say goodbye. He got to hold her one last time. And while his killer may never come to justice, to me...that's the most important moment you could ever have. Love could conquer all, in any context.<br /><br />So I sit here now, one year older but the feeling still pretty fresh. I still wish I could be angry about the whole thing, but I just can't. I keep expecting to forget what his voice sounded like, but I haven't.<br /><br />I was lucky enough to be able to call him a friend. I'd go further to even say that while it'd been a while since we'd last spoke, he was so close to my family that we'd consider him a part of out family.<br /><br />But to consider him a friend...it seems to awkward, I guess, given the large difference in our ages. There wasn't a single time though where it was hard for us to find something to talk about.<br /><br />It's greedy to say I wish he was still here. He had 81 amazing years of life, 60+ married to his wife, and if anyone lived a life...I'd consider it to be him. We never know how this story is going to end. But when it does come...you just can't stall it.<br /><br />And those left standing have a hole left. To mourn and remember.<br /><br />But one year forward, I choose not to mourn, but to remember and celebrate and express a wealth of joy and utter gratitude. Some people are meant for better things, and sometimes those things aren't within this life. Sometimes it's to cause reflection and remind those left behind how amazing and great life could be, despite the ugly and vile cracks and crevices along the sidewalk that can twist your leg and break your ankles.<br /><br /><br />"Did you hear the gospel choir when they came to carry you over? Did you hear your favorite song one last time?"<br /><br /><br />Thank you Leroy Van Verth. You meant more to me than I could ever express.<br /><br /><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbinDCQtSck0p0-ktJfpmB__hgcNc8Ws2NiKkGCQTVWwgcKD2GoTwjECdSgdpkwGdwTRmUNE3PFNRNB-xJLn_3kgKtZI6hyphenhyphencesvMqyUBXabk57xPX7uvjbEl5V4ZhbxPQIBC6ZlnhW4sej/s400/l95837-2.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 396px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376379456759648674" />Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-34846023818730172932009-08-19T20:04:00.000-07:002009-08-19T22:05:45.883-07:00I've driven across deserts driven by the irony That only being shackled to the the road could ever I be free. (Update 224)Artist - Frank Turner<br /><br />Song - The Road<br /><br />Album - <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; ">Poetry Of The Deed<br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px; white-space: pre; "><object width="580" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gfGLzDQ7e-k&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gfGLzDQ7e-k&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="580" height="360"></embed></object></span><br /><br /><br /><b>California Update PT. 1</b>:<br /><br />So last time I updated this was about three and a half weeks ago. Who knew that honestly so many things could actually happen. First and foremost, I'd like to say hello to every Pitchfork Media "writer" that loves to brow-beat themselves with my "tired, boring act". It gives me a warm and fuzzy feelings.<br /><br />At last update, I was on my way out the door to California. Quite a bit actually happened in that time, from getting the proverbial shit kicked out of me for a couples art project. The art project is basically, from what I have gathered, a compilation of photographs taken for I believe a book to be called "Jack's Black Eye". In case you didn't catch the reference, it is indeed a reference to Chuck Palahniuk's novel (turned blockbuster hit movie starring Edward Norton and Brad Pitt) 'Fight Club'.<br /><br />I think it's a pretty interesting project, and it'll be interesting to see how it turns out in the end.<br /><br />The night we finally arrived in San Clemente, we went to a bar that is frequented by Marines called Goody's. <br /><br />Everyone wants to paint Marines in the light of being confused adolescents who are trigger happy with no other guise in life outside of being from a poor background with little idea on how to exist, exactly, in this modern landscape of America. That they're nothing short of hair-trigger tempered individuals with a jock asshole mentality, and the truth is...I just don't see it that way. Very salt of the Earth, the majority of them, I'd say.<br /><br />It was very interesting. We wound up making the acquaintance of two Marines who'd just returned that afternoon from where they were stationed, though for the life of me I can't remember their names or if they were stationed in Iraq or Afghanistan. I fail tremendously.<br /><br />What I won't forget was how they were both cousins who, throughout their tenure from boot camp to being stationed, always somehow remained together, which is extremely unlikely.