Days Gone By.

We Live Out of Focus (Pt. 3 'How a Resurrection Really Feels'.)

2010-07-15T10:52:00.001-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

And we said goodbye.

But oh, we kept singing!

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.

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.

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.

How I wish for one more avalanche of your strawberry hair cascading me again.

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.

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.

Let down your hair (A different perspective, part two of How a Resurrection Really Feels.)

2010-06-27T23:39:00.001-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

"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."

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.

This last summer has been among the best and worst of my life.

I knew what loomed on June 14th. You didn't, though. I didn't have the heart to tell you before hand.

Now it eats at me, it rips at me, it destroys me wholly.

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.

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.

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.

I don't expect you to wait.

We're at a crossroads, of where we've been and where we could be.

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.

My door is always open. My phone line is never changing.

But I don't expect the world to stop spinning once my hearts inevitably starts breaking.

Please, come home.

Sometimes I just want to kick myself. (Part 1 of How A Resurrection Really Feels.)

2010-06-17T03:02:00.000-07:00

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.

"Hello, hello, hello..." mutters the voice lethargically. "god damn, I'm hung-over."

I look around, and no one else has batted an eye-lash.

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."

"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.

"Just...another minute, okay?"

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.

This is class done with class. This is style done with style, boy.

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.

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.

But at three in the morning, while the rest of the world is asleep, every thought is revolutionary.

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.

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.

The kind of relativity that when that singer sings so passionately, that when they sing good-bye, you feel that strength, too.

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.

There's a last second straggler just like myself. She isn't haphazard, she's just frazzled and tired.

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.

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.

The seat begins to pull me back, keeping in rhythm with the growing hum on the outside. Ears begin to clog with pressure.

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.

I want to read. I want to listen to music. But what I want most is to live in this moment unmolested.

The ground growing blacker and blacker, the air getting cooler and cooler.

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.

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.

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.

But one thing...there is absolutely no turning back.

She drinks without concern for regulations on flight safety. She drinks without regard for silly things like sobriety, livers, or taste.

I find myself drinking with her pace, and having a great time trying to keep up.

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.

I keep getting sympathy drinks from the flight attendant.

I keep racing a stranger that doesn't even know they are in the middle of a heated competition.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

You assumed right.

But I was excited, too. We got to be among the first to ride that ride.

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.

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.

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.

How a Resurrection Really Feels (An intro of sorts).

2010-06-10T17:50:00.001-07:00

For the next couple of posts, I'm gonna switch it up. I'll be presenting the short story in it's entirety, for free here. It's called How a Resurrection Really Feels as the title of this blog would suggest.

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.

And a big dash of real life.

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.

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.

But the letter broke my heart.

It reads out like part suicide note, part revival, part desperation.

Whoever wrote it has a strong addiction to heroin.

So in the next few posts will be a short story. We'll see where it goes.

Stay safe

Oh, 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.

2010-06-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

Life moves.

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.

When I was a kid, I used to want to be a pilot.

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.

Because of my wayfaring ways, I often wonder if people actually come in contact with as many strangers as I do.

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.

And I want to know.

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."

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?

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.

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.

But the people here...

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.

But the hatred that's imbued in so many people here.

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.

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.

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."

My origins, if they are honestly at all important, are half Irish, half Hispanic.

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.

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.

"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."

That's a lot to take in. Mostly because...anyone who knows me know I'm actually very soft spoken.

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.

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.

Worst of all, it made me never want to talk to another stranger again.

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.

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.

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.

When a guy behind me swiped his card through the terminal.

"What are you doing?!"

That was my audible reaction.

What are you doing? You don't have to do this, dude.

"I can tell you have the money, but everyone deserves a boost once in a while."

I still don't know what to say about that. $17.45 was the total bill.

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.

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.

After some exploration, I found that the commenter has a blog of her own: Set Fire to the Catalyst. 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 should know her. You should, too. So make sure to click that link a few times, follow her, leave encouraging comments.

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.

However, I've always loved the comfort of strangers.

Stay safe.

Somebody's drinking our last ration of victory gin; I'm sober as sin.

2010-06-03T22:52:00.000-07:00

Time waits for no man.

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.

It can be terrifying, too, at times. Because this time there is absolutely no

going back. The thing is...I know for a fact I don't want too.

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.

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.

So I sit here wondering where I'm going next. But I know I'm going to enjoy it more than ever,

because this time...fuck, it just really...really counts this time.

Inspiration in a time like this is absolutely crucial.

See, a while ago I began writing a book called Open Roads and Brick Walls. 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.

But it's times like this good tunes and good visuals really inspire the desire to exist, live, breathe

and explore the depths and crevasses most people wouldn't dare.

It can end in only one way...

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,

and I empathize with that. But why leave off on sorrow?

We can be a lot more.

So we work, we play...and what else that fills up the time between, well, that's there too.

Giving up on yourself is one of the most desolate feelings in the world.

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.

Stay safe, and until next time, make sure to check out some truly awesome and visually inspiring

pictures. They're gonna evoke a reaction out of you that's going to

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.

Velvet On Holiday.

P.S: Below I've included a few of my pictures as well.

See, this is gonna be the summer of photography....

Toltec, Arizona. Oh, the joys of urban exploration.

Southern California.

Every where I go, they have make a fuss...

Awesome skyline.

Outside of a homeless shelter.

See you on the other side of the shutter.

Suffocation, Modern Life in the Western World.

2010-05-31T09:34:00.000-07:00

Happy Memorial Day, all who happen to read this!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Thanks.

Over Fire (Joshua John)

2010-04-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.'

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.

But the signs, they weren't what anyone really looked for.

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.

He didn't listen to the right music, like the right movies....he didn't like parties, or anything like that.

But I think he fought hard to try to come across a bit more normal, to fit in.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I kept on going.

About a year and a half later I got the last phone call from Josh I think I'll ever get.

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.

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.

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.

But I turned it down.

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.

And that the thought of me sends him into a break-down. That he has severe nightmares about me.

It hit me in the gut like a truck.

I don't really know what to say after that, except that all I could do was write about it. It's included below.

I wish somehow I could give him peace.

This song is called "Over Fire (Joshua John)."

Take a seat my old friend

It's been years, my God what's happened to the time?

I heard about the spells in your head

A motion in a black ocean

Swallowed alive by these waves of regret

Another bullet in the chamber to live with

And I'm so sorry for the tremors

The shaking, the scars that no one can see

I'll bite my tongue even though I hate the taste

Rough days and demons dancing in plain sight

Voices shouting, but mouths sewn shut

If I could, I would take the brunt

Stay awake through the shakes

If it meant you could get a nights worth of sleep.

It feels like I've lost a part of myself

The memories rust shut, an honest man turned into a liar

I break at the thought of you freezing

Even though this dance is held over fire.

Heard the saddest song sung

Solemnly whispered from the tired soul of a caged bird

Mourning the memory of flight.

Churning in the guts of the imprisoned

Captioned for the deaf, a dream to fly higher

No longer dragged over fire.

My brother, take a seat

It's been years, time just pased us by

I dream about the spells inside your head

Constant moments and thoughts of bad days

Filling you to the brim with dread

And I'm so sorry....

My mouths rusted shut, and there's nothing I could say

Just know that I'd give it all without hesitation

To walk by your side over fire.

Until next time, stay safe.

Do you think about me now and then?

2010-04-18T08:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Even on my worst of days, I'm still doing about a thousand times better than Scott Heisel.

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.

I'm about to be with an apartment because of some shifty managers disregarding their own rules and logic.

And every thing feels like it's dying around me.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And in relation to me, this song helps remind me that the situation I've got...

I've lived in Arizona most of my life. My dad, mom and cat are here. Close friends.

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."

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.

So maybe I don't care for her.

Or maybe it's that I do and I just want to not for a few minutes.

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.

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.

Well, somebody's drinking our last ration of victory gin. I'm sober as sin.

2010-04-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. That's something of a common statement, though, whenever I update this blog.

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.

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.

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.

So I'll back track a few months:

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.

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.

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.

I saw the Alkaline Trio perform, and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

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.

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.

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.

I dream of California.

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.

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.

I've spent so much time there. I've made a lot of memories there. Hell, in 2008 I realized that after a trip, I'd left my heart in Southern California. Clumsy me. And while it's not in the same exact place that it was before, it's still their relishing the breeze.

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.

I'm going back to school soon, which just...sucks because I'll apparently never sleep again. But I'm going for radiology.

The future holds a lot. Like St. Joe Strummer said, the future is unwritten.

So lets get some pens and build something this summer.

A Decade Under the Influence.

2010-01-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

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 Velvet, 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.

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.

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.

So without further adieu, a decade in review:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

Some passed away. Some have children now. Some have completely disappeared into the unknown.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I still feel pangs of nostalgia every time I see that roof.

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.

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.

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.

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.

They turned out to be the Donnas.

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.

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.

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.

That's all for now. See you next time!

There's no more room for love.

2009-10-07T00:52:00.000-07:00

Song - Chasing Hamburg

Artist - Polar Bear Club

Album - Chasing Hamburg.

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.

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.

I turned 24 this past Sunday. I spent it with some good friends.

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.

I realized how much I've changed, and where I've stayed the same.

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.

I've never had a problem running, it was just the direction I was having an issue with.

But now I'm running in what I hope the right direction is.

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.

I'm still not sure what I want to do with my life.

But I'm done with that hurting. For real, this time.

"Everythings alright now, babe, more than you know."

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.

I hope to move out soon.

I just can't stop thinking about the coast. California, Oregon or Washington. I want to be...there.

It's a long road, but I'm taking you with me.

-Until tomorrow.

One Year Forward. (Update 225)

2009-08-31T21:17:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

Leroy Van Verth was his name.

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.

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.

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.

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...

"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.

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?"

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.

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.

I've always felt that holding hands is the most intimate thing you can honestly do with a loved one.

One year forward, today on this day he was stabbed to death over the same brand of car he was always faithful too.

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.

To this day, his murderer hasn't been caught. I doubt he ever will.

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.

Stabbed to death in his own churches parking lot.

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.

There can be a lot of hits or misses. For Leroy and Nina, they were High School Sweethearts, something virtually unheard of now.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And those left standing have a hole left. To mourn and remember.

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.

"Did you hear the gospel choir when they came to carry you over? Did you hear your favorite song one last time?"

Thank you Leroy Van Verth. You meant more to me than I could ever express.

I've driven across deserts driven by the irony That only being shackled to the the road could ever I be free. (Update 224)

2009-08-19T20:04:00.000-07:00

Artist - Frank Turner

Song - The Road

Album - Poetry Of The Deed

California Update PT. 1:

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.

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'.

I think it's a pretty interesting project, and it'll be interesting to see how it turns out in the end.

The night we finally arrived in San Clemente, we went to a bar that is frequented by Marines called Goody's.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Velvet 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."

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.

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 uvula. Good. That's what I want to happen."

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."

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

I can't wait.

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.

-Until tomorrow.

Some one call the ambulance...there's gonna be an accident. (Day 223)

2009-07-25T12:11:00.000-07:00

Artist - Placebo

Song - Infared

Album - Meds.

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":

"A friend in needs a friend indeed
A friend who bleeds is better
My friend confessed she passed the test
And we will never sever."

Great, great mood music. Especially for sitting alone and reflecting or driving.

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!

So, stay safe and I hope you have fun!

-Until tomorrow.

My whole life I've been a tourist. (Day 222)

2009-07-24T21:43:00.000-07:00

That quote comes from Nate, JR from HBO's "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.

But that quote really hit me kind of hard.

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.

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 Cusack in the movie version of Nick Hornby's novel Hi-Fidelity, "You can't do that. That's just suicide."

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.

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.

Thank you so much, Linty.

When I was in High School one of the biggest programs offered at this particular institution of mediocre learning was JROTC. If you don't know what that is, it's a preparatory 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But every time I've ever left, I've wound up back. And that can't happen again.

-Until tomorrow.

Sweet dreams, Pantopon Rose. (Day 221)

2009-07-23T21:40:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Burroughs is a different story. His er, relationship with Ginsberg and both of their work for NAMBLA (North American Man/Boy Love Association) really just bothers me. I think that's pretty self explanatory though.

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.

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."

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.

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.

"Need money, gimme gimme, now now." While having my hands outstretched.

This was obviously the best route.

-Until tomorrow.

Haushinka is a girl with a peculiar name, I met her on the eve of my birthday. (Day 220)

2009-07-22T22:33:00.000-07:00

Artist - Green Day

Song - Haushinka

Album - Nimrod.

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!

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.

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.

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.

But what have I ever said that makes sense?

-Until tomorrow.

There is no fool like a high-IQ fool. (Day 218)

2009-07-21T22:41:00.000-07:00

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.

And then I realized Samiam are playing, and deciced that if need be, I can start walking now.

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...

All those are realistically things that I really look forward too.

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.

Who all is going?

-Until tomorrow.

Moving west, Mississippi it's time like these I wish you were here with me. (Day 217)

2009-07-19T18:50:00.000-07:00

Artist - Nothington

Song - Going Home

So after six years of not waking up to go to school, the streak has officially ended.

And it felt different this time.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I hate that I'm starting to get excited.

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.

But I can officially say I'm now a poor college student.

I don't know if I would have ever seen this coming, honestly, had I not gotten a kick in my ass this year.

-Until tomorrow.

"I would die for you, but I won't live for you." (Day 216)

2009-07-18T00:59:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

I guess I've never really given myself much of a chance.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

And I just do not want to be that person anymore.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

This has to stop. I just want this to stop.

But I need someone to kick my ass, and there's just no one there with a boot.

-Until tomorrow.

And there is no time like the present to drink these draining seconds. (Day 215)

2009-07-16T23:38:00.000-07:00

Artist - Rise Against

Song - Savior

Album - Appeal to Reason.

This next week I have a meeting with a counselor to discuss what basically boils down to my future.

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.

Future desk jobs and company retreats. Casual Friday's and three day weekends.

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.

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.

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.

-Until tomorrow.

Grab onto me tightly, as if I knew the way. (Day 215)

2009-07-15T23:49:00.000-07:00

There is no song lyric today, no video, no band. Nothing.

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.

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.

And so I just want to listen to the silence.

I'm in the ocean drifting and making memories out of sunburns.

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...

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.

I'm sorry.

-Until tomorrow.

You were so right when you said that I've been drinking. What was I thinking when I said good night? (Day 214)

2009-07-14T22:32:00.000-07:00

Artist - Wilco

Song - I'm Trying To Break Your Heart

Album - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.

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.

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.

-Until tomorrow.

Megaphones in helicopters squeal “hey are you okay?” Searchlights circle, where we lost our way, (Day 213)

2009-07-13T23:39:00.000-07:00

Artist - The Weakerthans

Song - Benediction

Album - Reconstruction Site.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

At least I can always close my eyes and fantasize.

-Until tomorrow.

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is so weak I wanna kiss her lips, but I kissed her cheek. (Day 112)

2009-07-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

Artist - Dustin Kensrue

Song - Consider the Ravens

Album - Please Come Home

I've been thinking a lot about the future holds, and what it is I might want to do with myself as far as a career goes. It's really strange, because I always think about stuff like this, and when I do in my mind I always wonder, "what am I going to be when I grow up?" And then it'll dawn on my that I'm almost 24 years old and I'm all grown up.

I talked to a friend I made not too long ago on the phone for the first time, and just talking to someone new really brought something out in me. I've always had an innate desire to meet new people.

While talking to him, he out of the blue said a few things that really struck a deep chord with me. He said that life is kind of like a fistful of sand, and the harder you try to grip the sand the more will fall out of your hands, but the lighter you try and hold it, invariably the more sand you'll be able to hold because you've got more versatility.

He said that you can plan and plan and plan, but if all you do is focus on just whats in the docket you've written for yourself, the more you stand to lose hope when things don't go exactly to plan, or you get so burned out on it that you just don't care anymore.

He told me, and he doesn't know too much about me, but he told me that in order to get anywhere, to obtain any kind of happiness in life that I'd need to move on.

I've been working on my life better lately, because for the last six years I've basically sat in a state of purgatory because I was so....you know, I don't know what I was.

The last week I was in high school I saw so many girls pregnant, and so many kids acting so phony. They would be smiling, but their body language just screamed identity crisis. I mean, I guess how many people really know who they are when there's such a heavy mix of hormones coursing and you're going through all these changes?

But in a very Holden Caulfield way, I just got so sick of people that were so obviously phonies.

So I walked away and never looked back. I've never looked back, and I've never once regretted that for even a moment.

Now I'm going to be in college, and I realize that those four years were a waste of my life. That this past decade has been a waste of my life. And that's been my choice because I'm so scared to make a move because I might fail. I probably will fail.

Risks scare me, but I always act so impulsively on things that in the end really only give me a story that no one really cares to hear. But things that would benefit me...I just don't want to fall even further, and I have no idea how to dig myself out.

But hearing those words from someone who, for all intents and purposes, is a complete stranger tell me things I've heard from people all my life but only felt that they had to say because they're family or close friends...it felt different.

I have no idea what I'm going to do when I go to school. None whatsoever. I know why I'm going, because I absolutely have no more time to waste, but...I have no idea what I'm going for. I keep getting told that something will click. But in my heart I just don't feel like that'll happen.

And I realized it's time to just settle, because settling works. It's time to grow up and give up on those silly dreams and be realistic towards my future, and just take what I can get. And maybe it won't be so bad.

-Until tomorrow.

Haters can blow us. (Day 111)

2009-07-10T23:28:00.000-07:00

Artist - American Steel

Song - Your ass Ain't Laughing Now

Album - Dear Friends and Gentle Hearts

Sorry there's no music video. Youtube decided to not let me be able to watch any videos, which is just super. Anyway, today I'm posting a short story Kathy, In Red Heels.

I know I said I'd post a chapter from my book, but I want to go over a few edits before I share it. So I present Kathy in all it's twisted shittiness.

Hope ya hate it!

Kathy, In Red Heels.

Kathy, In Red Heels.

It's really cold in here. Am I the only one that notices? Surely I can't be. I just can't be the only one who is freezing. I watch my arms turn into what resembles goose flesh. Tiny hairs peak through the bumps. I really should wax those off. I don't even remember them getting there. My mother used to warn me that as you get older hormones start to change. Testosterone begins to pump through you, and your body yet again starts to change. I just, I don't really remember her ever having hair on her arms.

Near the end, she didn't have much hair, though. The chemo took care of that, but to me she always seemed beautiful and full of grace. That last week, she seemed more bound and determined than ever to come through it. In a way I guess she did,; her lungs may have quit expanding, her heart stop pumping and her blood run cold–but her spirit never broke.

"Mrs. Spade. Mrs. Spade, hello? May I remind you of the severity of the situation? Now please, Mrs. Spade, in your own words can you recount to this court what happened the night of May 27th, 2004?"

He doesn't seem affected by the cold, whatsoever. He seems rigid, and angry. Made of stone, but with less character and integrity. Almost like a robot with a sixty dollar hair cut and an expensive Armani suit. Armani, or Gucci. Something Thomas could have never been able to afford on his 37 grand a year salary. But my God, could he make a cheap JC Penny suit work for him. Just the confidence that emanated from him, and how his eyes always seemed to dance with a perfect mixture of boyish charm, mischief and wisdom. He was so intelligent.