<br /><br />One of the kids wore glasses, and he sat on the couch repeating over and over out loud, to no one in particular eventually, that he couldn't believe it. That it didn't seem real (being on a couch and not having to worry about the daily call of bullets flying and bombs falling). Eventually he wound up falling asleep, and this proved to be quite cumbersome for his cousin as he tried for well over an hour to wake him up.<br /><br />A few days later we wound up back at Goody's, only to not really make it in time to actually go in. There were two drunk guys hanging outside of the bar who decided asking <a href="http://velvetonholiday.blogspot.com">Velvet</a> to drive them home was the smart and utterly responsible thing to do. But apparently driving them home didn't quite mean, "Can we sit in your car and you drive us safely to our abode" but rather, "Drive this white Scion box home, and then walk your asses back to...wherever. We don't care."<br /><br />Initially, I don't believe either Velvet, Jeremy (whom also came up from Arizona for this splendid trip.) or I gave a care. It's Southern California. It's Orange County. It's never unpleasant there weather wise (As Lewis Black once said, "The easiest job on the planet has to be the weatherman for Southern California. 'Dave, what's the weather like today?' '...Nice. Back to you, Bob.' "), and I believe there was a plan for the three of us to walk for a bit anyway.<br /><br />Eventually though I began to notice just how many blocks were passing behind us. Around this time, one of the drunkards asked Velvet to pull into a 7/11. She wound up going inside with him, leaving Jeremy and I with the much more intoxicated of the two. It was around this time I realized that this guy had intentions to make an honest woman out of one of the three of us (Velvet, Jeremy and I). He became increasingly annoyed while he was explaining his intentions, and wound up punching the back of my head rest. "Great", I thought, "He's going to make nipple cozies out of my <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/uvula">uvula</a>. Good. That's what I want to happen."<br /><br />Soon after this realization, Velvet and the other drunk kid returned to vehicle. "I got you guys some Four Loko's. She said you guys would like them."<br /><br />Now I've heard of a lot of alcoholic beverages in my day. I'm a scientist, it's my job. But Four Loko was something I'd never heard of. I later assumed it was a cousin to Dragon Juice. Basically they're related in that they are higher ranging concentrations of alcohol mixed with an energy drink. Whatever, it was free and it didn't taste so bad.<br /><br />We wanted to take the drinks and run, but both of our humble hosts weren't having any of that. Turns out they grew a heavy conscience about our pending two mile walk. We get up there, and I proceed to drink this energy alcoholic drink as fast as possible. That was a uh...bad idea, honestly.<br /><br />It was around this time when the drunker of the two decided it was time to finally reveal who the lucky lady would be. Turns out you actually need a physical vagina to qualify, which left Jeremy and somehow me out of the running. It was around this time Velvet informed him again (she'd been doing so all night) that she had a boyfriend. Apparently this was on no consequence. I decided to take a more direct approach.<br /><br />"He's hung like a goddamned horse. I've seen it. It's kind of offensive, honestly." This was said in a completely sober context.<br /><br />Soon enough we found ourselves walking two miles back to her car. Around a mile into the walk, the beverage hit my like a cannon to the chest, and I thought I was going to die. My heart literally was attempting to break down the walls of my chest, and escape. I laid on the ground wanting to run forever, but forcing myself to lay still until the cardiac riot in my chest calmed down.<br /><br />That's all I've got for tonight. I need to go to sleep soon, I have class at 9:30 in the morning, but will be at the campus at about...7:40 am. YES.<br /><br />I can't wait.<br /><br />Also, Days Gone By will no longer be update daily. Several times a week, but not daily. I just can't keep up now with my new schedule. But hopefully it'll remain just as boring as always.<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.</span>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-76612699207283067552009-07-25T12:11:00.000-07:002009-07-28T00:00:36.778-07:00Some one call the ambulance...there's gonna be an accident. (Day 223)<div>Artist - Placebo<br /><br />Song - Infared<br /><br />Album - Meds.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Placebo are one of those bands that have been around, seemingly forever, had a song on the radio that if you heard it you'd go, "Oh them!" A good example of such a song is one of their first hit singles, "Pure Morning":<br /><br />"<em>A friend in needs a friend indeed<br />A friend who bleeds is better<br />My friend confessed she passed the test<br />And we will never sever</em>."<br /><br /><br />Great, great mood music. Especially for sitting alone and reflecting or driving.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value=" They've always been a really interesting band to me, because they have all the right things going for them (catchy hooks, a really interesting voice, adryogenous front man (don't worry, it's not for style, he's just bisexual) and heavily textured pop-rock songs) but they've never really caught on in America. They're huge everywhere else, though. But this band is easily a " guilty="" for="" they="" always="" have=""></object><br />So tomorrow I'm taking off to go to California for a little bit. Updates may be sparse, but when I get back...plenty more to talk about!<br /><br />So, stay safe and I hope you have fun!<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.</div>Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-46048967211772996242009-07-24T21:43:00.000-07:002009-07-24T22:58:54.850-07:00My whole life I've been a tourist. (Day 222)That quote comes from Nate, JR from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">HBO's</span> "Six Feet Under". I've always loved that show, I used to watch it a lot when I was growing up until we got rid of HBO, so now I'm refreshing myself on the show and then finish out the story. The writing makes me envious to a level that's probably not what many people would consider um, healthy. I'd kill for an ounce of talent, so you could only imagine the genocide I would rain down to have an increment of that talent. Of course no one would be able to enjoy it except for myself because everyone else be dead. Holes in theories for 300, Alex.<br /><br />But that quote really hit me kind of hard.<br /><br />Instead of just trying to apply myself towards anything, accomplish anything or search for a real meaning I've resorted to just sucking air and shitting remnants of an ego.<br /><br />I've spent the past decade living out of a back pack and suitcase. I don't own very many things, let alone anything nice because I've always wanted to be ready to go at the stop of a dime. I've always kept a foot out the door, and in the words of John <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cusack</span> in the movie version of Nick <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hornby's</span> novel <em>Hi-Fidelity</em>, "You can't do that. That's just suicide."<br /><br />I've been lucky enough to really strengthen a bond with a friend I made a little over a year ago. The past five months have been really hard for me, with very little reprieve to speak of yet this past month she's really cheered me up most days. I'm lucky. She's another one of those girls that really should never talk to me, because let's face it...I look like a rancor, I'm completely awkward, boring and dumb and I have no right whatsoever to converse with people out of my league. God bless her, she takes pity on me and has given me charity friendship anyway. I'm just waiting for the day when she yells "J/K" and runs away laughing, never to be heard from again.<br /><br />It sucks she hates herself, she's better than so many people I've come across in my life simply because for better or worse no matter what, despite the outcome, she's always her. And that's amazing. Trust me, you'd be so lucky to know her.<br /><br />Thank you so much, Linty.<br /><br />When I was in High School one of the biggest programs offered at this particular institution of mediocre learning was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">JROTC</span>. If you don't know what that is, it's a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">preparatory</span> course for a career in the military. Before I get into this entirely, I want to give a short background on this city known as Casa Grande.<br /><br />It's a black hole the likes of which I've never really seen before. A huge percentage of the people who reside here have always, and will always. And their progeny plan on enver leaving. Kids start families in their teens, smoke meth like it's cocaine, and really just never get past this depressing, soul sucking hump.<br /><br />In JROTC the drill instructors made it a point to always tell their future kill bots that the only way out of this town was a career in the armed forces. That that was the only way, and even then that wasn't even enough. That eventually they would wind up back here, but after having seen the world they'd "realize" that this place was the best place in the world.<br /><br />And my God, that depresses me to no end. And I think this whole time I've lived like a tourist because I just never wanted to feel like I had roots that were too deep, that I could uproot at any time and escape in some sort of glorious dash. I don't want to think that this is it, that this where I'm going to live for the rest of my life.<br /><br />I just wish I knew for a fact that somewhere out there is something I can latch onto, that's far away from Casa Grande, far away from Pinal County, far away from the lava state known as Arizona.