We met in 1989. He was a journalism major; I had hopes of interior design. In 1992 we moved briefly moved to Nashville, before heading out West to San Diego. He landed a job with the San Diego Union-Tribune, and I wound up with a local Real Estate agency. Most of my houses sold with-in three months. Mostly, I suspect it's because of my knack for making stuffy one bedroom houses seem like spacious and trendy abodes.

On July 17th, 1996 Thomas and a few of his peers had a chance to go to a journalist summit in Paris, France. I was closing on one of the bigger houses near Mission Beach , and was crushed I wouldn't be able to join him.

"Hon, I swear I won't even enjoy a second of it without you there."

"You're gonna end up with some French floozy." I pouted.

He placed his hands on my ears, and held my face tenderly. "Baby, you know I only have eyes for my American floozy."

"You jerk!" I slugged him in the arm, and tried to pull away from his grasp. He held me a little bit tighter, but just as tenderly as before.

"I love you Kathy. I'll be back in a week, I promise." Then he kissed my forehead, and then softly on the lips. He pressed his nose against mine for a moment, and then kissed my nose. There was a honking sound; the airport shuttle had arrived.

"I love you, Tommy."

Later that night, while I was reading over the closing paperwork on the Mission Beach house, I had the news on in the background. You ever not really pay attention to something, and then you get a sick feeling in your stomach and are drawn to what you were previously ignoring? Like a word you were looking for in the Sunday Word Jumble, only to have it pop out at you after you'd become pre-occupied with a Marmaduke cartoon?

"...and now we come to you live in Long Island, where reports are coming in that TWA Flight 800 has exploded, and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean, only minutes after having taken off. Live on the scene is Silvia Armenta. Silvia, do we have any report on any possible survivors, and do we know what caused the explosion."

My heart sank. Transfixed, the few seconds of delay between Chanel 8 and their on the scene reporter seemed to pass like a life-time.

230 people died that day, and somehow to me it felt as if only one had. Thomas Spade, 27 years old. Loving son, devoted husband, talented and promising journalist for the Union-Tribune. Deceased.

Minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into months. Months turned into years.

Every night I came home, and stared at the door. Pleading with God, or whomever that any moment he'd come walking in, and pick me up. We'd go to our bedroom, and make love for hours. We'd lay in bed, and I'd make him swear hundreds of times, over and over, that he'd never scare me like that again. This can't be happening. We have so much life left in our veins that is un-lived.

I just sort of numbed. I'd go to work, and I'd come home and sleep on the couch waiting for him. Sometimes our cat Rizzo would come lay on my stomach, other times he'd nudge me with his head to let me know it'd all be alright. It'd all be alright.

On our second year anniversary, Thomas bought me a pair of red heels that were too expensive. I don't really have many vices, and shoes aren't necessarily one of them. But these heels....I'd look at them every time we passed them sitting in a window at the Mall.

I only wore them on the most special of occasions.

"Mrs. Spade..." his voice rose tersely. I could tell he was either gay, or in a very unhappy marriage. Perhaps not even married. It was in the way he stood, and his didn't move when he spoke to you.

"I'm sorry. Judge...it's absolutely freezing in here. Is there anyway we could turn up the heat just a bit? It's really hard to concentrate." It was then I'd noticed that my teeth were chattering.

"Mrs. Spade, this is a court of law, not a resort. I suggest you compose yourself, and answer the question. This court room does not need to waste more tax-payers money for your comfort." replied the Judge.

He was a husky man. Not like Thomas. Thomas was of an athletic build, and jogged every morning.

"It's just, I can barely keep from cracking my teeth...it's so damned cold in here." There were stifled chuckles, and murmurs from around the room. Eventually I just wrapped myself tighter, and continued.

After a few years, I'd realized that the way I was living my life, in constant mourning, was not how Thomas would have wanted me to continue on. After working up the courage, I called an old girlfriend of mine, Samantha Bailey. After a tearful reunion, we both decided the next night we would meet up for dinner, and a movie. Maybe even drinks, and dancing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been out to see a movie, or even danced.

We met up at a Thai food place on the Strip, in Los Angeles. We then went out to catch a movie, although I don't even really remember which one it was. Something with Julia Roberts though, I think.

After the movie, we decided to go to this Jazz bar she knew pretty well. It wasn't too crowded, and the live band seemed a little bit flat, but I was intoxicated on the atmosphere. Well, that and the Bloody Mary's.

At the end of the night, we decided to make a weekly event of it. Me being a widow, and her being staunchly against the institution of marriage...it just seemed to work well. Every Friday night, we'd meet up for the same Thai food and what felt like the same movie every week. It really could have been, too. I'm not even sure. It didn't matter whatsoever. For the first time in years, I was alive, and no amount of recycled cinema could ever rob me of that.

While we frequented the same movies, and Thai food place, we never went to the same club two weeks in a row. There was so much music and night life to absorb, it just felt like a sham to not explore it all. Sometimes we wound up in smokey dive bars, other nights we wound up in lively swing clubs.

One Friday night, Sam's mother came into town at the last moment, and had to cancel.

"I'm really sorry, Kat. I hate to leave you high and dry, but you know mothers." She laughed, I laughed and then we rescheduled for next week. "Consider it set in stone, Katty. I promise."

Suddenly, the walls began closing in on me. She'd become a crutch; a Savior of sorts. I sat scratching Rizzos head for a moment. What to do, what to do, what to do....

I stood up, and grabbed my keys. It was nice to have Sam along, but I've sat long enough for one life time. As I headed out the door, I realized this was the first thing I'd done completely, and entirely alone in eight years. This was a special occasion, as special as any! Reaching into my closet, I found my pair of heels Thomas had bought me so many years ago.

They were classic. The type of heels that would look amazing with anything, no matter how long they'd aged; they would always appear straight off the rack, if treated properly.

As I sat in my Toyota on my way to the Sunset Strip, I truly felt that Thomas was there with me. As nervous as I'd felt before, now I felt comforted. He'd never left me all along.

I decided against Thai. That was more of a Sam and I kinda thing, anyway. I'd never had sushi before, and I figured tonight was as good as any to start.

A few California and Tuna rolls later, and the nauseous realization that I'd just consumed something raw, I figured on skipping the movie altogether, and went straight to a new club.

I was unfamiliar with the music. It mostly sounded like bass-and-drum loops trying to escape from under the floor boards. It was catchy though, and everyone seemed pretty open, and friendly.

During a break from what felt like a fifteen minute song, a man approached me.

"Hey, I'm David. I don't think I've seen you around here before. What's your name?"

"I'm Kathy. Yeah, I'm kind of just exploring."

"Well Kathy, I really like your moves. Mind if I buy you a drink?"

I don't know if it was the heat of all the bodies being pressed together, moving in a unified rhythm, or the fact that man ten years younger than I was offering to buy me a drink.

"Sure! Why not?"

"That's what I like to hear, sweetie. What're you drinking?"

"Vodka tonic, please."

The music started back up again, and I watched David drown in the mass sea of humanity. After about ten minutes, David made his way back to me and handed me my drink."

"One vodka tonic. How about a dance?"

I didn't see the harm in one dance. Thats the problem though, you never see the problem in 'just one dance.'

I felt dizzy, and elated all at once. The room spun, and I couldn't stop moving. Eventually David and I headed out the crowded club, that only seemed to get more packed.

"I'm pretty sure they only played one song the whole night" I giggled, "one song. One bump, bump, bump all night long." David smiled, and asked me where I was parked. As I was saying goodbye, David moved in for a kiss.

"Oh, David. I'm really sorry, I'm just not in a place right now to be meeting anyone new."

He stood silently, and I'd felt bad for hurting his pride. I was about to suggest we do this again sometime, when his demeanor changed entirely. He went to kiss me again, and when I went to move away, he grabbed me by the throat. He didn't look as strong as he was.

"Stop! Let go of me, you fucking creep! STOP!"

This only caused him to grab my throat tighter.

"You say another word, you little cock tease, and I swear I will fucking kill you. You got that?" His kiss was abrasive. His hand was like a Boa constrictor: every time I struggled in the least, he would tighten his grip. It was getting hard to breathe now, and all I could do to sob silently.

With his free hand, he punched me so hard for a moment I'd permanently lost the taste in my mouth. Unflinchingly, with his hand still wrapped around my throat, he threw me to the pavement.

The back of my head banged on an Impala parked right next to me. Dazed, and not entirely sure of where I was, David sat on my chest and continued to choke and kiss me.

I felt my top rip easily. He began punching me again, until it seemed like it was just for sport, because I had no more fight left in me.

"You scream, or anything, and I'll break your neck. You got that, you filthy whore?" I barely managed to nod. I could taste blood, and already my right eye was swollen shut.

He pinned my arms down with his hands, and reached under my skirt. I wanted to be anywhere with here. At home, scratching Rizzo's head, or in a movie theater watching the same Julia Roberts movie. I wanted Thomas and I to be in Acapulco, where we'd honeymooned.

I wanted to be dead. Not Thomas.

I felt him slide my underwear off. He shoved them so far down my throat, I began to gag. My eyes began to water, and the salt from my tears stung my abrasions.

For the next six minutes, David took what was only Thomas' before. When he finished, he zipped back up, and stood up. Looking me dead in the eye, he laughed, and kicked me in the kidneys so hard, I lost control of my bladder. I just laid there. Closing my eyes, I silently prayed when I opened them I would be with Samantha, or at the very least he would be gone.

For fifteen minutes I waited. When I opened my eyes, he was no where to be found.

When I stood up, I felt a sickening warmth ooze down my leg. As I retreated back into my car seat, I noticed the keys were still in the ignition. A small miracle, in the fucked up scheme of things.

When I got home, I disconnected my telephone and sat in darkness. For three weeks I sat on my couch, not moving much except to drink, and occasionally eat. I never once bothered to shower.

I looked down, and my heels were scuffed horrendously. The one thing I had left to remember Thomas by, was now marred. I was marred. I carry scars that will never, ever be seen.

The next morning, I walked down to the hardware store. I got a lot of looks from passers by. I had a split lip, my right eye was completely swollen shut. Blood was caked under my nose, which I was sure was broken. It hurt to swallow, and it hurt worse to continue breathing. My heart sagged, and my jaw popped every time I coughed.

I picked up a piece of granite, and walked out the front door without paying. I guess when you look like hell people can't help but stare, but no one will dare bother you with the semantics of the law.

When I got home, I tried so hard to buff out the scuffs on my heels. I tried so very hard, and it was so very useless. God damn it! I used to be able to fix up condemned houses that looked like they'd never ever seen a paint can, to make them worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Why can't I just fucking fix a pair of heels?

As the weeks passed, my wounds healed. My lip was still a bit swollen, but my eye had returned to normal. I still couldn't see as well as I could before, but one step at a time. That Friday morning, I woke up and decided to take my life back.

I grabbed a pair of scissors, and cut my hair, and then dyed it black. A little bit of concealer, and foundation and I looked no worse for the wear.

I wasn't hungry. I didn't care to see Julia Roberts' teeth.

I searched all throughout the cities hot spots, looking for David. If he wanted me so bad, he could have me.

I found him outside of a Hookah bar, smoking cigarettes and talking with a group of younger looking girls. I felt a bit jealous. How could he move on from me so quickly!

I parked across the street, and made my way over to him.

"Hello." I said to him, my voice shaking and betraying me.

"Um....hello...?

He doesn't even remember me! He doesn't. I'm searching his face for an ounce of revelation.

"Yeah, my name is Regina. I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink."

Slightly taken aback by this supposed stranger, David seemed to mull over his options.

"I'm not crazy" I laughed softly, "I'm just rolling right now, and I need to have someone make sure I don't wind up in an alley."

He laughed nervously, but seemed to be intrigued. "Alright then. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I know a pretty quiet place. You wanna follow me?"

"I took a cab, I don't like to drink and drive. May I never see the words D.U.I again." And he flashed that smile of his.

"Well, if you're not afraid of a little ol' stranger, you can ride with me. I won't bite much."

"So where are we going?"

"I was thinking about my place...you game?"

For the first time, smooth David wasn't so smooth.

As soon as we stepped in the door, we began kissing. He was much softer this time around. More confused and cautious, but optimistic nonetheless.

We drank a few bottles of wine, between kissing and touching. With every bottle hitting the floor, we got one step closer to the bedroom.

We fucked in every way possible. There was no love making. Animalistic, driven by red wine and pure astonishment. After it was said and done, David fell asleep immediately.

I laid there in the dark, listening to him breathe. He had a deviated septum, and his breaths seemed rattled and sharp. For hours I listened to him breathe, and occasionally he would stir, and then regress deeply into a slumber that was the combination of too much alcohol, and the best drunken sex he'd ever had.

I reached under my bed, and stared at my red heels. Thomas gift to me. A symbol of our love. But next to me laid a man who had no idea that twenty-one days ago, had raped me. Had robbed me of my dignity. Had scarred me deeper than skin, muscle, tissue, and bone. Deeper than my soul.

I began to kiss David's neck. I ran my hand down his chest, down his stomach....further. I stroked him softly, and listened to him rustle awake.

"Baby, I don't think I can possibly...I don't have that kind of energy left."

"Relax. I want you to just relax, and let me take care of you. You don't have to do anything."

I kissed down his stomach, and placed the tip of him around my mouth. I breathed slowly, and could feel him begin to throb; to ache.

I wrapped my lips around him, and listened to him moan softly. His hips thrust, and caught me off guard. I took my mouth off of him.

"Oh my...God..." he mumbled.

"The pleasure is all mine." I sat on his legs, and worked my hands down him again.

"I just have one question, stud."

He looked me dead in the eye. "Anything. Please, anything."

"Do you pray?"

"Do I...what?"

With my free hand, I grabbed the sharpened heel, and swung with all my might. Even though I'd closed my eyes, and gritted my teeth, I could feel his right temple collapse. He looked panicked, but what scared me the most was that he didn't make a single noise. Blood began to pour from his nose, and he attempted to struggle.

With my other hand, I choked him and pulled the heel out of his head. As hard as I could, I swung, and squeezed. Swung, and squeezed.

David stopped moving. His eyes were locked with pure terror and his mouth agape, nearly pleading to scream in either agony or fear.

I just feel really tired. Bogged down, and drowning; I feel flooded with apathy and exhaustion. My eye lids begin to creek, and my bones seem to want to scream but my mouth just can't seem to form the fury. If this is vengeance aftermath, I'd gladly trade places with David in hell.

I trace my fingers across David's now cold chest, and touch my own. The contrast is overwhelming, and I'd do anything to kill this feeling. Biting my upper lip, I climb on top of David one more time. As an act of contrition, because...well, maybe I went over board, I close my eyes, and search for any type of rhythm. I search his eyes for any electricity, and dig my nails into his chest. Digging, digging, digging. Digging with the fervency of a gold miner.

A final breath escapes his lungs. Fools gold only. I'm amazed that he can remain erect throughout it all. I guess men really do only have one thing on their mind.

I escape into my own mind. I am an insect, a praying mantis. Taking only what suits me, and leaving only carnage in my wake. Draining my captor of life, and vitality. This is what I've missed out on for so many years, and goddamn it...just god damn it.

These thoughts push me over the edge, and I feel myself explode in a cacophony of sound, fluid, and exuberance. I weakly slide off David, and snuggle up close to him. For the first time in ages, it feels nice not to sleep alone.

I dream of white spaces, filled with faces attempting to press through. Although I can't see them, I know each and every face. Samantha and David. Rizzo, and my boss at the Reality firm. I walk down this hallway, and I continue to see these faces pressed against what I now figure is a wall.

As I reach the end of the hall only two faces greet me: my Mother Andrea, and a younger face. It seems familiar, but I just can't seem to make it out. Almost like deja vu, except the incident couldn't ever happen. The voice speaks slowly, and everything feels distorted. As the voice speaks, the words begin to etch themselves into the wall:

"Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Ereht tnsi ees ouy tahw.
Ria tnsi ehtaerb ouy tahw.
Pu ekaw, pu ekaw!
Efil fo srorroh eht
Smaerd ni tsixe ylno
Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Emoh emoc esaelp, esaelp
Daeh rouy yraew tser dna emoh emoc esaelp.
Uoy ssim i dna yddad."

For a moment, the voice stops, and I can make out tears through the transparent wall. Sorrow fills every fiber of me, exploding in my atoms, polluting my DNA. Even though the disfigured apparition seems so alien, I feel a connection with it. It is a her....it is a her. I only wish to caress her face, and free her from these confines. As I reach to her, I feel constricted by twine, and barbed wire. The pain is dull, and the aching. It aches and my heart dullens. I can feel my molecules try and escape my bodily chamber, to comfort, to kiss and hold. To cradle and nurse, to nourish and pour every amount of my energy into. To laugh, to smile, to cry. Every moment passes slower than a lifetime, and slowly lose hope. I just wish to wake up.

I scream through my sub-conscience: "Wake UP! WAKE UP! I DO NOT BELONG HERE, I DO NOT WANT TO BE HERE. OH, PLEASE GOD LET ME WAKE UP!" and then I remember my deceased lover in my clutches, cradling me in what feels like the ether.

The voice stops crying, and I stop breathing, cautious of missing a syllable. Trying so hard to decipher. To understand. To be understood for once.

"Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i...
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i,
Ecnahc dnoces a me evig dlouw ouy fi
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i"
Uoy evol i, ymmom
FOR NOW I MUST GO."

And the beautiful face began to slowly fade from the walls, echoing endlessly, "Uoy evol i, ymmom..." until a faint hint of the voice lingers. I reach towards the wall, and am no longer restricted. I claw, scratch, gnash my teeth. Spit flying from my mouths, I plead and beg with this wall:

"Please! Please don't go! I know I know who you are, but I feel like I've known you an entire life time. It isn't fair! All I want to do is touch your face. Please....just come home. Please, just don't go."

I wake up in a warm sweat, clutching a dead mans arm and nearly hyperventilating. I roll out of bed, and sit at my kitchen table. "Honey, you want some coffee?"

"Sure."

"How do you take it? Cream, sugar, milk....dark."

"Black as day, babe (which he explained to me was heavy cream and sugar). Would you like me to cook you an omelette? I'm starving."

"I haven't had an omelette in years! That would really hit the spot after last night."

"You're not one of those kind of girls that doesn't call back, are you? I don't think my tiny ego could take much more of that, especially from someone as beautiful as you are."

"Flattery...it'll get you everywhere."

I pounce on him again. "The problem, David, is you tend to be unresponsive as a lover."

"I'm sorry Kat...I don't really know what to do."

"That's a load! You know exactly what to do. Listen, let me just take care of you. I've not really been too active, lately."

After we're done, I spring out of bed and fry up a couple of omelettes. David prefers tomatoes, onions, cheese and mushrooms but no meat.

"I just don't feel it's much of a fair fight, you know? Opposable thumbs and a gun vs. slow mobility and no real means to fight back. Maybe if we could strap some chickens with a shank I wouldn't feel so guilty."

"But you eat dairy."
"Hey, even I had to work to survive. I don't see the difference between working in a cubicle for a boss who breathes down my luck is any different from being milked every day. We all gotta make ends meet."

He smiles, and I smile.