<br /><br />I want to take that risk and leave it all up to chance. But so many people that leave here always come back. I don't want that to happen to me, and I wish I had a flux compacitor to make sure that that isn't in my cards.<br /><br />But every time I've ever left, I've wound up back. And that can't happen again.<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-18266117964975911532009-07-23T21:40:00.000-07:002009-07-23T22:51:22.083-07:00Sweet dreams, Pantopon Rose. (Day 221)This is a quote from Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. I think out of all the beat writers, this guy definitely might have lived the hardest life, although he wound up living longer than most of them.<br /><br />Beat writers, while the whole spirit and genre really are my favorite period of literature, really divide me in a lot of ways. As much as I love Jack Kerouac or William S. Burroughs, part of their legacy tends to bother me. Kerouac wound up dying at 47 penniless from cirrhosis. That doesn't bother me too much, honestly, because heavy drinking comes along with the territory. At least he died as a product of himself, unlike that coward Hemmingway.<br /><br />But being a part of the beat generation, helping be it's pioneer, he was also one of the first to abandon ship becomming a conservative catholic.<br /><br />It's just that juxtaposition. One moment you're about personal freedom and the next your about personal restriction, even going so far as to support the Vietnam War. Ironically a lot of the people who were against that particular were directly influence and rooted in the foundation he laid.<br /><br />I understand people change, but something that drastic...don't you always hold on to a little bit of yourself? I don't know. That kind of extreme change of character really bothers me, and I'm not really sure.<br /><br />Burroughs is a different story. His er, relationship with Ginsberg and both of their work for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nambla">NAMBLA</a> (North American Man/Boy Love Association) really just bothers me. I think that's pretty self explanatory though.<br /><br />And i think about this because the course I've laid out for myself with school, in advertantly appears to be going down the road of English/Writing. This was mostly at the behest of my counsellor. I have no idea what kind of application English could really have in the world if you're not going to be a teacher, which I honestly couldn't stand unless I was teaching in a college position. Otherwise, I just couldn't.<br /><br />Writing is so unrealistic. I don't have what it takes to survive on it, and even if I magically gained that over night, my ethos prohibit me in a sense to actually want to make any money. One of the last lines of the book I wrote says, "May this book never make one fucking dollar."<br /><br />That pretty much sums it up, I think. I don't know how I would be able to handle making money off of my own words. It's really enticing, and super fun to fantasize about, but I'm just trying to become realistic these days is all.<br /><br />Right now I have my fingers crossed I can get into a work-study program at school, I applied for it with my FAFSA application today. I need monies for the Fest, and am not too proud now to accept donations whatsoever. I'll tell you what I told my financial aid person the other day when I approached her at her desk.<br /><br />"Need money, gimme gimme, now now." While having my hands outstretched.<br /><br />This was obviously the best route.<br /><br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-17694523597552540352009-07-22T22:33:00.000-07:002009-07-22T23:52:46.749-07:00Haushinka is a girl with a peculiar name, I met her on the eve of my birthday. (Day 220)Artist - Green Day<br /><br />Song - Haushinka<br /><br />Album - Nimrod.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I wonder what it would be like to work in forensics. I wonder if they have a kind of "ride along" thing like the cops do. If someone knows the answer to this, let me know post haste!<br /><br />Dexter makes it look so interesting and fun. I've been getting a lot of crap about my love for the show, but what I don't think people realize is that I'm a fast learner and I'm obsessed with this show. Never speak ill of Lord Dexter Morgan in my presence, unless you need some plastic sheets.<br /><br />I'm starting to really get antsy about starting school. I kind of want to meet new people and start a new chapter. I really need too, and maybe there's some fun adventure, but I don't know.<br /><br />I'm just ready to start something new, and give it all. Just to prove to myself I could've done it all along, and feel validated. I don't know if that makes any sense.<br /><br />But what have I ever said that makes sense?