Now the sun rises. We're laying back in bed watching the morning show. It's a waste, really. Morning shows are filled with people way too peppy to every work a proper night time talk show. I couldn't ever imagine Leno smiling this much. Honestly, if it were me and I had to be that chipper in the morning, I'd put a gun in my mouth and let the corner sort out the fragments. Sure, I'd leave him an apology note. Maybe even slip him an extra fifty. Is it improper to tip coroners? I don't see why they shouldn't get tipped. Waiters, and waitresses don't ask, they include fifteen percent in the check automatically, it's not like you have much of a choice. And all they do is jot down an order, flirt with the cooks, and bring back your food at their luxury.

Coroners have to deal with every detail of your life. Placing a skull back together of sap who didn't wear a helmet on I-5, and the only thing left that's somewhat recognizable is the jacket stating matter-of-factly: "Ride or die".
Ironic, isn't it? But coroners should get slipped any extra change in your pocket if you're gonna ace yourself. Maybe before kicking the chair, stop off at the ATM and withdraw a couple Jacksons. You can't take it with you, right?

I start to doze off, and am woken up half an hour later. A commercial is playing way too fucking loud. Why can't they just settle on a Universal sound for each channel. It doesn't make me anymore inclined to pick up the product, it just makes me want to throw my television out my window.

I roll over. I kind of forgot about David, and his being dead and all. I glance at the clock, and decide it's time to open up a curtain and see what the day has in store for me. After a quick stop to the bathroom, I open the curtains. Davis is really....really beginning to stink up the place. House guests can be really fucking annoying, can't they? This one is about to be the death of me–no pun intended.

I glance over at David. I get a headache, splitting and devastating. It hammers constantly, like the building of a supermarket. Screws being tightened, nails being given a proper resting place, iron being manipulated to fit into scaffolding. It's impossible to think.

I sit on the edge of the bed, and stare at David. Only...this isn't David. This. This man is not David, oh my God. This is not the man that raped me. This...this couldn't have happened.

Before I can stop myself, I run out into the morning street. It's only then I realize I'm covered in blood and crying, stark naked. I pause for a brief second, and debate going inside and putting on a bathrobe, but decide against it. That would just be crazy....giving the circumstances.

"Ms. Bailey, it's Mrs. Spades account that you two have recently enjoyed a rekindled friendship. Is this true.

Sam looked at me with her eyes welling up. She seemed so confused, and somewhat scared. Empathy bathed her face as she stared at me, scanning me and searching for anything that would make this easier.

"I've not seen Kathy since Thomas' memorial. They never recovered the body...I've tried to call her for years. At home, at work."

"Why weren't you able to reach her at home?"

"Her phone had been shut off since 2002, sometime. I'd tried writing letters, and emails, but each time they'd be returned. I'd go to her home, and knock. But no one ever answered."

"When was the last time you tried to contact Mrs. Spade at her home, Ms. Bailey?"

About three, three and a half months ago. When I knocked, I heard talking like she had company. I was about to leave, because I didn't want to intrude, but–."

"But what?"

"I heard her say my name, and start talking. I went to reach for the doorknob, until I heard crying and laughter, and then this jazz music started blaring from her stereo."

"I see. And why were you not able to reach her at work?"

"A few months before I last tried to contact her at home, I showed up at her reality company. They'd just about decided to file a missing persons report because they hadn't seen her in several weeks. Her phone was disconnected, and no one knew if she had internet access outside of the agency."

I'd never felt so betrayed. Never, in my entire life.

"Sammy, what about the Thai food? Julia Roberts!", I screamed. "You bitch. How could you, after all we–"

The contemptuous Judge banged his gavel.

"Order! Order in this court room!"

Just like on television. I guess every cliche is steeped in truth.

Later on, I was called back up to the stage. This beautiful stage with an uncomfortable chair. Wood, rivets, and cold temperatures. For once, I truly think I belong. My red heels are brought to me in a plastic bag. On the once gorgeous heels, there is matted hair and dried up blood stains. I sigh in disappointment, I don't think I'll ever get those stains out.

I'd put them back on. After I killed David, or, as I've come to learn his name as Aaron Hale. I guess the poor sap never saw it coming. Oh well, I mean...he told me he hated his job, right? And he didn't have a family, or that many close friends. I mean, for God's sake, he got in the car with an absolute stranger. What much could he have possibly had to live for?

In the coming days, they told me a lot of things. That I'd never been raped. That I'd abused a prescription of Xanax. That I'd drank quite a few bottles of whiskey. My neighbors reported that late Friday nights, I would scream and laugh–blaring a different type of music each week, and watch infomercial at an obscenely loud volume. I'd felt ashamed about that...I never wanted to be the type of person that rabble-roused.

I'd never been raped.

After years and years of seclusion, I'd developed an advance state of bi-polar mania, and schizo-something-or-other. I drifted in and out.

Pictures were shown to the jury from my public defender. Me nude, in the streets with chunks of my scalp exposed, with oil clinging to each surviving strand, in hopes of showing my inability to stand trial. I guess I can forget about my ambition to join beauty school.

Through out it all, I wondered why Aaron got into the car. The attorney explained he felt that Aaron was a loner himself, and may've identified with me, but that it was inconsequential, because the crime was still committed. Outside of him being the party slain, he wasn't really mentioned again.

I was declared criminally insane, and no longer able to stand trial. The thing is, you don't really stand as much as you just sit and people ask you a few questions here and there. It isn't all that, I guess.

One last thing was brought up, though. The question of the whereabouts of my daughter, Joanna.

Part of the reason why Thomas had me stay home, I suspect in part is because of her. I was 4 months pregnant, and he felt it wouldn't be safe for us.

"Simmes Mortuary."

Stunned, everyone looked at me. I guess I can understand, I mean I did take that chump to the top of space mountain before pushing him off.

"When Thomas passed, I stopped eating. I had a miscarria–"

THAT'S IT!:

"Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Ereht tnsi ees ouy tahw.
Ria tnsi ehtaerb ouy tahw.
Pu ekaw, pu ekaw!
Efil fo srorroh eht
Smaerd ni tsixe ylno yeht
Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Emoh emoc stuj esaelp, esaelp
Daeh rouy yraew tser dna emoh emoc esaelp.
Uoy ssim i dna yddad."

I could hear the voice whispering in my ear again:

"Mother, let go of your pain. I am free. Freedom.
What you see isn't there.
What you breathe isn't air.
Wake up, Wake up!
The horrors of life,
They only exist in dreams
Mother, let go of your pain. I am free. Freedom.
Please, please just come home.

I felt like my heart would explode. I'd felt a void in my soul filled that I'd never even known was there, developing after all these years. She continued whispering:

Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i...
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i,
Ecnahc dnoces a me evig dlouw ouy fi
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i"
Uoy evol i, ymmom
FOR NOW I MUST GO."

I could be a perfect daughter....
I could be a perfect daughter
If only you'd give me a second chance.
I could be a perfect daughter.
I love you, Mommy.
FOR NOW YOU KNOW
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
YOU ARE NEVER ALONE.

The Judge recommended I be placed in a facility that would allow me to rest, and provide me with the health I needed. My attorney assured me it would be similar to a resort, and to just take it easy. One day I would be recuperated, and I could one day resume my life. I knew then though, that I'd never leave.
I'd never want to leave. I bet they have all the best drugs.

The court allowed me to stop back at home, after the Crime Scene Investigators were done collecting, and cleaning the place. I was allowed, under supervision, to collect a few belongings. My TV, Stereo, CD's, books, things of that nature. Samantha volunteered to take custody of Rizzo, and give him a good home.

As we put Rizzo in his cage, I scrathed his head one more time and kissed him on the nose. He'd always been my most faithful companion, and now I felt absolutely empty knowing I'd never come home to him clawing at my curtains, or chewing on strings that hung from my clothing.

As Sam stood at the door way, she looked like she felt as if she were naked in my presence. Quivering, she said to me:

"I promise to take good care of him. Rizzo, I mean."

She's quiet, but I can hear the doubts churning through her head. Beneath her hazel eyes, below her auburn hair lies a fault line crumbling under the pressure of a thousand thoughts dancing directly on the stress fractures. For a few moments she looks in agony, until finally nothing cant hold back the release of morbid curiosity.

"Kathy, I just don't know you anymore. Maybe I never did. I just can't look at you right now, and not feel conflicted. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to say to you? "I'm here and I support you"? Because the truth is, I absolutely don't right now. I don't know how I can stand less than two feet away from a murderer, feel her breath and hear her throat clearing, and not want to scream."

"Sam, I don't know what hap–"

"No, I don't want to hear this. I just want to know...how could kill a man? How could you...sleep with the remains? How could you spoon a cadaver, and not even flinch every moment you're awake, and looking into your own self?

I thought about Thomas, and how she used to annoy him, and I'd come to her defense. How he never trusted her, and felt she was plastic and vainer. A mannequin with highlights and a pulse. I sighed with relief then, knowing he was absolutely right.

But she was a little bit confused. I mean, we all are, right? Whether we put our faith in politicians that will never know our names but some how swear they have our best interests at heart, to working a job that drains our mortal being–and willingly doing so five days a week, in order to enjoy our lives for forty-eight hours. We invest in Churches, and Faith. One had to suffer so we could live in eternal bliss. That's all well and fine, but they never mention the fine-print. That, while you're here, almost every day is suffering, and penance, and that while he died so I could live–everything, I mean absolutely everything comes at a steep price. I turn to her with a smile, and laugh

"We all get lonely sometimes."

-Until tomorrow.

I'm thinking about the only road, the one I've never known, and where it goes. (Day 209)

2009-07-10T00:21:00.001-07:00

Artist - Green Day

Song - Macy's Day Parade

Album - Warning.

Sorry about not posting yesterday. Big thanks to the Emperor, Jonathan. He really stepped up to the plate, and that was awesome of him.

My keyboard decided that I no longer needed to be able to use the 'A' 'S' and 'D' keys anymore. I'm glad it chose the most important buttons, instead of 'X' 'Z' and ':'. Really excited about that.

But now I have a new keyboard that I'm really ecstatic to have, because the other keyboard was from the 80's, and every time you pushed a key, no matter how lightly it sounded like a gunshot. It's death will not be mourned, rather it will be celebrated.

I've been obsessed with the show Dexter, and Dead Like Me lately. I've been feeling kind of depressed the past few days, and even though I know it's pretty dumb, I've been considering dropping my medications all together. I looked at all the pills I have to take on a day to day basis, and there's just so many.

It's weird to think that so many capsules are what control my day to day life. I wonder how much of myself actually still exists, and how much of it is just the medication talking. I always feel tired, but I can never sleep. I feel hungry but I can't eat. On some days my temper is sporadic, and I hate that completely because I'm usually such a patient and reserved person...but now I just don't know.

I know I said I was going to post a chapter of the book, and I will, but that will have to wait until tomorrow afternoon. Because of the keyboard scenario I just procured a used one from a great friend. Plus, I'm just too exhausted to do anything in that realm.

Maybe it's time I saw a counselor. I just really don't feel comfortable doing that. What would I say, and what would they tell me that I don't already know? Who knows.

-Until tomorrow.

No I Am Not Where I Belong - Day 209 - Guest Update

2009-07-08T22:52:00.000-07:00

Artist - City and Colour

Song - As Much As I Ever Could

Album - Bring Me Your Love

So, Aaron, in all his technological ineptitude, had the A, D, F and space bar keys go out on his keyboard so he asked me to fill in. So, as I sit here watching House, I try to decide what to yack about.

Politics? I could yack about all the laptop politics sweeping across the blogosphere, Twitter and Facebook. People turning their icons green to "support democracy" in a country they can't pronounce right. Head's up, it's pronounced "I-Ron," not "I-Ran." Nah, that shit pisses me off too much.

Relationships? While the song I chose would make you think this would be the topic of the day, I think Aaron is far more succinct in writing about this half of the species. It's been two and a half year's since I was in a relationship, and while I miss being in love, it's been nice to focus on myself. And when half my friend's relationships are in the shitter, I cringe when I think about relationships. Plus, I've had a trying day when it comes to women. We'll skip this as well.

Religion? Yea, I'm cool with that. I got myself a nice little soapbox to shout from and there is some exciting news in the world of Christianity. If you haven't heard, a 16-century-old bible was published online. How cool is that? Even if you despise Christians, Muslims, Jews or any other follower of organized religion, you have to admit that is cool. But, I also want to highlight me, so I will use this Bible to illustrate a point.

Imagine a bright eyed and bushy tailed young Emperor with a proper conservative haircut thinking his Gecko Hawaii shirts were soooooo cool. Every sunday consisted of Church, Sizzler's all-you-can-eat salad bar and back to my great-grandma's house to get my ass handed to me in Scrabble. I liked church. One of my best friends was the youth pastor's son and my great grandma was one of the founders, so I got to run around and explore a bit more than others.

My development in the church was sped up a bit, too. I was teaching the 1st and 2nd grade Sunday School by 14 years old and was an assistant teacher for a doctrine class at 16. But, it was around this time that I started asking questions of the church officers, teachers and pastors and getting exceptionally substandard answers. How do you explain dinosaurs not being around when people were? If there was only Adam and Eve, and they bred Cain and Able, where the hell did Cain and Abel's wives come from? Were they their sisters? Ew.

The biggest question, and the one I never got a satisfactory answer to was: If the Bible is the literal, unadulterated word of God, then why are there so many versions? King James, New International, The Torah, the Apocrypha. It's like pizza, there's a basis, and then people add their toppings willy nilly. It's still pizza, but it's not the same. Now, this old as dirt Bible has five or so extra books that are not in any of the current renditions of the Bible. Why the hell not?

So there it is, my major gripe about Christianity, besides most Christians, is that you have people who will kill in the name of a religion they can't even agree on. And end soapbox, exit stage right. I hope you've enjoyed this gripping tale of inane bullshit and selfish rambling.

Until next time, ladies and gentlemen,

Dr. Jonathan "The Emperor" Yost

Capsized like colors bleed now they're all the same to me. (Day 208)

2009-07-07T23:08:00.000-07:00

Artist - Samiam

Song - Capsized

Album - Clumsy

God bless unattainable girls. Like golden rings you'll never reach.

Cymbalta has really done a number on my appetite. I can't really remember the last time I felt like eating a full meal without. And when I do, I get sick after in one disgusting form, or another.

But outside of what it's done to my appetite, I feel like the drugs are really working.

But I skipped them today, and I haven't felt right at all. I need to make sure I stop doing that, but for some reason I just can't bring myself to want to take them every day.

I'm even less of a tolerable person when I don't.

Tomorrow I'll be posting a chapter from Open Roads and Brick Walls, the book I wrote this year.

-Until tomorrow.

I'm riding on the night train and driving stolen cars. Testing my nerves out of the boulevard. (Day 207)

2009-07-06T22:49:00.000-07:00

Artist - Green Day

Song - Castaway

Album - Warning.

Warning was largely overlooked and is criminally forgotten. A neglected masterpiece. Most bands doing the whole "folk-punk/beard punk" style of music should rediscover this album, and realize how much they owe to Green Day.

I still remember when this album came out. October 3, 2000. I can't honestly believe it's over a decade old. But I listened to this album, and this song so much I wore out the album. My dad bought it for me as a birthday present right before he got on a plane to Colorado, and it's the only time I've ever been happy to get a present. (My Birthday is October 4th)

Castaway in particular was a song that a 14 year old kid who never really felt like he fit in too well needed to hear.

You gotta go at it alone. People are only gonna let you down, every single step of the way. But sticking to your guns...while at times you might wonder, "Man, what the hell am I thinking" because things get so rough...eventually it's going to pay off.

It took me six years to shake off everything from my past to take a leap and just go to school. I always promised myself I'd go, but in the back of my head I don't know if I ever believed that.

See, I dropped out of school. Not for lack of love for learning and education. To be honest, I love learning and education. It was the people who surrounded me that made me so incapable of continuing. But now that it's on my dime, I'm going to get what I pay for...and I won't settle for anything less than head of the pack. If I have to keep retaking classes, then that's what I'll do.

And I'm going at it alone.

I put so much faith in other people, and not that that hasn't been a worthwhile experience, but it's time to burn a bridge and not look back at the ashes.

It's strange. This year has been filled with all these monumental changes. In fact, I just found out today I'll be having surgery to shave part of my right knee. A black President, withdrawing from the major cities of Iraq....so many other things.

So it's time to test my own nerves, leave in a lurch and not worry about what's in the past. I think that's the same for everyone.

-Until tomorrow.

You traded all my imperfections for directions to a party across town. You bring the house down. (Day 206)

2009-07-04T23:03:00.000-07:00

Artist - Alkaline Trio

Song - Burned Is the House

Album - Agony and Irony (Deluxe Edition)

Happy Fourth of July. I hope everyone stayed safe.

Me on the other hand, I got a concussion and a headwound. Hooray for tripping over a bathroom rug and going head to head with a steel plate. I'd like to say I won, but I'd be a filthy liar. The blood is a testament to that.

I've discovered the best cure for a concussion is drinking alone in the dark while listening to the Alkaline Trio on repeat, and hating everything that's happening right now. Tomorrow will be a better day, but I was due for a bad day.

I've been looking at schools in Seattle a lot lately. The more I think about this idea, the more I think that it may be the best move for me. Researching the city more and more I fall in love with it just a smidge bit higher than I did prior.

Thinking about where I live, Arizona, I realize that I do love this place. But with so many things you love, you still have to just walk away. I'm learning that slowly and painfully left and right. I've been able to overlook the fact that our main export is meth and our biggest tourist attraction is heatstroke.

But I can't grow old here.

There's something else out there, and maybe new people where I can forget my old life and go to the next chapter and not need to worry about looking back. That's where I'm at now.

As for depression and anxiety...the anti anxiety pills aren't working worth a good goddamn, but the Cymbalta is, and I think I've found a keeper.

There's too many haunts and ghosts now. When I leave the next time, I know I won't be back. And it's heartbreaking, but sometimes that's not such a bad thing.

Giving up the ghost has always been such a powerful expression to me. It's one I wished for so long I'd had the courage to do, but now I'm finding that courage to move forward in so many aspects. It's so hard to let go, though. When you could taste the future at one point, and now all you want to taste is cheap Fleischmann's...it's an awkward trade off, because in the morning you still taste both, and they make such a horrible mixer.

The more and more I think about it, I just want to leave everything behind. I don't think there's much that would ever hold me back, and the truth is...who would actually notice if tomorrow I up and left and never said another word to anyone in a zip code left behind? Would you? I doubt that.

Everytime I should've just said goodnight, goodbye and I didn't...I realize now what a huge mistake that was. Having the last word is a death sentence, I suppose. And I also guess there's something to be said for always leaving them wanting more.

But the words, they've always been so wrong.

It's late at night and I'm drunk off of cheap vodka. These are ramblings. What was the point?

Was there ever one to begin with?

-Until tomorrow.

Come all you weary with your heavy loads. Lay down your burdens find rest for your souls

2009-07-03T23:41:00.001-07:00

Artist - Thrice

Song - Come All You Weary

Album - The Alchemy Index Vols. III & IV

For me, this song really makes me think of a friend who's recently went through trials and tribulations I could never begin to even comprehend.

Sexuality is such a double edged sword, and no matter which way you look at it, if you deviate from the norm you're bound to wind up getting cut in one way or the other. And I've never understood why that was, honestly. Who could honestly care that much what happens behind closed doors with another person. Perhaps in the eyes of those more puritanical or reserved, the idea of voyeurism is extremely enticing, and to toss something new and different can be shocking.

But to make the decision to change what you feel was a mistake, to be trapped in a body causing you nothing short of confusion your entire life...why is that looked on with such judgmental disdain?

Humans hurt humans, and it makes this Earth so combustible and filled with sorrow. There isn't enough time for hate a prejudice. Gandhi knew that, Dr. Martin Luther King knew that...why can't we as a collective whole?

-Until tomorrow.

I felt my tongue swell and fingers split. (Day 204)

2009-07-03T01:44:00.000-07:00

Today is kind of a short deviation from what I usually have been doing for the past month or so. Those lyrics are from me, and they are from a song that I recorded today.

We've been in this building/makeshift recording studio for 11 hours now, and at one point we all got so stir crazy we wound up recording maybe the most silly and ridiculous song ever done. At one point I do the voice of Inspector Gadget's nemsis, anything to just kill the stir crazy feelings.

But after that we all seemed to be in a really good place, and we wound up recording a very rough demo of a song I wrote called, "Say Goodbye To My Old Life, I'm Off To Better Days."

It's the final track of of an album I've been writing called, "Go Get That Education, Mama" which is, for all intents and purposes a somewhat autobiographical account at sometimes, and a very personal story of four different people (yes, myself is included in that.) It's a project that I'm most proud of. At times it's somewhat sad, at othertimes it's happy. It even tells a really good love story, too. Well, maybe not really good...maybe that's too bold of a statement. However, it is a song thaqt I really like and can't wait to record.

It's a new hing for me. I've recorded a few other songs before, but not to this extent. Not in a comfortable and relaxed environment. So relaxed that at one point during set up I wound up sleeping on the hard floor for about and hour.

I'm not the only one recording any material here, either. I've been extremely lucky to watch to very talented singers and musicians give some very passionate performances. I was even lucky enough to join in on a cover of Thrice's "Come All You Weary".

That song is very beautiful. Regardless of your opinions on church or faith or God, or if you believe or not I really think most people could relate to this song in one form or another.

And in singing it, I realized just the depth of how much I've turned my life around. Or begun too, at the very least, and I can see some of the rewards coming from that. Letting go of that ghost on my back, I'm no longer so depressed and unwilling to do anything social. This past week has been an amazing week, and a lot has gotten accomplished along the way.

Along the way. Who would have ever though that those three words would actually carry such an interesting connotation?

If laughter is the medicine of the soul, the music is the food. Without it...where would any of us be?

-Until tomorrow.

I've never felt so strange standing in the Jersey rain. (Day 203)

2009-07-01T23:03:00.001-07:00

Band - Gaslight Anthem

Song - The Patient Ferris Wheel

Album - The 59 Sound

When was the last time you stood in the pounding rain? I can honestly answer that question now. Tonight the skies opened up and pounded rain. As I speak, I'm still soaking wet. After one of the hottest days of the year, the rain was such a relief.

Arizona heat sticks with you. Even in air conditioning, you're never quite cooled off. And for the first time in months, I feel so energized and happy and cool.

Rain can be therapeutic. It can wash away so much, you just have to be there willing to let it do so. And in doing so, I've decided that after school, I'm moving someplace where it rains often.

I've always liked Seattle. At least the idea of it. I've never been, but I plan on going before the years end. Just somewhere where it rains, where it's green and goddammit...someplace new.

I'm so excited for the future. For the first time in years the idea of waking up tomorrow isn't depressing.

So hell. Fall in love, stand in the rain, sing loud and dance proud. You only get one go round, right?

"Forget this dead man's town, I'll take you home."

Yeah baby, I'll take you home tonight.

-Until tomorrow.

What have I to show except the promises I never kept? (Day 202)

2009-07-01T00:43:00.000-07:00

Artist - Thrice

Song - Artist in the Ambulance

Album - Artist in the Ambulance

This song has always (since it was released, I mean) held a very dear place in my heart. I can relate more than most people could ever comfortably admit. I've been given more than a second chance, and I do owe my life to a stranger, or two.

It's taken me a long time to learn how to move forward. This past year, all throughout this blog.

It's been hard to let go of my friend Leroy. Every day I carry his death on my shoulders, there hasn't been a single day that's passed that I haven't thought about him. It never gets any easier to accept, and I truly hope no one else ever has to suffer the pain of having someone you love be murdered in cold blood.

I decided on that day to move forward with my life. I owe it to every person I've lost in the past few years to try and reach some form of potential, whatever that may be.

I just hope I never let them, or anyone who's decided to believe in anything I do down.

I took my placement test for college today, and did pretty well for all intents and purposes. Velvet asked if I was excited, and I told her not really. While I am a little excited, I also realized I'm 23 years old and just barely a freshman in college. Is that anything to be proud of or to be excited for? I don't know if it is, really.

But I had a lot of things I had to take care of before hand. In retrospect, it might've been the wisest thing I've ever done.

-Until tomorrow.

Here it comes again, that old familiar feeling. Get sick and leave your troubles on the floor. (Day 201)

2009-06-29T22:28:00.000-07:00

Band - Samiam

Song - She Found You

Album - You Are Freaking Me Out.

Welcome back. Take a seat, sit back and relax. I hope everyone had a great weekend, I know I did. Enjoy some legendary Samiam!

When I last left off on Friday, I was talking about my last week in Albany, New York. It was such an important time in my life, and at times now it feels like maybe it didn't even happen. I don't want to ever forget, because every moment at that time was amazing. Now sometimes amazing isn't such a good thing. It can be amazing how much damage can be done by a racial slur or derogatory comment towards someones sexuality, or even the amazing devastation that can come with terrorism or natural disasters.

So amazing is quite a word at times. But every moment in Albany was amazing. From standing on a stage telling jokes to people, to being just a little too drunk to even just riding the bus, there was so much to encapsulate in my memory. I miss that, because I haven't had too much of something as gratifying to the senses since then.

While in Albany, I suffered from the longest bout of writers block I'd ever had. Two years later the irony is that it's been a part of my biggest inspiration. So I'm not exactly quite sure how that worked out, but I'm so thankful that it did.

I met a lot of amazing people, and I said goodbye (for all intents and purposes) to one really amazing friend in the fray of it all. That really does stick with me. I think about it constantly.

But that last week, those last few days...all I saw still stay with me. Breathing in the final moments of something great, and knowing that it's finality is nothing but guaranteed is somewhat awe-striking.

When I left Arizona, there was a song I listened too pretty much the entire trip to Chicago. It's an old Jimmy Eat World song called "Goodbye Sky Harbor". If you don't know, Jimmy Eat World are from Mesa, Arizona and Sky Harbor is Arizona's big airport.

I've mentioned this numerous times, but I've always had a love affair with airports. I don't know many people who do, most people find it stressful and tedious.

"So here I am above palm trees so straight and tall you are smaller getting smaller but I still see you."

And then everything I'd come to known was gone. I'd become a total stranger in seven hours. And on that flight, a flight like that....I mean, anyone would be questioning who it was they would become. Not everyone gets a chance to reinvent themselves, but a lot of trouble I had was that I didn't want to forget who I was. I didn't want to return one day, and all the people I loved not be able to recognize who I was anymore. I didn't want to become a fake or a phony. Or lose touch.

Months later I was coming home, and I questioned what I'd learned. To be honest I still do.

And that last week remains fresh in my head.

What did I learn?

What drove me to New York was a broken heart, and what I gained in New York, and the East Coast as a whole was a perspective on life that's more valuable than love, money and possessions. I found myself, and the irony is I was so adamant about not changing. But I did, and in that process, I gave up the ghost.

It takes time for anything worthwhile to grow. I learned that in a beautiful way. For that I'm eternally grateful.

I'm not a spiritual person, and I won't even pretend I know what happens when we die. I don't. Know one truly does that's alive at this moment in time. Gods come and go, but memories of human beings...that's eternal.

I learned that what you do in this life matters. Maybe you're actions aren't even meant for you to gain some sort of learning from. Maybe it's for outsiders to see, and watch and dissect and learn from. We might not all wind up in History books or be famous rock stars and politicians, but there are people always watching, even if we don't know it.

But in all this I've realized all the people I've had the privilege and absolute honor to meet...I'm blessed. Maybe not in a spiritual sense, but in an ethereal sense. I've got a story to tell, and I've been so lucky to hear so many others stories as well.

There's scrapes and bruises and wounds that might never heal, but sometimes the pain is half the fun. Chicks dig scars, right?

Driving to the airport, and knowing what I was leaving behind I saw the airport one last time. How fitting it was the first thing I'd seen all along.

It was a beautiful, cloudy rainy morning. All along I'd questioned, "Was it worth it?"

More than you'd ever know.

It's been a weird journey, but here I am again. Tomorrow I take my college placement test...and the what else happens...well, I don't know. But I'm about to find out.

"Say goodbye to my old life, I'm off to better days."

-Until tomorrow.

Don't worry brother, this will blow over. (Day 200)

2009-06-26T22:54:00.000-07:00

Band - The Menzingers

Song - Sunday Morning

Album - Hold On Dodge ep.

Needs more....well, some of you will get that.

This song for the past few months has been on a steady play for me. They're a mix of something new, something old and something passionate. But this song in particular cuts to the core of me. It's not very often a band can do a song with a very positive message and not come off condescending, righteous or corny. Honestly. At least to me. But these guys really pull it off.

And this song has been on repeat for months. Almost the day it was released on their MySpace, was the day I needed to hear a stranger telling me not too worry, that this would blow over.

And so I keep plugging along, and realize....oh my god, this is post 200. So much has changed in that time, for me personally and for the world at large. I never realized how much can happen day by day, and somehow counting the days gone by I realize that we may all be on collision course with something, we're just not sure of what yet.

And I think of where I was two years ago. All my old haunts in Albany. One of my favorites being a comic book shop I spent more time in than probably my own room.

It was this little hole in that wall that you almost had to know existed to begin with to find. Buried deep in the cracks and crevices of a town on a street with shops where the sings all meld into one, and there's nothing truly defining about any particular store, you just have to already know where it is you're going.

And like anything worth discovering, one afternoon while riding the bus I happened to spot it, tucked in the way near an old diner named Dewey's which I'm not sure was actually ever open. I really didn't have anywhere to go, it was a day off and I really didn't know anyone at the time.

It was early in the morning, something like nine in the morning. I'd slept like shit the night before, and all I could think of was this itch I had. Here I was sitting in one of the most glorified States in America, and I had the nerve to sleep instead of go out and explore? So the itch grew and grew as I tossed and turned repeatedly.

I hopped the first bus I could. As with many days in my tenure as a New Yorkian (is that the right term? Who knows.) it was gray, cloudy, cold and rainy. Armed with just my CD player and Neutral Milk Hotel's "Into The Aeroplane Over the Sea" (which honestly is a classic everyone should own) and Against Me!'s "Searching For a Former Clarity" (another classic everyone should own) I went to face the day and explore my new surroundings.

I was a transplant, and I feared my itch was the body of New York warning me if I didn't get out and see something, it'd soon reject me.

I really don't think I saw the sun that day, honestly. And for me those days are my favorite. Not to come off weird and all Edgar Allen Poe-y or anything, it's just that I've lived in Arizona for nearly my entire life and at least 315 days a year we get nothing but sunshine with no reprieve from clouds or rain. Sure, once in a while there's a rogue cumulus cloud sitting maverick in the corner of the sky somewhere far, far away from you but other than that, good luck.

When I stepped off the plane on May 5th, 2007 it was so chilly I had to don a jacket, something I'm not exactly accustomed to doing in that particular month in Arizona. And what's this...trees? Grass growing on its own instead of being prompted by someone's O.C.D anal retentive care several hours a day? Furry squirrels romping playfully without incinerating the moment they step outside of the confines of the shade this strange wooden...tr..ee provides? And for that matter, what the hell is shade? An education in climate collision.

So I'm sitting on this bus with Jeff Mangum singing passionately about Holland in 1945, and the fuzz from the bass is seeping into my brain and flooding my cerebellum with imagery so vivid, I'm almost positive at any moment his words, his tapestry will paint a picture so vivid that my current ocular world will fade to a boy playing a piano built of flames.

A woman gets on the bus, and I've seen this particular route be so packed I'm surprised a person can even move off of the bus. But while the bus was moderately full, there was still plenty of space to be comfortable. One thing I definitely learned about living in New York, no matter where at in New York, you cannot afford to be claustrophobic. Literally. It's too fucking expensive to have your own little head space.

But at this point on a Saturday morning, the bump and grind of day to day work was a lot less, because well...it was the weekend. Self explanatory, really.

But this very disheveled woman chose to sat next to me. It's not something I'd usually pay attention too because I'll shower the night before, wake up and just go. I've spent more time counting gray tiles in my Senior AP English floor (114...that always bugged me. It felt like there should be one more) than I've spent looking in a mirror in my entire life. So pot, meet thine kettle.

However, this woman's appearance I felt were a dramatic cause for concern. Not just her appearance, but everything about her. Hair askew in ways I thought were reserved for sensationalized portrayals in movies. Her salt and pepper hair were matted with dirt, and other material I'm sure I would've needed gloves and a laboratory to find out what they were, exactly. And that's only if I was feeling brave after drinking my liver into a cesspool of whiskey and lament.

She chose to sit next to me. And I mean, why wouldn't she? I was the only person not making snide remarks, crudely laughing or reliving a sophomoric glory, which consisted of tossing refuge at the social leper.

"How ya doing, ma'am?"

"My son...my pie..."

And my initial concerns were pretty much justified at this point. She stank of cat urine, which if you've ever smelled cat urine...you know for a fact that's the smell. It wasn't just a hint, either. Almost as if she'd filled up a tub and soaked after a long day of...whatever it is.

She became irate, screaming loudly mostly mumbled gibberish punctuated by a screech for pumpkin pie. This illicited laughter from every patron on that city bus that day, sans the bus driver and myself.

She began to pace the walkway back and forth, going in between hysterical crying to hysterical screaming to just plain old fashioned hysterics. At one point the bus driver pulled over and asked her where she needed to go. At this point I decided to make my exit.

As I got off the bus, lo and behold was Earthworld comics. It might as well have been the set for comic book guys comic book store from the Simpsons.

The workers there were awesome. Honestly, if you're ever in Albany, hit up Earthworld comics. It's on Central Ave. Great selection, and really cute girls nerding out about Warren Ellis and the like. There's a select group of guys who read this blog who will understand why that's more of a turn on instead of two girls going at it.

I left with a lot of comics that day. Her name was Cheryl, and she could've sold me Snuff Manga, and I would've agreed with her that it was the most brilliant depiction of Japanese art since God knows when.

That day lasted forever. I wound up at some strip mall in God knows where, maybe it was in Troy, I don't remember, but I sat there for a while and found this really rad sandwich place. To be quite honest, I love sandwiches more than the average bear, so I sat with my newly aquired nerd trophies in a very comfortable and chic sandwich shop having one of the best days of my life.

When I got back on the bus to go back home, the same woman was on the bus still screaming, crying and laughing, all while ranting and raving about pumpkin pies. In over a five hour time span, no one had thought to contact some sort of help for this obviously distressed woman. It made me quite sick to my stomach, but even I did nothing in the end. Not that I really could...I'd have no idea whom to call or with what cellular device. What do you do though, in a city where no one really does give a shit at the end of the day.

See, ironically I feel New Yorkers get a bum rap. They get put into this little square on mentallity where they "don't care" and are all self-serving assholes. While I won't disagree they aren't seemingly the most friendly people on the surface, I think most of it boils down to peoples misconceptions about them. For example, I've lived on both coasts and the differences are so monumental, I can barely believe we all live in the same freaking planet, let alone the same country.

But it's something as simple as a going to a show that can point out the differences. Honestly, it mind seem so inconsequential, but the truth is that it really does exploit the differences. While out here in the west people are more laid back and casual, the truth is...there's so many phonies I'm surprised anyone actually knows another human being on a level deeper than what their common interests are.

And you go to these shows on the west coast, and people stand still with their arms folded and get pissy if things start to sway too much (crowd wise, I mean) and really show almost bitter contempt for the hard working kids on stage for whom they paid to see. Not all shows are like this, but a huge majority of them are.

Inversely on the opposite side of ye olden America, an east coast show...there's so much movement and energy and exuberence. There's a solidarity and commrodarie that you don't really find here on the west coast unless you have a popped collar and take turns double teaming some broad you met in a Scottsdale bar, who to her own credit is a pseudo celebrity for having been featured on "the Dirty".

The reason why New Yorkers get the bum rap is because they get misunderstood. While you can easily approach most anyone on the west coast and talk openly with them, on the east you can't. Why? Because they value actually knowing someone, and are secure enough within themselves to constantly be honest. And those who know them, that bond is stronger than blood and family. You have to earn respect and earn the right to actually know someone beyond a cosmetic level. I love that, honestly.

While I can talk to anyone, I always try to make that deeper connection. Most people don't care too the further you get west. Not everyone is like that, not at all. But many are, and it's not always such a bad thing because a lot of the time there's just nothing to discover. Sorry, but it's true. It doesn't make those people bad people, there's just no substance.

There's just more passion on the east coast, for everything.

But they deal with harsh weather...we get blessed with three perfect seasons, and one season is a bit less comfortable than it's contemporaries.

But what I took from Albany was a new sense of being and purpose. A new perspective I never would have obtained while trying to keep the sun from melting my brain. A new respect for people as a whole, and a new idea about what else lived in America besides palm tree's and melanoma.

I miss my apartment. The buildings have so much character. That's something important to me in a city, the architecture. It tells a deeper story, it's the backdrop and the people are the characters. The thing is, all the backdrop is set, and all the characters wander aimlessly without direction.

My old apartment is right next to the illuminated sign that says Ralph's (to the right in front of the red molestor van). Ralph's was interesting. It was a "wink wink" pub with certain influence from a green persuasion. I can't really count how many times I barely made it to my steps which I could honestly reach over and touch from the stoop of the bar. I can say I've literally crawled home before.

I took on an army of White Russians, and they won.

I never took personal photos, though. Well, I took a few but never kept them from myself, and sometimes I wish I hadn't done that. Sometimes I just want to fade away, to be forgotten. The irony of that is that I'd never forget those I truly do consider friends.

I wish now I'd taken pictures, because that's an important moment in my life, and while I'm eternally grateful to call the southwest my home once again and wouldn't trade it for anything (except for beach front views) I just wish I'd allowed myself to enjoy the fact that I was living in the moment.

One of my final days, on my final week in Albany, I spent all day getting stoned and drunk and walking around this muesum. Standing out on that balcony and over looking the city from all angles is one of my favorite memories of life, bar none. It was so quiet you could almost hear the city breathing. I knew then that while it was time to go, it was a bittersweet departure.

For a long time I sat in the hallway next to the preperation room for the lunch room, on the bench. It was a long white hallway, and I felt like I shouldn't have been there...but no one seemed to care. Running low on funds, I swiped a few caprisuns (yes...caprisuns. Tell me you wouldn't do the same, you god damned liar) and stared at some planes they had hanging on the roof. I was there for quite a while, and no one seemed to go down this hall. I wonder how long it'd been since someone had seen those airplanes, and I wondered how the workers who had to hang those planes up there must've felt about that. Or the people who had to dust up there.

There's a section in the muesum dedicated to the Adirondacks, which are these mountains kind of near there. I wound up there accidentally once...it wasn't so bad.