<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-23802113017641734252009-07-21T22:41:00.000-07:002009-07-21T22:46:49.643-07:00There is no fool like a high-IQ fool. (Day 218)I've decided that this year I'm going to try my hardest to make it to the Fest. Today, they just announced the bands. Whle perusing through the list I saw a few familiar faces, ones I'd expected and it still seemed like it'd be a great time.<br /><br />And then I realized Samiam are playing, and deciced that if need be, I can start walking now.<br /><br />I'm not sure what's more fun: Seeing a legendary band that you love play knowing full well you might not ever get another chance, traveling to a City/State you've never been too before, three days of music...<br /><br />All those are realistically things that I really look forward too.<br /><br />I've never gotten to do anything like this, and now I just have to figure out how to make it happen. I may start selling records and stuff through here, I'm not sure.<br /><br />Who all is going?<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-84284748541414856452009-07-19T18:50:00.000-07:002009-07-21T01:46:03.679-07:00Moving west, Mississippi it's time like these I wish you were here with me. (Day 217)Artist - Nothington<br /><br />Song - Going Home<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So after six years of not waking up to go to school, the streak has officially ended.<br /><br />And it felt different this time.<br /><br />I don't like to talk about how I walked away from high school. I'd always felt that it was a pretty big waste of time, and I really wish I could've just dealt with about two years of it and then went straight to a proper learning institution.<br /><br />I walked away for reasons I'm not even sure will ever truly make sense. At least to people hearing it from the outsiders perspective.<br /><br />And I know now that the seeds are planted. Not a wreckless, romantic idea of just running away and throwing caution to the wind, but instead taking a more calculated approach to life in general. And for the first time it actually feels that even though it'll be a slow burn, it'll burn none the less.<br /><br />The more thought I put into it, the more I realize how much transfering to a different school in a different city and state now becoming a tangible possibility. It might not be yet another pipe dream.<br /><br />I hate that I'm starting to get excited.<br /><br />I'm a 23 year old Freshman. That makes me a loser. I shouldn't be excited, I should be admonishing myself for letting so much of my life get sucked away by things I shouldn't have, and that really puts things into perspective, I guess.<br /><br />But I can officially say I'm now a poor college student.<br /><br />I don't know if I would have ever seen this coming, honestly, had I not gotten a kick in my ass this year.<br /><br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-80141275825073173892009-07-18T00:59:00.000-07:002009-07-18T01:57:45.510-07:00"I would die for you, but I won't live for you." (Day 216)Today's exerpt comes from "Perks of Being a Wallflower". I'm thinking every once in a while I'm going to pepper in a quote from a book, or tv show or something. Just so I don't repeat the same song lyrics or just focus on some many of the same bands and you know, switch it up.<br /><br />This past week I've been completely off my medications. And I realized tonight just how clouded my mind is. It isn't something that I intentionally did, being off my medications.<br /><br />I'm still shakey about what I'm gonna do about school, and what comes after. Part of me just wants to take whatever I can get, latch onto that and never think otherwise. In fact, that's a huge part of me. I don't want to be wreckless, now that it really counts this time.<br /><br />So many times before, it really counted, and I just ran. And I always hoped it would stay. I always told myself that in the end I'd do something, or somehow it'd be there waiting for me.<br /><br />I guess I've never really given myself much of a chance.<br /><br />I just get so fucking frustrated. I don't know if you know what it's like to one minute be up, and the next down and to know that on a purely scientific level what's happening isn't your fault...well, that's not exactly a consulation.<br /><br />I just want it to stop long enough for me to be able to figure out a thought, and then be able to just go with the flow and relax and not...think so damned much. I wish I could just...turn it off, or at the very least slow it down to where I had a breath between thoughts. I wish I could explain it, but I just can't.<br /><br />And at times I really enjoy it. To be able to harness it just enough to write, the ebb and flow is so seemless and at that point, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.<br /><br />But now it's becoming crunch time. It's getting to the point where it's vital I learn how to cope with this, and I'm having such a hard time. And turning to medication was such a hard thing for me to come to terms with in the first place...