But there was a man sitting on a bench. This room was nearly pitch black. The best way I can explain it is...have you ever been in a cave? Like a natural park cave, with the tours and everything? The type of lighting they use in there. The low lighting that uses the natural reflection of the cavernous walls, that's how the lighting was here. And this guy, he was a bit older. He sat so quietly and perfectly still that at first I assumed he was part of the display. They had many lifelike displays of women, children, men and various animals throughout this room. But soon enough, I realized he was just sitting there.

And it was so peaceful and tranquil, I almost wish I'd never left at all. Something about that moment seems unnegotioable in it's posterity. Something that shouldn't be touched, and movement or further acknowledgement at the time would have only tarnished what it was.

I continued walking and looking. Maybe it was pills, maybe it wasn't, but there was a Native American Chief (of the Iriqouis tribe) and it was this almost...crude cardboard cutout of an Englishman obviously taking advantage of the Chiefs goodwill. And even though it's just the cardboard cutout, the look in his eyes just struck me as forlon, tired and drowning in sorrow.

I couldn't stop imagining what that day must've been like. She was obviously losing something that meant a great deal to her. "The times, they are a'changing" and unfortunately the casulaties don't really have such a go-getter attitude reciptive to the change.

How would you feel?

I've always really respected big cats. My cat Rizzo is huge. He's, according to Velvet, "the size of a small pony or farm animal."

But something about big cats strike me as regal. There's the cougar on display in that room, and it's stuffed. That really bothered me, because I can't think of anything worse than a taxidermied animal, especially one that's as graceful and regal as a big cat.

Afterwards I headed down Lark Street to the public library. It's a fantastic and very comprehensive library. The staff couldn't be nicer.

I love the smell of books. I really do. There's not much else I'd rather do than sit and read in a library. One of the most serene public buildings in all of modern society. If you think about it, all libraries are mosques, housing the words and thoughts of so many dead and gone.

I'd like to apologize to the Albany Public library. I accidentally packed away a copy of Augusten Burroughs "Sellevision", and "accidentally" kept the Clash' "London Calling" deluxe edition. Sorry.

I decided after that that I needed to hit up Last Vestige Records one last time. If you do find yourself there in Albany one day, go down Quail Street. It's worth the search. Burried next to houses is this hole in the wall, amazing record store. Nothing but treasures as far as the eye can see. Pornography for audiophiles.

It started to rain pretty heavily. I wound up hiding out in a Subway for quite a while, eating soup and a footlong. The streets washed with more water than Arizona see's in three years time, and while I considered building an ark with spare chairs and tables, I noticed people walking quite comfortably in what I could only describe as a torrential downpour.

I braved the flood 2.0 and walked next door to a liqour store and bought some cheap whiskey.

The rain subsided and I wound up watching the menacing clouds overheard jump to life with a riot of lightning and thunder, seeking refuge under the arms of the Lord. I nearly passed out on the steps of Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. Staring up at the steeple above is quite menacing, add in the thunder and lightning effect...it was eeriely remincent of the famed Zuul scene in Ghostbusters.

I realize it looks peaceful and serene here, but the truth is...this photo is a fucking lie.

There will be a part two to this tomorrow. I realize this is a bit long, but hey...there's lots of pretty stuff to look at, and besides...it's my 200th post. I can't just sluff off, can I?

-Until tomorrow.

I never saw the good side of the city til I hitched a ride on a riverboat queen. (Day 199)

2009-06-26T00:19:00.000-07:00

Artist - Ike & Tina Turner (cover song, originally done by Creedence Clearwater Revival.)

Song - Proud Mary

Album - Proud Mary: The Best of Ike & Tina Turner.

This song is what music should embody at all times. Unbridled passion and soul. Tina turner has one of those voices that can cut you to the core of your being, and she could probably do it singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb."

This song gets me to thinking. I've lived in this city most of my life, and I've pretty much written it off as a small town trap not worth an ounce of salt in the ocean. But so many people have made this town an extension of themselves. Generation after generation resides here, and everyone knows this history of everyone else.

While I know this country was built on that very ideal, it's that characteristic that drives me to the brink of insanity.

I want to live in a city you have to work hard at to get to know anyone.

I want life to be that way. If I were to meet someone and we struck it off well, I'd want to keep that person in my life until one of us croaks quite honestly.

See I'm lucky to know people who can encounter the darkest trials that could possibly be thrown at them and still march forward defiantly and claim their lives back.

Welcome to the river, we're gonna keep on rolling on a river.

Despite what currents can be thrown at someone, it's almost an art form to be able to look life directly in the eye, and spit in that same optical receptor.

You look across the world and right now a lot of people are hearing about places they never realized truly existed. Take Tehran, Iran for example.

For the past 8 years most American's have kept a hairy eyeball on that country because we were told to believe that there was nothing there but sand and terrorists. Yet these people now flood us with images of heroic beings, everyday people (Such as Neda) and it stirs something deep inside a lot of us.

There's not much difference between Iran and America. Both lived (and in Iran's case) lived under a Presidency that was spotty at best. Our representatives have given us black eyes, and we've both strived for change. And seeing images of bloody descenders wakes up the ire in a lot of us American's because we can relate. Enough so that we'd take to the streets. A principle we have deeply imbued in us, to rise up and fight when things disgust us on a level so unimaginable that we'd collectivley march with people who are pretty much strangers...

And that makes me wonder why so many people, Conservitives especially, wish to shut down the boarders to keep people from escaping a dreadful life to build a new one in a land of opportunity, where as the land prior was one that might as well display a caste system as it's main tourist attraction. Where else can you go and barter for a donkey show, chicklets and an 8-ball for under 50 dollars? You can sell people for colorfull blankets.

And that surprises me that we'd turn down people floating on a raft in tretourus waters to escape a land that doesn't provide a future they feel is bright.

"They're taking our jobs."

Probably not. But if that's the case, why shouldn't we shut down every border between States as well? How many people transfer to new positions in Cleveland after having worked in Biloxi for x amount of years? Is it that improbable that someone already in that city is more than qualified for that position?

But we fight. Some battles we shouldn't, some battles we should. It just takes so much time to discover which battles we should fight. Following your heart is the most romantic idealization of the fight, but the thing is...sometimes our hearts don't know jack.

So it boils down to the human condition, spirit and will to survive. Mixtures of both heart and mind (while often favoring one more than the other) and knowing when to take a calculated risk versus taking a hasty risk...

You just have to fight. Despite differences, most people have one thing in common: the desire to rise above and be something better than the generation before them and lay a better path for their predecessors than what they had.

So keep on rolling.

-Until tomorrow.

Its just not me to wear it on my sleeve. Count on that for sure. (Day 198)

2009-06-25T01:31:00.000-07:00

Band - Jimmy Eat World

Song - Work

Album - Futures.

This song sums up my whole mentality at the moment. "Can we take a ride/get out of this place while we still have time."

I'm 23, pressing 24 and I don't have much to show for it. I realize most don't at this age, but to be honest I've always held myself to a different standard than I would others. "Be the change you want to see" kind of thing. I've hit a few road blocks...well, actually plenty. But now I'm looking for those open roads, and given that chance, I'm gonna keep running til I'm out of gas, and then I'm going to keep pushing that car.

I keep thinking back to high school. They always say that's the best time in your life, but for me it really wasn't. If I'd had the chance, I would've applied myself more, because the truth that I've learned in life is this: the only tickets your going to be given out of the town your in most of your life, if you so desire to leave, is education and talent. Fake one until the other becomes apparent if you have to, but don't think for one second that drive is just enough to get you out.

I've always wanted to leave it all behind, and now I'm going to put forth every energy I can into this. The time for fucking around stops when you realize you've been unemployed for the better of two years, and in that time you could've been going to school and actually nearly be done with it and ready to move on...

But there's still time.

Honestly, what keeps me going some days is a friend in particular, who's drive is inspirational. A few months ago she learned she had a brain tumor, and due to where it's located and the potential risks, she can't just have it removed. She has to cope with it, and take medication for the foreseeable future. That's enough to turn anyone into the antithesis of what they once were, and quite rightfully so.

Last night she wrote a blog which I think you should go check out. You can do so by clicking this link, and honestly...spread it around. It's inspirational in the way she handles it. She doesn't ask for a pity party, but rather like a true fighter turns it into something that anyone could benefit from. In a sense, it's one of the most pure forms of art in an unpretentious manner I can think of, period.

So I think about that. Knowing for the rest of your life there's something daunting in the way, and that something hinders your day to day. The human spirit is a miraculous thing when it's all boiled down. You can fight with grit and determination and even if you come up short, and succumb to that war, people won't remember the victor...they'll remember the valor and that helps aide the spirit and soul for their own trials and tribulations.

See, it could be anyone anywhere at anytime, and in the end of it all you might night be the same person. Sometimes that's not such a bad thing. But if you can crawl out of the depths of Hell with the fire in your eyes and the piss and vinegar still flowing through your veins, you're untouchable. Even when you're touched, there's something immortal about wearing your wounds like a portrait. It's your painting, so what colors are you gonna use when all your favorites are gone? Make something new and vibrant, or rely on dull colors?

That's inspirational, to see her still be the same amazing friend I've had all this time. I'm not one to take anything for granted, and I really think she could walk through fire holding a ten gallon can of gas and not get burnt.

So I think about futures, and what they mean to me. One day things are going to be so vastly different, that when I go back and reread this, I'll be struck with a certain amount of nostalgia. I hope I make it through, and I know I can.

Futures won't wait for you, so why bother waiting for them? I think I'm finally starting to grasp that concept. I'm terrified of failure and falling. I come from a place where it's been a struggle my entire existence, and I don't know if I could handle falling any lower on the totem pole. But the thing is, I just can't. I don't want to settle for that, and I won't. I hope you choose not too, either.

One day I'm gonna have a story to tell. I'm still on the introduction now. Every time I think about death, or get depressed, I have to remind myself of that. I'm still on the introduction...we all are. It doesn't matter if you're 55 and looking towards retirement. We can be whomever we want. No one has the right to tell any of us any differently. You get lied too, and get force-fed shit about how it's always better to play it safe as opposed to taking risks.

Risks are half of what life is. I don't know much, but I know that. If you settle for hiding in the corner all your life, then yeah you'll always feel frustrated at not being able to dig your way out.

Wallflowers don't get laid, so come on and take a chance at dancing.

We still have time.

-Until tomorrow.

Like a whisper I'm imagining, but now it's screaming inside my head. (Day 197)

2009-06-23T22:27:00.000-07:00

Band - Tilt

Song - Libel

Album - Till It Kills.

I started registration for school today. I have no idea what I'm going in for. Maybe an RX tech, or an xray tech or who knows. Radiology? I just want minimal responsibility with a decent pay rate. Hello white collar.

Just something that will allow and afford me the time to keep writing books so I could do both at the same time.

I'll be honest, I have no idea what I'm going to do. Maybe I'll knock out the pre-req's and just go to a University. I'm just sick to death of sitting in purgatory, and fuck this...I'm taking it. I'm sick of waiting, and I'm sick of being patient.

I'm just terrified that I'll fail. What a waste of loaned money...

But I'm going down swinging, that I promise.

Placement testing happens this Friday at 2pm, and I get my ID card the same day.

Bring it.

-Until tomorrow.

When the new actor stole the show, who questioned his grace? (Day 196)

2009-06-22T22:32:00.001-07:00

Band - AFI

Song - ...But Home Is Nowhere

Album - Sing the Sorrow.

I'm tired of running in these circles of trying to find a job, and move out of this place. It's getting to the point where it's make or break...and I'm not too sure I'm not going to break.

Fuck this piss poor job market, and fuck my inability to even get an interview. As many applications as I turn in a week, you would think something in the very least would turn up...and yet nothing does.

I want to move on with my life. I want to do something besides nothing all day long. I know that sentiment is echoed from my family, and on those rare occasions I do in fact get an interview...they won't exactly help in any way possible.

These past two years have been bullshit. It's not cute anymore...I'm pushing 24, and it's starting to push back.

I just need a fresh start.

-Until tomorrow.

I've been down on bended knee talking to the man from Galilee. (Day 195)

2009-06-20T23:32:00.000-07:00

Band - Johnny Cash

Song - God's Gonna Cut You Down

Album - American V: A Hundred Highways

What else can you say about the man in black?

Early in my life, my father would work his '76 Chevy Imapala that my mother named 'Christine'. She always had bad luck with that car, causing her to reference the Stephen King novel (and subsequent movie) towards that particular automobile.

My father, or I guess I should say step-father Ed, would work for hours in the blistering Arizona sun, and often he would listen to Johnny Cash albums. We've always been on the lower end of the middle class scale, often times dipping down into the poverty line. But Ed, being the ever optimist that he is, would always (and still does to this day) impart a bit of fatherly wisdom lifted from Cash: "Aaron, you gotta take it all. No one is going to give it to you. You have to be willing to take it one piece at a time."

That's something that's stuck with me my entire life.

That started my admiration and love for Johnny Cash. If Ed liked him, then I felt like I needed to like him. So I grew up with that.

Father's Day has come and past, and this post is dedicated to my father.

I was born on October 4th, 1985 in Colorado Springs, Colorado in some hospital in El Paso County. It was just my mother and I. Nine months prior she was given the news that she was pregnant at the age of 36, much to her surprise. Her entire life she'd been informed by doctors that she'd never be able to conceive.

The man responsible for this awkward conception told her he wanted no part in this, that he wanted her to get an abortion. For the first time in her life, however, she felt that God, or whatever higher power didn't want her to feel alone any longer, so she declined the abortion route, causing him to vacate her life in quite a timely fashion. He never even helped her buy a crib.

Nine months later I popped out of the womb kicking and screaming, filled with piss and vinegar. She'd been working as a waitress at this little restaurant in Colorado Springs called the Big Train up until the day I was born, and then resumed work a few days later.

There was a woman whom I would later affectionately know as "Gramma" Jesse. While there was no relation, she helped change diapers, bought toys...everything I'm told a grandmother does for a grandchild. On days she didn't, my mother would simply bring me to work with her and have me in the back. All the other waitresses would take turns on their breaks to help her out by watching me, as did the managers and cooks. All employee's, really.

One day she came across a man with a cane and a lot of friends chattering loudly. It was one of her tables.

One thing about waitresses, especially in places that cater to truck drivers, is that they are very personable. They talk, crack jokes and make friends. Especially with the regulars.

This man was a regular. As time passed, she learned of how a two-ton (yes, two tons) load of pipe had fell on him several years earlier, forcing him to retire. Not only did it not kill him, but five years later he'd defied every logistical obstacle, diagnosis, and odd presented to him by walking (albeit with the aide of a cane). That alone intrigued her, as it really would anyone.

But he couldn't work, and being divorced with his son grown up he really sunk into a depression. He had nothing to do, and felt so lousy being a "cripple". He really did, very understandably, fall into a depression that would've ended so many other people.

But meeting my mother, something sparked inside of him. His natural God-given charisma flamed back to life, his fierce green eyes regained that glimmer that'd been dullened for so many years. Upon meeting me, and gaining my mothers trust, she eventually deduced that Jesse could use a break, and a diner wasn't the best place for a newborn to be 12 hours a day.

She asked him to baby-sit, and so the story began.

They eventually began dating...

His name is Edward Hugh Williams. He had a son from a previous marriage, Leonard. He was a truck driver and mechanic since he was twelve years old. He never finished high school due to a strong form of dyslexia, and given the time frame in which he was in school was basically given up on.

One Christmas Eve Ed, who rarely is ever at a loss for words and never a bashful or nervous man, proposed to my mother via a Christmas Card. In late August 1988 they had a "going away" picnic in Colorado. The doctors had advised him to move somewhere with a more warm and dry climate because of his injuries. All his family (and trust me, that's a lot of people) and their friends showed up to see them off.

But in true Williams fashion, there was more than meets the eye that day. As everyone sat around talking, eating barbecue and generally having a good time, my parents slipped away and got dressed up in their very best.

Moments later while everyone was seated, they calmly walked in front of everyone, and promptly got married. It took everyone by surprise, and to me that's one of the most romantic gestures ever. I view love as defiance to every obstacle and human being; that these two people chose each other out of billions of others, and if it's their union, they'll do it their own way.

In 1990 Ed adopted me. He didn't have too. I was already five, and he'd already raised a child. He was in his 50's and retired. To take on a young child, especially a difficult hell-raiser like myself, is not something most people in his position would ever fathom. At least in the realm that they would claim this child as their own. Personally, if I were him I would've washed my hands of this trainwreck from the beginning.

But he has been there every single step of the way. Teaching me how to read, encouraging me to be my own person, instilling ideals of morals and integrity and honesty and how to be a man in every proper sense of the term, when so many fathers these days, biological fathers at that, don't give a second thought of their child. But there he was.

On the hardest days of my life, on the best days of my life. To discipline me when I was out of line, or to congratulate me when I did right. Every step of the way he's been there. Even now, with me being a 23 year old kid, he's never stopped being a father, not for a second.

I got a second chance to have a positive role model in my life. I've been blessed by whatever force, be it karma, or God or whatever sci-fi book it is that Scientologists worship. While he was a hard working man, and still continues to be, and has somehow found the fountain of youth (he still could pass for early 50's even though he's 73) he's always encouraged me well beyond that of most biological fathers.

I'm lucky to even know him. I'm lucky to say honestly that I consider him my best friend. While I do like to work with my hands (a very little known fact about me) I have chosen the path less traveled, to try to work in the field of "art". Most men from his generation would look down on that with much chagrin, especially those who drove trucks, worked on ranches and could rebuild an engine blindfolded. But Ed constantly pushes me to keep writing, to keep playing music, to keep discovering and chasing what it is that makes me happy, and to always do my best...and then try and top that.

Fathers so often get overlooked. So often fathers are the ones that take on as little responsibility as possible, as well, because it's "the womans job."

He stepped up to bat when a man who helped create me wouldn't even own up an ounce to being a decent human being.

At times I wonder where it is I came from. That biological father...I don't even know his name. I doubt I ever will. It's a piece to this puzzle that I'll never have, and I'll always wonder why he viewed me as such a bottom rung being, or how you could create a living being and then discard it as a piece of trash.

But like they say....one man's trash is anothers treasure.

And I hope one day I make Ed proud. He's been something more than a father, more than a friend. I thank whatever it is that allowed me to meet such a terrific human being, because I know I truly could have never done anything that was deserving of something this great.

I say thank you Ed. I love you very much.

-Until tomorrow.

But you wanna live a lie, and love what you lose. (Day 194)

2009-06-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

Band - Broken Social Scene

Song - 7/4 Shoreline

Album - Self Titled.

Gotta love Feist's voice in this song. She's so talented, and the video is cool.

I have a lot on my mind at the moment, and it's really making me tired. Struggles with my family, and painful news to hear from friends is really adding up. I wish I could offer them more. I wish I could offer you more. I wish somehow we could leave it all behind and welcome something less devastating.

I guess all we can do is keep moving on, and hope that life doesn't swallow us whole and spit out the remains.

You just gotta keep your head up as much as you can, and hopefully that will guide you through the bad and dark times.

Maybe no one is meant to be alone, and it's a cruel twist of fate that so many have to fight their battles that way. So count your blessings you made it through today, and if there was someone there with you the entire way...then it's nothing short of a miracle.

Tomorrow will be a special update. So make sure to tune right on in, and as always...spread the word.

-Until tomorrow.

If I could make a copy of myself I might, so I could have twice as much of everything. (Day 193)

2009-06-18T23:09:00.000-07:00

Band - The Velvet Teen

Song - Radiapathy

Album - Out of the Fierce Parade.

This song invokes a lot of nostalgia for me. The way it seemingly builds off of something such as waking up every single day and hating that work or whatever tedious and menial chore awaits you.

I really relate to this song. The last line in the song always makes me wish I could wake and see the end of the world, because in this day and age we've seen it all...I truly believe that might be the only way we can be shaken from our somnambulism. I truly can't be the only person that feels this way, either.

I think we were meant to sit and work. I think we were meant to live and explore and love. I know that sounds a bit hippie-ish, but I did once have a one night stand with a hippie girl. But even besides that, I think that's still true.

Every night, especially when it's cool outside, I wish I could just pack up a back pack, some books and my cd's (no ipod for me, unfortunately) and just drive until there's no more road. And then turn around and do it again. To discover and explore every crevice this country has to offer, and then some. All under the protection of the black sky and cool air.

Last year I was in California for most of August. I stayed at a friends house, and I would feel the cool ocean air sometimes while walking to point a to point b. And you look from where she lives, and you see this all consuming black vortex that harbours a completely different universe, and that universe is the road to a completely different side of the map, or the world and there's someone else's story being written. God, I wish I could be there to see it happen, or at least just meet the offer.

But instead it kind of kills me that we're confined to doing something that in all actuality, if we really love, should be a glorified hobby rather than a means to an end. Life should be the job. The one job you actually keep up until that day you ultimately retire from.

I'm not quite sure what I'm getting at. I just wish I could salve the itch of this burning desire to travel.

-Until tomorrow.

He said 'give me something quick and sweet my whole life I've lived on the street'. (Day 192)

2009-06-17T23:30:00.000-07:00

Band - Matt Skiba

Song - The City That Day

Album - Matt Skiba/Kevin Seconds split.

Last night I reconnected with someone I hadn't talked to in a long time. It was really awesome to play catch up with someone who was such a great friend.

It's been two years since her and I last talked. While she's still very much the same person I knew in High School, I've definitely noticed a change inside of her. She used to be an extremely shy and introverted person, who if somehow you got to know her you'd realize was more fun than 95% of the people you'd ever meet. She's funny, smart and extremely ambitious.

For the first time in God knows how long, I was not only excited like I used to get, but just all around happy. I never realized, and I guess I either forgot or I didn't realize it at the time, but we have a lot of things in common.

One thing that I had no idea how much I'd missed was her laugh. She has one of the all time greatest laughs I've ever heard.

You can tell a lot about a person in the way they laugh. Either they seem insecure, or are over doing it, faking it or are just insincere. If you pay attention, you can actually find those things about a person when they're laughing. But then there are those whom when they laugh, it's uninhibited and genuine.

I think everything about her is genuine. That's something I'd always regarded her as, and catching up with her last night I realized how much I'd wished we'd never fallen out of contact. It's not like we've ever had a falling out, or ended on bad terms, either. One person goes right and the other goes left and that person just becomes some sort of distant pinnacle you overlook because you get so entranced by what's currently going on in your life.

We used to talk for hours.

Last night we wound up talking on the phone, and it was like no time had passed. One moment it was fairly early in the evening, and the next thing I knew...the sun was coming up.

I have trouble trusting people. Even the closest people in my life, I build up a certain wall that I'm not willing to tamper with.

But I find myself at ease and comfortable with her, because I see a lot of similarities between us.

She leaves for school in six weeks. She's getting her masters at a college in Northern Arizona. Talking to her last night, I got the impression that she could be someone very important in my life, and I don't really want to ever fall out of contact with her again. I'm willing to put forth an effort to keep her in my life this time, because I had no idea how much I'd really missed her.

I'm damned proud of her.

I hope she doesn't find me at all creepy, and usually I don't care what people think of me. It's just something about her that's almost magnetic. Maybe time in Oregon changed that about her. Knowing she's leaving kind of bums me out, because I wonder when she leaves this time...will I ever see her again? That's how life is sometimes.

So for the next six weeks I really want to get to know her again, and discover the new her as well.

Not many people can make me smile sincerely, and I was shocked that she did it without even realizing it.

I'm off to bed. I hope you're doing okay.

P.S: Ryan, buddy, if you read this...I miss you man. Get in touch with me. I want to know if you're doing okay. I hope you're safe and happy.

-Until tomorrow.

First time that I met her I was throwing up in the ladies room stall. She asked me if I needed anything I said "I think I spilled my drink". (Day 191)

2009-06-16T23:06:00.000-07:00

Band - The Good Life

Song - Album of the Year

Album - Album of the Year.

I began taking my anti-anxiety medication. Coupled with the anti-depression pills, and vicodin (for shoulder and knee pain) I've not been this relaxed in...well, it's been a while.

It's strange. Just a few days ago I was having a major anxiety attack, and now I feel warm and relaxed and able to concentrate. It's a very welcome and nice feeling. I truly can't remember the last time I was this...centered, I guess. "Evening my chi" as a certain someone would say.

I'm getting the itch to really move on. To travel somewhere and try something and someone new. To write more.

The writing thing is becoming a daunting task. It seems harder to actually find an agent than it is to actually write a book. I have absolutely no clue on what I should do. If anyone has any idea or knows of the proper way to go about that, please, please, please get in contact with me.

-Until tomorrow.

If you always get up late you'll never be on time. (Day 190)

2009-06-15T18:53:00.000-07:00

Band - Broken Social Scene

Song - Swimmers

Album - Self Titled.

I've already noticed some effect of the Cymbalta. It's almost like a tranquilizer.

I think it might've hit me as hard as it did today because I had a pretty bad anxiety attack last night, and was still feeling the after effects when I woke up this morning. Even now, I still feel a twinge of it, but the medication has left me feeling somewhat exhausted (hence the early post) and I'll probably be calling it in early tonight.

It's very difficult to find a job. At this point it's just ridiculous how hard of a time I am finding some form of employment, and it's nothing but discouraging. The added pressure from my family to find a job is really getting to me, as well. What's more discouraging is every time I get into the position where I might be able to get a job or have an interview, they decline to assist me by means of you know...taking me. It sucks, but not everyone who's unemployed has a vehicle.

So that's what I'm facing right now, and I'm feeling pretty burned out.

-Until tomorrow.

I must always remember; there's no point to surrender. (Day 189)

2009-06-13T22:50:00.000-07:00

Band - Hot Water Music.

Song - Turnstile.

Album - Fuel For the Hate Game.

I was at this show. It was during their reunion tour, and it may have been one of the greatest nights of my life. I remember being very drunken, and screaming like I wrote the lyrics. It was one of the funnest nights in recent memory.

It's one of those things you just...do not miss. Weddings, birthday's, anniversary's...those are all acceptable to miss if one of the greatest bands to ever come out of Gainesville decides they feel like touring, just for the shit's and giggles of it.

But those lyrics are very positive. It's so strange how something as simple as a song can actually lift you out of the gutter, if only temporarily. Music is a drug. It's addictive, consuming and life altering. I couldn't imagine life without it, and there isn't a bone in my body that doesn't need to feel the reverberation of live music, and 600 kids singing along.

Maybe there isn't a point to surrender.

Lately this blog has seen a very literal explosion in popularity. To that I say...thank you, friends.

Have a great, and safe weekend.

-Until tomorrow.

Been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding. (Day 188)

2009-06-13T00:36:00.001-07:00

If you don't know this...I mean, come on. Where the hell have you been?

Band - Harvey Danger (recently broken up!)

Song - Flagpole Sitta

Album - Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?

After a very annoying delay with my doctors (try oh...four hours) I went and saw a new doctor. Today was the first time I've actually had face to face time with anyone there, and shockingly...it felt different. I didn't feel pressured to be in and out in 15 minutes, he sat and asked all my questions, and tackled my concerns. While his accent is a bit thick to understand at times, it's the very first time I've actually ever felt comfortable in this place.

He decided that since I'd maxed out the dosage of Pristiq, which...I want to make this known real quick. I'm a heavy advocate of this particular anti-depressant. It works fast, and it's not at all intimidating like some anti depressants can be, because it works so quickly and because even though it works quickly and you notice it, it doesn't at all overwhelm you. For me, my personal experience with Pristiq is that I was very grateful to've taken that first because of how effective it is, and how gradual it feels, even though it's quick. I'm not sure if that makes any sense.

However, I do not take it anymore. As of tomorrow I will be starting a new anti depressant, Cymbalta.

The reason for the switch is, with any medication I've ever taken I can pretty much know right from the beginning that this isn't something that's going to be with me forever. I get immune quickly, and have to either up the dosage, or switch a medication completely. Tylenol hasn't been effective for me since I was 9.

I do have concerns about taking Cymbalta. I do. I've heard of some unpleasant side effects from people I personally know.

But what frightens me a bit more is, and I apologize I don't have the list in front of me at the moment, is that I will be taking a heavy hitter of an anxiety medication. Three times a day.

I've noticed the effects that anxiety has taken on me recently. I don't sleep, my eating habits are erratic, I'm becoming extremely reclusive and physically I can see more and more gray hair on my head.

I don't want to be one of those people that can't handle life. But I do understand like, it's a chemical issue inside of me. It's inherited. A lot of things that've happened in my life have really helped it grow, but overall...I still feel weak.

I feel weak and embarrassed that three times a day I have to take a medication for anxiety, and I'm only 23.

So often I feel like I can handle these rough situations, just as long as they don't really focus on myself. I feel like I can thrive in tougher predicaments. But when it comes down to it, when I'm alone, I cannot stop my mind from racing constantly.

While I'm embarrassed and nervous, I'm...optimistic. I'm excited for the future for the first time in a while, because if this works, I can see it being only a dramatic improvement. Even if it's not so immediate, I think it's finally the right path.

-Until tomorrow.

My ego's like my stomach, it keeps shitting what I feed it. (Day 187)

2009-06-11T23:56:00.000-07:00

Band - Cursive

Song - The Recluse

Album - The Ugly Organ.

I'll be posting all the lyrics to this. I dated a girl a while back, probably the most cohesive girl I've ever been with. I tend to not really be able to get into girls' I'm with music tastes. And it's usually just the music taste. And try as I might, I usually wind up trying to "open" her ears up to some stuff I think she'd like. Not just stuff I like, and fanboy about. There's method to my madness.

We always used to really get into these intense conversations about Cursive. She really helped nurture my love for this band.

Cursive was one of the first bands I got into that weren't specifically a punk band. While they had these angular moments, their sound encompasses heavily textured pop sensibilities essentially crafting a perfect indie-rock band.

And so she wound up being my girlfriend who knew all about indie music. In one of those rare, almost impossible moments I found myself entranced with her playlists. She really helped broaden my musical tastes.

When we parted ways, the song I posted above...

We still talk. And every time she hears the song, she always thinks of me. Strangely, I really agree with her. I've always related to this song, and reading the lyrics...I really understand why.

I wake alone
in a woman's room I hardly know.
I wake alone
and pretend that I am finally home.

The room is littered
with her books and notebooks
I imagine what they say, like,
"Shoo fly don't bother me."
I can hardly get myself out of the bed
for fear of never lying in this bed again.

Oh Christ, I'm not that desperate.
Oh no, oh God. I am.

How'd I end up here to begin with?
I don't know.
Why do I start what I can't finish?
Oh please don't barrage me
with the questions
to all those ugly answers.
My ego's like my stomach,
it keeps shitting what I feed it.

But maybe I don't want to finish anything anymore.
Maybe I can wait in bed 'til she comes home
and whispers,
"You're in my web now,
I've come to wrap you up tight
'til it's time to bite down."

I wake alone
in a woman's room I hardly know.
I wake alone
and pretend that I am finally home.

Years later, I got heavily involved with the local music scenes in Arizona and put on a show. It was a going away present for a friend who was going to a religious college in Oregon. I'd been with Weapon X (not the same girl as above) for quite a while, and it was a really big day for me. I'd never really done anything like organized a show before, and it was the first show this little town had ever had.

I ran across that tape today.

Seeing her and I together, holding hands. A song dedicated to us...how she used to look at me, and to know I've not meant that to someone else in nearly three years hit me hard.

Looking at me in the tape holding her hand and kissing her on the cheek, with no clue on me that one day she'd unable to talk to me again.

I feel like that's when I peaked in life. At 20.

So I got really drunk.

I will be tomorrow. Getting an early start.

Doctors appointment. I'm also discussing with them how they feel it's time I started going to therapy.

I smell a bender.

-Until tomorrow.

Yeah, I'm fucked up and I'm calling you. (Day 186)

2009-06-10T23:02:00.000-07:00

Band - Polar Bear Club

Song - Eat Dinner, Bury the Dog and Run (With an added bonus of Hollow Place at the end of Eat Dinner...)

Album - Sometimes Things Just Disappear. It can be hear by clicking on that link, and if somehow you've slept on PBC at all, please go listen to a recorded version of the song posted today. While I really like the energy, and personally can tell how good of a band they are from this video doesn't mean anyone else can. Recorded, you can make out the vocals so much better. But the energy from this video is awesome.

The song is pretty self deprecating, honestly. That's part of its allure to me. I had just started getting into the Polar Bear Club a few months ago, literally to the day/night when things kind of went to the shit for me. So the attachment I've grown to this band over the past few months has been stronger and stronger each time I've listened to them.

Going through their lyrics, and I mean this in the least narcissistic way possible, but the way he's writing songs is the same way I go about it. It's more or less vague without being vague, I don't know.

It's hard for music to actually elicit a visceral reaction from me, most of the time it's burrowing itself deep down, up in them guts. But this punctures where nothing else really can.

I've had a hard time really figuring out who I want to be. All I know is I want this cycle of losing to end, and damn it...I'm really trying. But nothing really seems to work out for me. Just to find or do something to break this repetition. I get angrier quicker, I'm more withdrawn and I just don't care to make any connections anymore. Whats the point? "Sometimes things just disappear", right? So why try to build anything of substance? Even rocks eventually erode, and all that's left is sediment carried away. Pieces of you gone by the wayside.

It's driving me out of my mind.

-Until tomorrow.

Another member of the crowd goes down to drown at the liquor store. (Day 185)

2009-06-09T23:54:00.000-07:00

Band - Operation Ivy

Song - The Crowd

Album - Energy.

I'm approaching, or have already surpassed half a year on this blog. That's kind of interesting.

It's interesting seeing as how I'm still having the same exact problems I've been having since day one with them, and it's beyond frustrating today. I nearly just quit. I'm not sure how much more I can honestly take of this.

The appeal of getting a job in some city far away from Arizona, and everything else is just overwhelming. Everyday I extend my job search just a little further. Everyday I get just a little bit more in love with the idea of packing up and not worrying about any of this anymore, and just shutting off everything behind me.

It worries me that I'm back in this mind frame. It's the same mind frame that put me on a plane to Albany, NY way back then.

I wish I knew what route to take at this point in my life. It'd be a lot easier if I had something or someone to really occupy my time on a semi-regular basis. I don't like how reclusive I'm getting.

Any real suggestions?

-Until tomorrow.

Reaching out for some kind of connection. (Day 184)

2009-06-09T00:29:00.000-07:00

I bid farewell to one of my favorite drummers Warren Oakes, who has decided to leave Against Me! What I always liked about his drummer is that while it was never super fancy, he just kept the tempo. I always liked that. It's that very reason why I don't like Travis Barker. He always has to toss in unnecessary fills to stand out above music that, lets face it, isn't all that complicated. It's too show offy. Not saying he isn't talented, because he clearly is. It just doesn't seem to really fit into a band that's made a career out of a simplistic approach.

So today's lyrics come from Against Me's song, New Wave off of the album with the same name.

So this past weekend, I didn't get to go see the Menzingers and I'm pretty bummed. I did however attend a very informal Mexican wedding, and wound up eating goat. I feel so guilty having eaten Lambchops boyfriend, but lets be honest...he was a loser anyway.

That's all I've got for tonight. Tomorrows update will be much better.

-Until tomorrow.

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

2009-06-06T15:50:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

God bless knee injuries!

-Until tomorrow.

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

2009-06-06T02:20:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

I'm appling for a job in Milwaukee.

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

And everyone else.

-Until tomorrow.

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

2009-06-04T02:10:00.000-07:00

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

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

Hope ya hate it.

-Aaron Hale.

My Long Goodbye:
------------------------

Lay awake. It's 4:55am.

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

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

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

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

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

It was February, and she was kind of new.

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

It was summer, and I was in love.

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

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

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

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

"Final boarding call, LaGuardia Flight 6170."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Neil, we need to talk."

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

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

"She's getting married, Neil."

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

God damn technology.

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

"Please just come home." Begs the believer.

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

Her words flooded through my ears one last time.

"What is it that you want?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

What do I want?

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

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

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

I just know I'm still moving straight ahead.

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

Somewhere out there is adventure.

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

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

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

Are you alone?

"Am I alone?"

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

Why I'm here.

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

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

Let the mother fucker burn.

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

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

Burn motherfucker.

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

Burn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

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

I slept so well that night.

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

-Until tomorrow.

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

2009-06-02T23:23:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Until tomorrow.

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

2009-06-01T21:48:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

Here are the lyrics:

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

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

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

The Blister Tree:
--------------------

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

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

-Until tomorrow.

You left me for dead so far away, I replaced you with fear and shame. You'll be happy on the day I die. (Day 176)

2009-05-30T15:09:00.000-07:00

The days are drawing even closer to the Trio show. I cannot wait. Today's song is "Stupid Kid" from my favorite album of all time, From Here To Infirmary. Talk about an anthem for every stupid time I fell in love with a girl.

So in a bit I'm heading up to Valley. I'll be looking for a job. It's at the point now where it's time that I got moving on to greener pastures. So much has changed this year, and the thing is...it's not even small changes. Things I thought would never happen actually did. I need to sit down and make a list of them, too.

And it's time that I started getting out of my head so much. I realized that as much time as I spend on introspection, maybe I would've been better served (or was in a previous life) a philosopher during the times of Greece.

I wish I had a chance to go back in time, though. To the time when Kerouac and Burroughs were traversing the United States, and penning the penultimate. Penning the blueprints for those who'd never quite fit in to the fabric of society just right. That the idea of adventure was more alluring than ever playing it safe. That there really wasn't any compromising, just...doing it. I wish I could have been a part of that.

Well, I'm guys. Have a safe night!

Tomorrows post is gonna be sappy as fuck, so prepare.

-Until tomorrow.

I will keep you warm in Hell. (Day 175)

2009-05-30T00:38:00.000-07:00

Today's Alkaline Trio lyric comes from their album Maybe I'll Catch Fire, though this version is from their live Halloween divid. The song is called, Madam Me, and it's pretty fun. It's not one of their outright best songs, but I feel it gets looked over too often.

Tonight's update is going to be really short. I'm exhausted, I haven't slept well recently. I mean, I never really sleep all that great, but I'm getting even less than I normally do. So I'm off to read a little bit, and watch some Simpsons.