<br /><br />And to have to call a doctors office eight times in four, five days and then have to ask my pharmicist to try and get ahold of them...it's the most demeaning thing. I shouldn't have to beg for a solution. I should be able to not say I had to jump through hoops to get a cleared up head long enough to do some homework and pursue some menial fucking job so I can come home every night and watch Tivo'd Dexter.<br /><br />It's one thing for it to be hard work. But I'm doing everything here. I'm not being met half way, a quarter of the way or even the doorstep. Fine. Whatever. But to be made to feel that I'm begging for something I felt so ashamed of asking for in the first place really just sucks.<br /><br />All I want to do is quit. And I know I can't. I just know I can't make that decision when I'm not on the medication. It should be a decision I come too when I'm fully medicated and can think a little more clearly.<br /><br />I haven't had a thought I could trust in a week and a half. Nothing entirely morbid. I mean, yeah...there's been thoughts here and there, but when you can't stop obsessing over every detail and it physically ailes you, and every breath feels like a bomb...you just cannot move forward. Your mind, your body will not let you because everything feels so god damned deterring.<br /><br />It's true. Every single teacher and parent and adult that told you along the way, "only you can stand in your way", well...they were absolutely right. I realize that's what I'm doing, that's all I've done.<br /><br />Every time I was asked to stay a little bit longer, and still got on the next train out of town. Every time I should have toughed it out one more day, but raised a finger high and walked away. Every time I should have smiled but bit my lip and crossed my arms. Every single time I stayed in my room on a beautiful day opting to stare at a ceiling...<br /><br />And I just do not want to be that person anymore.<br /><br />In Perks of Being a Wallflower, Charlie talks about participating. And I've never done that. Sam, the girl he loves, near the end of the book yells at him for never once showing or saying what he wanted, instead he just always chose to think of what they might think or what they might want. And she never got to know the real him, entirely. Why he never kissed her when he wanted too.<br /><br />I've not been very good at participating. Every chance I've had at being reclusive instead of wandering out...well, most of the time I chose the shadows.<br /><br />In restaurants, or on busses, I always try to sit in the back, with my back against the wall. And I've never been able to really understand that compulsion. But to be honest with you, when I can't be at the very back, in the corner...nothing feels right and I just want to leave.<br /><br />And it's those stupid goddamned thoughts that toss me around like an ocean in a tsunami. And I'm so sick of that. I want to either just sink or swim. Just something, and I do not feel in control. I just do not feel like I'm in control of myself or my situations.<br /><br />And I'm going to college?! Are you fucking kidding me?! One of the most expensive things I'll ever deal with, and I can't make up my mind on anything.<br /><br />This has to stop. I just want this to stop.<br /><br />But I need someone to kick my ass, and there's just no one there with a boot.<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-92147187627908124682009-07-16T23:38:00.000-07:002009-07-17T00:32:39.995-07:00And there is no time like the present to drink these draining seconds. (Day 215)Artist - Rise Against<br /><br />Song - Savior<br /><br />Album - Appeal to Reason.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This next week I have a meeting with a counselor to discuss what basically boils down to my future.<br /><br />There's that word again. That one that haunts every corner of my existence right now. I spent so many years trying to outrun it and hide from it that now it's everywhere I look. Part of me wants to be excited, but mostly it's the realization of letting go that hangs on every sentence that's really starting to bother me.<br /><br />Future desk jobs and company retreats. Casual Friday's and three day weekends.<br /><br />I used to wonder if we were meant for more. Not even wonder, I was so convinced. But the truth is...we aren't. We aren't meant for anything more.<br /><br />Those memories you hold onto...those betray you so much, they decieve you into thinking that every uphill battle has a better view at the top. But most likely it looks like every other plateau.<br /><br />I just want to take what I can get at this point. It's all I've got, and there's nothing left holding me down anymore, and I just don't know what to do.<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-7543963266058263192009-07-15T23:49:00.000-07:002009-07-16T00:22:32.950-07:00Grab onto me tightly, as if I knew the way. (Day 215)There is no song lyric today, no video, no band. Nothing.<br /><br />This is the very first update with none of that. At this point, there's just no music to help ease an empty a lulling feeling.<br /><br />My entire life, I've just wanted to be that kind of person who could try and make someone feel better, and every step of the way it's come back to bite me.<br /><br />And so I just want to listen to the silence.<br /><br />I'm in the ocean drifting and making memories out of sunburns.<br /><br />I've probably lost the person who's meant the most to me in life, and I have nothing to say to make anything right. I always seems to make bad situations worse...<br /><br />And so I've been thinking about the end a lot lately. Nothing morbid. The end of DGB, the end of trying to hold on when there's no reason to even fight it anymore.<br /><br />I'm sorry.<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-34903840219004332732009-07-14T22:32:00.000-07:002009-07-14T22:57:44.350-07:00You were so right when you said that I've been drinking. What was I thinking when I said good night? (Day 214)Artist - Wilco<br /><br />Song - I'm Trying To Break Your Heart<br /><br />Album - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I've been having some pretty annoying problems with my computers lately. The one I'm using now is much, much older and very reliable (it always has been) but it's bogged down to the point where it runs about as quickly as molasses.<br /><br />I've been extremely tired today. I'm not quite sure why. This isn't much of an update, and sorry there's no video. Thanks again to YouTube for deciding to suck. Still check out the song, though.<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6827846866775990890.post-35689912930900524862009-07-13T23:39:00.000-07:002009-07-14T00:46:49.326-07:00Megaphones in helicopters squeal “hey are you okay?” Searchlights circle, where we lost our way, (Day 213)Artist - The Weakerthans<br /><br />Song - Benediction<br /><br />Album - Reconstruction Site.<br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UqvvLw7eFS8&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UqvvLw7eFS8&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'm starting to sweat a little bit about what I'm going to do when I go to college. I mean the obvious answer is, "Homework, and lots of it." But besides that, I have no idea what it is that I'm going to pursue. Don't most people have even the slightest of inklings of what they're gonna do when they get there?<br /><br />I've always had an interest in something in the realm of forensics, maybe even working with blood spatter. But the more and more I start to express this interest, the more and more people shoot it down saying that because of the popularity of the CSI series, there's been an overflow of interest in this field. All I've heard is that it's a very unwise decision, and I can't afford to ever make one of those again. I have to get my head on straight.<br /><br />But the thought of going to some job everyday, and inevitably getting sucked into office politics and the social interaction over crappy cups of coffee and lunch breaks fueled from vendor nutrition...the very thought of ever doing that depresses me more than anything I can possibly ever think of.<br /><br />And the staunch realization that that's what lays ahead for me...it's very soul-crushing. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. You have to break a wild horse before you can take it to show, I suppose.<br /><br />The thing is that I could go through that day to day if there was any increment or modicum of something to look forward. But you work until you're too old to ever really enjoy life.<br /><br />And maybe these past six years were meant to tide me over, and if that is the case...I really hope I made them count.<br /><br />I've never wanted to see 'routine' as something that I'd willingly adhere too, but maybe it's the gray hair and ever slowly growing maturity that's making it...not quite palpable, but slightly easier to accept.<br /><br />I keep wanting to take worthless classes, like theater. All throughout my academic career that's been the one class that's been a constant that I always showed up for time and time again. Outside of creative writing, theater has always been such a fun thing to do. But in looking at these classes, I can't help but feel it's just frugal and not something a real adult would ever do. Just a waste of time. A pipe dream not worth continuously sparking, because surely enough you will be coming back down and have exactly nothing to show for it.<br /><br /><br />I can't help but close my eyes while listening to the Weakerthan's, and getting lost in the stories that are woven over the beautiful chords and imagine myself there, in their shoes doing something that's so outlandishly amazing that it's almost unfair that not everyone can be in a traveling band making people dance and seeing the world one boarder and club and airport and gas station at a time.<br /><br />At least I can always close my eyes and fantasize.<br /><br />-Until tomorrow.Aaron Hale-Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16696984180261768391noreply@blogger.com1