Lately I've been kind of worrying myself. I can feel myself starting to like someone new, and to be honest I really don't want to do that. It's a catch-22 situation; I don't want to lose her in my life, but at the same time I feel guilty because I know I could never do a relationship again. It's been nearly two years, and to be truthful, that's fine by me.

But I feel guilty, like I'm leading her on, or something. Why does she have to be so fucking cute? It;s a goddamned conspiracy.

Well, I hope everyone had a great Friday! Stay safe, and have fun!

-Until tomorrow.

A poinsetta poison rain, traded true love for insult and injury (Day 174)

2009-05-28T23:12:00.000-07:00

Today's lyric comes from Alkaline Trio's song Emma, from their album Good Mourning.

What a lot people don't know is that when I first heard the Alkaline Trio, I actually wasn't impressed. That's actually putting it lightly. I hated them. They used to get pushed on me all the time by this girl I was dating, and I always resisted. One day she put on Good Mourning, and for some reason, it hit my ears like a napalm bomb. Something clicked, and I couldn't get enough of them.

I know some people would say this blog is turning into a music review site. I'm somewhat disappointed if others are viewing it that way, because honestly I feel that music is such an important factor in my life that it's almost ridiculous that I wouldn't talk about it often.

Be that as it may, the reason why I'm going with the theme of the Alkaline Trio is because of the role they have actively played in my life.

When I like a band, I mean really like a band, I'm fiercely loyal to them. The Alkaline Trio are the biggest proof of that statement. Through every tragedy, every triumph in my life those records were never far from my stereo.

I hate when people get cheesy and say, "oh this band saved my life" or whatever. The truth is, they did more for me than just saved my life. They helped make it seem like life wasn't exactly great, but nothing was worth ending it over. When I discovered From Here To Infirmary, for the first time in my life I never actually felt like I was alone. Songs about drinking, girls, doing drugs, moving and...I mean everything else.

I really think if I ever have a kid that I'll give them a copy of that album for their fourteenth birthday. I really wish I'd had it when I was that age, things would have seemed a lot more clear. Or maybe they wouldn't have, but I really do wish I'd had it then.

When I was living in an apartment in Casa Grande with Richard (the updater yesterday) , he went on vacation to Hawaii and I wound up getting sloppy drunk with this girl I was seeing at the time. We put the vinyl version of Crimson on, and sat and listened to it. I'd been going through a lot of panic attacks, but every single time I hear something having to do with the Trio, I feel at ease and centered. I couldn't begin to tell you how many times they've made an appearance (or been the whole damned album) on drunken mixes between my friend Austin and I.

They've been such a saving grace for me.

It's true. Music can save lives, and I may be a perfect model for that.

How has music effected you?

-Until tomorrow.

It's been long time since I've been close to you, it's been a long time since I've been sad. (Day 173) [Guest Update]

2009-05-27T20:52:00.000-07:00

Today's guest update is from a long time friend of mine, Richard. I've known him for years, and he's been a great guy. He's been kind enough to raise the quality of this blog, at least for one post. It's extremely personal, and I'm very greatful he was able to share something so close to him.

P.S: The song he chose by the Alkaline Trio (in keeping with this weeks theme) is called Jaked on Green Beers, and it can be found of their compilation album, Remains. It couldn't be more fitting.

-Aaron Hale.

Well for some of you [very few] it will be immediately obvious why I chose that particular lyric. Even more so because those of you particular enough to know the story behind this upcoming blog know the rest of the lyrics to the song. This song has another deep impact on me being the first Alkaline Trio song I ever heard.

Sometimes in life you find yourself surrounded by people, and you manage to become completely and utterly devoted to one of them. She's beautiful, she's smart, and god damn if she can't make you feel fucking great. This girl could get you to do just about anything; Scratch that. This girl could get you to do absolutely anything, no questions asked. Hell, she could even get you to reconsider your life plans on marriage and children.

Of course, being the whore that she is, she's going to hurt you deeply, but you don't believe that yet. Not yet, but soon. So you finally find out what a tramp this chick is, and manage to muster up the willpower to move forward- at least momentarily. Why is it that whenever someone hooks you- I mean really hooks you, you come running to their beckon call? I think it's absolutely ridiculous, but as far as shortcomings go, I am guilty of this as well.

You manage to patch things up for a while, and things go great, only to find out that skankwad still can't keep her legs together, and decided that she's going to smash you into a million pieces because of it. Fucking sucks. Really....fucking....sucks.... but you gather yourself up and move on- or try to, as the bitch drags you over hot coals for days before finally giving it an honest attempt at breaking it off. Don't ever try to be friends with someone like this. I know that you're going to want to. You're going to hope that at least you can still be friends, and maybe build it back into something- but you can't. Trust me, you can't. Just let the bitch change her number, you don't need it anyway, and get rid of all the ways she might be able to find you too.

I wish I could be there when you get hurt as bad as you've hurt me, and bitch, I hope this is goodbye.

-Until tomorrow.

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl. (Day 172)

2009-05-27T01:41:00.000-07:00

Today's lyric...lets be honest, if you don't know where it's from, you might not know what color the sky is. It's originally from Pink Floyd's 1973 album Wish You Were Here (song of the same name).

The thing is, I don't like Pink Floyd. I never really have, and I don't think I ever will. However, this song is so extraordinarily beautiful, touching on the hope for a friend who is slowly succumbing to mental illness...it's always hit close to home with me.

But the video today comes from Dan Andriano, the bassist and co-vocalist of my favorite band of all time, the Alkaline Trio. His voice is perfect for this song, and I really hope you agree. While you can't really see much, you hear his voice perfectly.

Dan is one of the most talented musicians out there today. His voice has a hint of Elvis Costello meets...something else I can't quite put my thumb on. But it's such an extraordinary voice.

For the next following week or so, I'll be putting up only Alkaline Trio lyrics for the posts. Next Tuesday I will hopefully be seeing them live, and I couldn't be more excited.

Dan Andriano though, he's been such a tremendous addition to Alkaline Trio, and my life as a whole. While I've always stated I tend to be more partial to Matt Skiba's songs and vocals, that in no way is meant to take anything away from him. His songwritting has only progressed, his songs have only become more anthemic over the years.

I really hope you enjoy this cover as much as I do. It means a whole hell of a lot to me. I hope if you aren't yet an Alkaline Trio song, this gives you incentive to check them out further.

Enjoy!

-Until tomorrow.

One boy spoke up and said, "Preacher come on, eat your supper with us." (Day 171)

2009-05-25T15:31:00.000-07:00

Happy Memorial Day.

Just take a minute, at least the Americans, to think that despite what your opinion is of the wars currently happening or how popular it is to write it off...there's still people in desert trenches fighting to stay alive. Do no forget that. That's what it boils down too, and whether these wars are about oil, or terror, or whatever...that's not quite the point, is it? Even if this, underneath it all, turns out to be a war about oil or power, be grateful that at the time men and women, sons and daughters, wife's and husband's, brothers and sisters...you're best friends or worst enemies, put all of their lives aside to assure what they felt needed to be protected. Don't forget that for one minute.

We say the recession is so awful, yet we're out barbecuing, we still have amenities and luxuries afforded to us that many others do not have, and that came with the heavy price of nearly an entire generations worth of blood.

I hate the commercialization and overt idiot patriotism and stigma that comes with the typical American view. At least to me, when I think about what America means to me, I cannot look at the landscape with out imagining that on one fretful day they stormed the beaches of Normandy. Not for anyone's personal gain. Not for anyone's romanticized ideology of progression or pride. The world, not one country...the entire world (just imagine the actual weight of that) relied on Nations putting aside any differences they had, to help ensure that their generation and their generations lineage would be able to be free.

It's more to me, freedom I mean, than just a flag shirt and napkins made in Japan (Oh, the irony.) It's more than that, it's more than picnics and everything along with it. Don't get me wrong, we should celebrate with friends and family. I think out of all the options, this is the most appropriate given the depth of the reason why it is we all have a Monday off.

My father is old enough to have lived through World War Two. I realize that all soldiers past and present deserve to be viewed with admiration and reverence today (and any day, honestly) and that every war should be recognized. But in speaking of terms of the weight of today, World War 2 is the reason why we can even recognize all the rest in the first place.

But my father lived through World War 2. He wasn't quite old enough to have served, and when the Korean War rolled around, he wasn't medically able. His brothers and my mothers Uncle both served in the latter, though. Unfortunately, this was is referred to as the Unknown or Forgotten War often, given it's predecessor (World War 2) and it's successor (Vietnam). A lot of men died there, though, and it's still tragic. Leroy Van Verth, my friend who was stabbed to death nearly a year ago served in both of these wars, providing comfort to those in their last moments, while being shot at and bombs exploding. That to me is the mark of heroism. To be scared witless, and still marching forth despite whatever outcame may be. And to provide comfort to those dying, and still living with that stigma, and that blood that will never come off, no matter how long it's been since the red actually came off...it's an amazing thing, to me, to think about.

I can't imagine having lived through that era of World War 2/Korean War. Growing up in a time frame in a pretty much burgeoning country that America still was (and still is, to an extent) with all the uncertainty you could muster. Somewhere across that big blue ocean was a man with a rigid pose, funny looking mustache, and every intention of implementing a Third Reich to last for thousands of years. With every intention of exterminating homosexuals, gypsies and Judaism as whole.

I don't believe in it much, but I truly feel that that time frame, that individual, if there is a God and things like good and evil are black and white, and therefore quite pertinent to existence, that that man was quite indeed evil. The full embodiment.

Think about how Adolf Hitler came to rise in prominence. World War One was still a very vivid memory for the entire world. Much of Europe was still in shambles, yet every once of the worlds anger after that particular conflict fell down upon Germany. They were given a debt, that even by today's standards would be impossible to pay off (nevermind the inflation since then) and were sentenced to a lifetime of guilt, shame and exodus from the world stage.

When someone can sling hope and prosperity to those desperate enough to listen, and if you can even make some kind of headway on that promise, at least for the moment, they'll do anything they can to follow and fight. In that respect, Hitler gave Germany a taste of their dignity back. Eventually even they saw him for what he truly was, but when you back something into the corner...Hell, even the most timid of animals will fight back.

I fear we're doing that today with Iraq and Afghanistan. With our implementation of torture, and now we're not calling it that anymore, but *wink wink*, and with Guantanamo Bay not existing anymore, but *wink wink* it does, just "someplace else" and the detainees being held for indefinite amounts of time...without trail, but *nudge nudge* look the other way, here's that change you were hoping for...I feel as though we're sowing the seeds for one of these Nations to pull off an act of tragedy and call to arms that which the world has yet to even imagine or see yet.

Today is about the memory of those dying on foreign soil, and soaking it with their blood and life force so that we may continue to build dreams upon our own. For their sacrifice, bravery, courage and ability to realize that at that moment in time they mattered more than they could ever imagine.

They say that the true mark of intelligence and maturity is being able to decipher where you stand in the following statement: "A foolish man willingly dies for what he believes in while a noble and wise man stays and fights for it." I don't know if that's even applicable to a realistic world. It takes a casualty count to secure the lives of others. That's tragic, but I also feel that in it's tragedy...it's nothing short of true.

Nobility might be the mark of someone who will fight, and who will willingly die for what he believes in. Not openly give up mind you, or go out with the idea of being a martyr, but rather putting themselves aside completely, and the outcome of themselves in the very end being a thought that's prevalent, but not determining in their actions.

I'm thankful. I truly am. I'm thankful I can make stupid decision, and ones that aren't so dumb. I'm grateful I can pursue whatever my heart desires, instead of that decision being made for me before I'm even born. I'm thankful I can live in a country that, despite how slowly it can come to make a change, will still do so eventually.

Today's lyrics come from the band Lucero. The song is called the War, and it's off of their album Nobody's Darlings. It's told from the perspective of his grandfather who fought in the war. The war that he eludes to is World War 2. He wrote the song after reading old letters from his grandfathers trunk.

I think it's the most honest take on war, period. From that perspective of someone who fought, who was scared, who was an average American boy at the time of something much greater than youth. So often we envision those going off to war as stoic, strong and able to shake things off, that don't bat an eyelash in the face of the repeated exploits of death. I think we forget that these were, for the most part, just kids. Barely out of High School, just kids. Children. Fighting in a conflict they might not even truly understand entirely, but having earned enough world knowledge at this point to know it was important.

I'll be posting the lyrics to the song. Take from them what you will, I know what I've taken from them.

Lucero - The War:
--------------------

I got drafted at 19
Me and a bunch of boys from home.
January ’43, drove out to Pine Bluff and signed on
Went to basic south of Birmingham
Put me on West Coast bound train.
Spent three days out in San Diego
And they shipped me back East again.
Left a port out of New York
Slept for months in British rain
Tore it up down in London town
And they shipped me back out again.

The preacher said, “Boys, he who is killed tonight will dine with the Lord in Paradise.”
One boy spoke up, said “Preacher come on, eat your supper with us."

Never talk about those first days.
Lots of friends left behind.
But I made it all the way across France
And I fought at the Maginot line.
Rode a tank into Belgium
Like them better than the French.
Like my daddy, thirty years before
I did my time in a trench.

Lots of days there’s no water
But the liquor kept me warm.
The cellars were stocked to the ceiling with booze
So I carried a bottle with my gun.

The preacher said, “Boys, he who is killed tonight will dine with the Lord in Paradise.”
One boy spoke up said, “Preacher come on, eat your supper with us.”

Three times I made sergeant.
I’m not that kind of man
And pretty much just as quick as I could
I get busted back to private again.
Cause taken’ orders never suited me;
Giving them out was much worse.
I could not stand to get my friends killed
So I took care of myself first.
Now, I know that don’t sound right.
Don’t think too bad of me
Now it keeps me up nights
What I could have done differently.

The preacher said, “Boys, he who is killed tonight will dine with the Lord in Paradise.”
One boy spoke up said, “Preacher come on, eat your supper with us.”

I’d be no guest at the table of the Lord
His food was not to be mine.
‘Cause I cursed His name every chance that I could
And I reckon that’s why I’m still alive.

Enjoy today! Have fun, have some drinks, watch some sports, spend it with those you care about deeply, and enjoy every single solitary moment you can squeeze out of life as a whole. That's the best memorial anyone could ever pay tribute someone. It's great to be alive, and it's great to be free.

And to everyone who sacrificed, or who does now...thank you.

-Until tomorrow.

Fight every fight like you can win; An iron fisted champion, An iron willed fuck up. (Day 170)

2009-05-24T23:26:00.000-07:00

Today's lyric comes from Against Me! To me, they are the most exciting band going today, and in the videos posted live, you might get a sense of why.

I've been to a few of their shows, and I've always left something behind. Something that was ailing or worrying me. Something that was unhealthy. Yet somehow, someway at an Against Me! show it's a rock and roll revelation and salvation, ready to bathe your sweet sinners brow.

The song is Walking Is Still Honest. It comes off of, well it's on a lot of EP's and stuff, but it's perhaps more well known for being on Against Me's incendiary debut full length, Reinventing Axl Rose.

Before I moved to New York, Against Me came to Tucson, which is a bit of a stretch from where I live. Days before the show I blew my knee out, and still decided to go. It would be one of the last things I did for the foreseeable future in Arizona.

I'd never seen a crowd reaction like I did there in Tucson. I was covered in sweat; a strange combination of both my own, and hundreds of strangers. When Walking Is Still Honest came on, I climbed up on stage, and got to sing the full chorus. It might seem small and inconsequential, but those things to me, not only do they matter a great deal, but they make up the fabric of existence.

Being a chorus, a voice amongst hundreds of others...it's such a bewildering thing if you ever stop to think about it for a moment. Just witness in these two videos. Chances are, most of these people have no idea whom the others are. Just a small group of them, and that's it. But they all know the words, they all sing from the depths of their very souls, they all put arms around one another, and for one brief moment in eternity...life does not exist outside of the confines of that packed room in some town. Nothing else is happening. The earth isn't spinning, there's no bad situations, any of that...it all pours out of the pores of strangers. The biggest and most impartial group therapy you will ever get. I guarantee it.

The other song is from the same album, Reinventing Axl Rose, and it's called We Laugh At Danger (And Break All the Rules.) If you want to talk about anthemic, this is it in spades baby.

I hope I never forget these moments. I truly do. It's been the one thing constant. Music, and feeling young and alive. Making the most of anything.

When I discovered punk rock music, I knew it was more sincere than what was happening on the radio dial. I didn't have many friends, and I never really fit in anywhere. I still feel like I don't quite often, yet...when those lights go off and those chords spring to life...forget about it. This is the party we came for.

I'll take this over seated concerts any day. There's a reason these are called shows: because there's more honesty. People are gonna fuck up on stage. People are gonna scream and shout as a chorus of one, and if someone falls down...someone is going to pick them back up and help dust them off...and then run like hell.

The interaction of mic sharing, or dancing with strangers, or just not worrying about your appearance twenty minutes into a blistering set...that's amazing.

You can't even hear the band singing. It isn't just their song anymore. It's everyone there in attendance. They own it just as equally now. Listen to how loud the crowd is on We Laugh At Danger...just listen. You barely, for a moment, can hear the singer. The rest is bled out by the exuberance of hundreds. That's the way it should be. That's the way life should be.

-Until tomorrow.

The sea shakes like an empty morocco . (Day 169)

2009-05-23T17:57:00.000-07:00

The lyrics from this update come from The Blood Brothers song, Peacock Skeleton with Crooked Feathers. It comes off of their very diverse and amazing album Crimes.

The Blood Brothers were always a band that amazed me at far they went. Unfortunately they've since ceased to be an active band, but when they were around they definitely caught your attention. Whether you liked them or not, they really did push something quite unique. They were always put into the category of punk, or hardcore. I don't necessarily disagree that they had a lot of elements that were obviously from those genres, but to be honest...they were a lot more than that.

For a great portion of their career they put out chaotic albums that always resembled an organ grinder going to town on a super nova exploding. When they released Crimes, it was so different from anything they'd done up that point..I loved it immensely.

What I always disliked about them, were things they never really had control over to begin with. They couldn't necessarily help the kind of kids they attracted at their shows. The other is that I feel people never appreciated the depth and literacy of their lyrics and musicianship; instead focusing more on the high pitched duel-vocal-screaming.

Seeing them live was always a treat. The best I could ever describe them as would be...chaotic. Simply fucking chaotic. I had the chance to see them four times, and every single time they left an impression that I'll never forget.

One of my favorite shows of theirs that I ever went too (which is in my top ten favorite shows of all time) saw something happened to me that...I wish didn't.

Their support sucked. I mean flat out, it just was not enjoyable. But you kinda just stood through it all, clapped when they finished their song. It kind of helped having a crappy under card, though. All that anxiety built up, and when they took the stage, you could bet it would be a wild ride for the next hour.

So many times you ducked instruments, bottles, lit cigarettes (people could still smoke in clubs at this point. That makes it feel like decades ago) bodies, microphones and whatever else.

This guy in front of me was fall down drunk. Literally, he fell down at one point, and trust me...that's completely relevant to the story.

So this guy was sloshed. It was the break between sets before the Blood Brothers would take the stage. I often think back as to why no one (security or his friends) stopped him from doing this. Maybe it was because everyone was excited and preoccupied with what was about to happen. Maybe it was because those who actually saw what happened were too amused to say anything, or maybe it was because people never really pay attention to what happens.

Don't get me wrong. I've seen almost anything you could imagine at punk shows. I've seen a chick blow a guy during a Thrice set, I've seen people fucking while the legendary Suicide Machines tore the roof off of the place. Drug abuse, fighting, a girl fighting too guys at once in a mosh pit, people catapulted, a band showered with water bottles, all of that. But up until now, I'd never seen this happen.

This kid went to a corner next to the left speaker, pulled it out and started pissing. The house lights were on, people were standing near him, his friends were dying of laughter...yet, it happened. And he pissed for about a good minute.

It was a huge puddle. I made a mental note to try and stay in the middle of the crowd, and figured, "Eh, someone pissed. Worst case scenario, I might step on it. No biggie." But oh, I was wrong.

Remember when I said he was literally fall down drunk? Well, he fell down right into it, and then proceeded to sit in it for 15 minutes while smoking, and talking to his friends. He ever questioned why the floor was wet. This kid was gone.

That settled it. I was on my way to the middle of the crowd.

So the Blood Brothers came onto stage, and were just absolutely killing it. I mean it. It was fast paced, energetic, bodies and instruments and microphones swinging all over the place. A lot of mic sharing, a lot of stage diving...a lot of fun.

Until who should wind up in front of me besides Lushy McPeepants. The crowd was swaying, a lot of circle pits exploded, and all of that.

At one point I wound up catching a rogue microphone, and a bunch of us were sharing it. That's when Lushy fell, ass first, into the front of me. To my chagrin, his pants were still sopping wet from urine. How's that for a fuck my life moment?

Anyway, here's a live video of the song (sans the urine) It's a little crappy, the audio I mean (but it's not that bad at all) but if you get a chance to check it out recorded, I highly suggest it. It's catchy like syphills just, you know...without the pain and shame of an STD.

Check it out:

I've been pretty bored all day. I've resorted to watching early episodes of the Simpsons, and reading. I'm starting to get a touch of cabin fever, and I really need to do something fun tonight or my head will explode. Or my lungs will flood with boredom. Who knows? The point is...I'll die because of boredom.

I had a discussion with a friend today, and she said she felt that it was impossible to ever have free health care, that that system would fail and that the government had more important things to deal with.

It's this general opinion that the average American has that simply signifies that we will not be able to keep up with the rest of the modern world. Honestly, I truly believe that.

"What about the people who go to college to be doctors or pharmacists? They won't have a job."

Many people feel this way in America. They feel it's improbable. They feel it's too socialist, for God's sake. They never stop to think that they pay a cops salary with their taxes, that they pay a firemans salary, or public school teachers salaries with their taxes. And all of those services could be construed as "too socialist" in anyone took a damned moment to think.

God Bless propaganda.

But the statement that there's more important issues the government has to deal with...really? The health of the people who put you in office shouldn't be a top priority in the minds of any citizen? Especially with a recession where hundreds of thousands of people have lost jobs, and can no longer afford bullshit insurance?

When I mentioned that Europe had free care, and has had free care forever, she went on to say she would rather be an American. Now, don't get me wrong, this girl is highly intelligent and is extremely awesome. But that question really set me off to where I couldn't think of anything else to say.

This isn't an attack of paitriotism. I'm happy I'm an American. It's because I love my country that I feel this is something we should be implementing. To help better so many peoples lives. It has nothing to do with socialism, or saying Europe is better than America (or vice versa). It's about the evolution of a country, the progression to think and act and do things differently, instead of attempting to revert to some 50's mentality that's both counterproductive, archaic and at this point damaging to the progression of a nation that helped spawn ideas of freedom,

I wish more people took the time to try to convince their representitives this was a good idea. I wish people stopped being so apathetic and closed minded. I wish people would stop falling prey to propaganda and saw that these ideas ingrained in them by politicians were only the in the interest of the lobbyists who paid them off, and instead demanded more of their government.

I wish people didn't simply view politics as boring and tiresome. I wish that people would stop thinking that it's not their problem, that they elected someone to do their thinking for them. Because the truth of the matter is...it's hurt us more than anything.

People have stated they want change and elected a person selling the idea of it. But so far it's all cosmetic, and now the savior they wanted is slowly revealing himself to be just as tyranical as the previous administration. Just recently, Obama has stated he will be sticking with Bush's policy of not submitting some detainees suspected of terrorism to a fair trial. This is a country that stated every person is subject to a fair trial of their peers, and yet just because a rock star with a bigger paycheck and fancy white house can charm even the most staunch world leaders against America is in office, people are content. It's all cosmetic. There's no fucking substance anymore, and that has to change, or else it's the end of the road.

-Until tomorrow.

They all drink the same drinks, and they all fuck the same. (Day 168)

2009-05-23T12:10:00.000-07:00

Today there will be a double post to make up for missing last night. I just got really tired. I wound up not being able to make it to the job interview, and I'm very bummed in that. But things happen sometimes that are outside of everyone's control, so I completely understand.

This updates lyrics come from a band I've always been heavily enamored by. They're a complete mixture of stuff you've heard before, but you just can't quite put your finger on. It's obvious that the singer wears his Johnny Cash influences as a shirt, instead of up his sleeves. The song (despite what they say at the beginning of the video) is called Spring Break 1899. It's by a band named Murder By Death (named after the 1976 movie with Pete Sellers) off of their latest album, Red of Tooth and Claw.

As good as this video is, and how much justice it does the band, I can't say how much I really hope you check out the whole album. The cello doesn't tend to be bled over as much, and the cello really makes this band.

So I missed my job interview. Hopefully I can convince them to reschedule it, but if not at least I know that this drought of unemployment is about to run its course. I've also been thinking about going to school again. I'm just not so sure I'd survive in the kind of atmosphere because I get so damned bored so quickly. When they hand out those syllabus' I always tend to work way ahead and then just lose interest and wind up not going back.

I wish I knew a way to keep myself focused. I've tried not working ahead, and that's when I start losing assignments or something. It's hard to explain. I just hate sitting still, honestly.

I'll be updating again later today. Be sure to wait with baited breath.

-Until tomorrow (which is technically like...tonight.)

For a year we caught his tears in a cup. And now we're gonna make him drink it. Come on Alex don't die or dry up! (Day 167)

2009-05-21T21:38:00.000-07:00

Today's lyric comes from Canadianistan band, the Arcade Fire. The song can be found on their album Funeral, and the song is called Laika.

I can't tell you how many hours I listened to that album, and this song specifically when I worked at the Comfort Inn. Something about the atmosphere of that album, of that song...really made those dead and unending hours more than what they should have been. It made it this...I want to say journey. I tend to daydream quite a lot, and with this in the background...I'd drift for hours on end, and it'd honestly make the nights seem so less depressing and pointless.

These guys put on this amazing live show. Literally, two members of the band strap on helmets and beat the shit out of each others heads with drum sticks. While admittedly that actually sounds really kitchy and pointless, it actually flows with the mood and demeanor of this band. Also, imagine a relatively off the radar band going on Letterman, and doing something like that? It was awesome.

I'm actually posting another songs from their latest release, which was amazing, called Neon Bible (song is the same name). What's so special about this performance? Well consider this: There's a tuba, two violinists, a person playing a xylophone, saxophone, as well as a guitar and a dude ripping pages out of a magazine as a percussion instrument and a guy banging on the roof for additional umph. Oh, also there in an elevator while someone is videotaping it. There also might be a few other instruments as well.

Starting tomorrow I have a job interview for a citizens advocacy group. The aim is to try and lower "big businesses" like the oil conglomerates from continuously snuffing out any alternative fuel sources, thusly keeping America dependent on foreign power.

Along with that, they also work in the community with the down and out, which honestly is something I can truly get behind. This is a job that is completely opposite of what I did for the New York Government. It's a non-profit organization that worries more about helping people, instead of fastidiously expediting peoples shattered lives in order to make that much more money.

It's a job that I feel I'd be a great fit for, and I really hope something can work out. It's in the Valley, which is quite a ways away, which means I'd be making my big move out of this nowhere nothing desert town, into one of the bigger cities in the nation.

I'm nervous, anxious and so awfully excited.

I decided to change a few days ago, and already I can see some things beginning to rotate into that favor. So please, wish me luck.

The downside of this position is that it appears to only be a summer position, but if I'm working I have an idea it might be that much easier to get a job. Plus I've learned a lot about my finances, and when it's time to scrimp, and when it's okay to splurge a little bit.

I'd like to secure this job. If I did, I want to learn as much as I can about this type of field of work, for the citizens, I mean. For the people. I'd maybe like to someday start my own to assist people who cannot afford to seek treatment, or medicine, or might not even know what to do. I've been doing this for a while now, and I still have very little of a clue as to what I'm exactly supposed to do. I think it could benefit a lot of people, as well.

That's all I've got for today. Wish me luck. Hopefully by this time tomorrow, I will be a gainfully employed individual.

-Until tomorrow.

I gave everything to you, it didn't do anything for me. (Day 166)

2009-05-20T20:57:00.000-07:00

Today's lyric comes from Manchester Orchestra's amazing song, "I've Got Friends". It's off of their latest release, Mean Everything to Nothing. This honestly is that band you should be checking out. You know the term wall of sound? They obliterate that concept completely. At times they dull you into this false sense for how the song will go, and then they just explode into this rock fury. I really hope you enjoy it, please check it out. Oh, and this song deserves to go to ten. Turn it loud as loud can be.

The other night I had the push I needed to have. After three years of blaming myself for something, how poorly a relationship ended, I got the closure I needed. I no longer bare the weight of feeling so useless and worthless.

I heard she's flunking out of ASU, though. And that bums me out. She had a lot going for her, and she's merely settling for a misguided concept of happiness.

You ever get that wake up call? I got mine loud and clear at 3:34am.

Sometimes you have to be willing to accept those charges.

But it took me three years for this, and now I feel like it was worth the wait. I think the next step in personal evolution is to take all I've learned, and to not just willingly always accept that I'm the bad guy right away.

I've got friends in all the right places, and at the strangest times they give you the boost you never even knew you needed. I guess it just takes some time to let anything of substance really set up roots and blossom in your life. Despite how hard things can get, it's the sucker punch from lady luck that's gonna get you through a long night and a shit day.

So to them, man, thanks. I don't wanna ask for help, but sometimes it just happens. It's like working on a crossword puzzle, and giving up on a word, and then later on looking back at those boxes and it randomly dawning on you while you're trying to figure out 15 across, 9 letters for an eternal wait.

I think it's so eerie, though. A few days ago I talked about this, and wanting closure, and then randomly getting it from someone who hadn't even seen the update...I don't know.

It's the exorcism of a ghost that's been living with me so long, I thought it was just another appendage.

-Until tomorrow.

Should I give up, or should i just keep chasing pavements even if it leads nowhere? (Day 165)

2009-05-19T02:45:00.000-07:00

I've decided a few things. First and foremost pertains to this blog.

Each and every single blog has a song lyric in it, and I choose those lyrics because they either closely mirror what the blog is about, or on a deeper level, how it is that I'm feeling at that direct moment. So from now on, I'll try my best to post either a video or just audio version of the song on the page, because these songs really do deserve to be heard in one way or the other. At least I feel that, truly.

At the very, very least I'll be giving the name of the song and the artist. Such as today's song. It comes from Adele, who, I'm not sure how I slept on her for so long because her voice in magnificent. The song is called "Chasing Pavements" and chances are, you've heard the song, or at the very least when you listen to it, you're going to feel like you've heard it before.

It's one of those songs that has that feel to it, you know? That feel that leaves you thinking that this song had never at some point in the history of existence not existed. Me grammar you good.

But her voice, I can't get over it. So enjoy!

Secondly, I need to start generating cash. I hate doing anything remotely capitalistic, because I don't feel anything I'll ever offer the world is worth any money whatsoever. But I'm seriously debating monetizing this blog, because for some reason it will see dips for a little bit, and then surge back up in viewership, and I'm so fucking happy about that I just can't iterate it.

I do feel that the recent decrease has been because my mind, and my heart have been other places. I don't know how to deal with certain happenings in my life, and because of that, I feel that some of the overall quality has dropped here, because I don't know what to say, or how to say it. But honestly, this is still something important to me, because it will always be the documentation of the day to day with someone who struggles with his own mental walls.

The recent bout with depression has really taken a lot out of me. The medication has ceased working whatsoever, and I find myself slipping more and more into a reclusive and withdrawn state. I'm not too sure I'll ever be able to get out of it, honestly. But it always feels that way, too, when you're down in a hole with absolutely no idea on how to get out of it.

Truth be told, I've started to run out of strength completely. The strength to fight, the will to push and keep running. The things I want in my life never work out, and I still fight like Hell for lost causes, and in the end I miss the boat completely on what I should be looking for.

The personal changes, honestly, have been numerous and plenty. I used to be able to pick a little bit of fun about myself, but still feel that who I was at the core was someone I was proud of. Two months ago, nearly three now, I everything came to a crashing head. While I feel that the book I wrote at that period of time, "Open Roads and Brick Walls" was the best that I could personally ever do with whatever I had at that time, and I still feel proud and excited about it, I've just kind of lost the will to keep pushing pen to paper. I find it hard to differentiate what's a joke I'm making about myself, and what a joke I really feel like I am.

I've never been an open person. Not in the least.

But I get absorbed in these books. As I've mentioned a lot here recently, I reread Catcher in the Rye.

Finishing the book, it was like a well broke somewhere inside of me. I've felt lost my entire life, without one semblance of purpose or direction. Just a general idea. The irony is some people would tell me, "Why worry about that?" when I've always been so impulsive. The thing is, I can't afford to anymore. I get careless and sloppy with the wrongs things, and in the end the only thing left is my own personal wreckage, and me staring at the edges of it all wondering what the hell just happened.

As easily as I used to jump into situations, I'd turn my back and run the moment something reared its ugly head.

To say I've burned a lot of bridges is a bit of an understatement. But in the end, I think I wind up doing it because with so many things in my life, I just don't get an amount of closure. So much of my life is an open end I've been wanting to shut, but those pages keep blowing in the breeze in the back of my mind, reminding me I don't even get the privilege of a book marker.

So Adele raises a good question:

Do I give up, or do I keep chasing pavements?

Either way, you're bound to crash. So in the end, whats the proper course of action?

I think first to go is this beard. Every time I touch it, or accidentally catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, I'm reminded how much I've generally stopped caring and have given up. I can't afford to keep doing this, not when I'm pushing (egads!!!!! end of the world as we know it...) 24.

I know it seems dumb. I really do. But it really does feel like a reminder of life gone to hell in a hand basket.

The second most important thing is I'm going to push really hard to find an agent. Honestly, if anyone can help me, or at least push me in the right direction...it would be so much appreciated. This is what I want, this is all I know, and I'm not even that good at it, but honestly I can't work in fast food anymore. I will spit in every motherfuckers burger.

Thirdly, it's time to end this wagon wheel. Every single time I get my heart hurt, I fuck everything. I still highly doubt I'll ever pursue a relationship again, and that's fine. I guess at this point I'm just looking for fun, and to forget. But that doesn't excuse being an asshole about it, and taking a mile when I was only permitted six inches (hey yo! I made myself sad...)

Fourthly, I need to get out of this place. Maybe for a week, maybe less, maybe longer.

You ever get a draw? Like, being drawn to something compulsively, and not know why? Lately two things have been like that in my life. A person I barely even spoke to (and not remotely sober on my end, mind you) and a place I've never been.

That place is England. I've always wanted to go. Something about the constant rain, and just...the pure vibrancy that country exudes. The history. Especially London. I keep watching movies like "Shaun of the Dead" and I wish to God that that was me swinging a cricket bat at some bloke zombies head. I realize that statement might be a bit much for people, but it's honestly how I feel.

When I was a kid, and it's only grown since then, I've seen myself one day winding up in Europe. I know now that that is something I want to work for, and try out for myself.

I'll always be Captain America, mind you. But my mindset has never been that of a particular American, mostly because even though I'm half Hispanic, and half Irish, I still regard England as the motherland. At least the step-motherland. Truthfully, the motherland would be Mesopotamia or Egypt, wouldn't it? Digression! (Catcher in the Rye reference, sorry.(

The point is, when I day dreamed as a kid, I always wound up on a rainy day in London, just walking endlessly. Or even now, it's either there or Madrid or Paris. I refuse to die on American soil, and I refuse even more adamantly that my carcass not rest on American soil. I demand my ashes be poured on shit-fuck Shakespeare's grave; cause fuck him. That's why.

I also refuse to let my final resting place in pieces be the same country that has Kurt Cobain, eventually Dick Cheney (time's ticking, motherfucker) and GG Allin.

But the ambiance is what I've always dreamed of. It's why one day I'll live in Seattle. I've lived in the desert so long, I've lost what it was too appreciate rain, and that's something I really miss.

I want to wind back up in Albany in the near future. To take pictures, and get an amount of closure I never allowed myself. It seems weird, and trite, but it feels like it didn't happen. So much of my life feels like it didn't fucking happen, and I cannot stand that in the least.

Albany...

Earlier today it got very dark and cloudy, and you could smell the rain in the air. Immediately my mind was taken back to this day where I was spun outside of a Church on Central Ave. It was only four in the afternoon, but the clouds covered the sky in this black sagging cotton.

I sat on those steps for hours, and let the rain wash over me. I still remember how cold it was, and how acutely you could feel the electricity in the air, as those cottony clouds ripped alive with veins of blue and white, and in the same breath those veins disappeared forever. I wish like hell you were there with me.

Life is like lightning. It happens so quickly, that if you blink you just may miss it. But if you happen to see it, and hear the thunder rolling afterward, then you should consider yourself lucky.

See, it's over really quickly. But if it hit you, I guarantee you, you'd never forget it.

So do we keep chasing pavements? We know we're gonna eventually catch up to it, and smash our teeth out on the ground. But maybe it's not the crash, it's the fall that has the most character of the trip in itself. And maybe that's something I need to really, really learn.

I've been lucky in a lot of ways. And very, very unlucky in some. In the end, it's left me scratching my head. You don't get out of this life without a scratch, so maybe that's why you kick and scream so damned hard when you're born. You already know what's in store, in a sense.

It's been an amazing ride, though. I'll give it that much. But there's a lot more of it left, and I need to figure out how to reserve my energy and not wind up out of breath before I even really start.

Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements even if it goes nowhere?

Hell yes.

-Until tomorrow.

Someone tell me what the underworld is like. (Day 164)

2009-05-18T19:27:00.000-07:00

I saw her picture today, and goddamn, she looks so happy.

She's a big, big, big piece of my past, and I can't touch her, see her, hear her or talk to her anymore. It partly drives me insane to know that somewhere in this whole calamitous existence known as life, things once seemed to make sense, and I was so close...so close and so near being happy.

What the fuck am I doing now?

I can't stop thinking, you know? What's after this conscious existence? What awaits in the ether? Do you relive what just happened, over and over and over. Maybe that's it. Maybe we've died a thousand times before, but our lives are stuck on a loop. Maybe Deja Vu is just overlapping with yourself at the same time? Shit, it makes just as much sense some guy in the sky judging you for every step of the road.

And I look at her picture, and at times I just...wish I could relive it again. Not even change it, just...fully appreciate it for what it was, because I should have known there's no way it would have ever lasted. And it's not that I even want it too, for Gods sake. I just want to appreciate it once again, because I don't have it in me to ever lay myself on the line again. Yeah, I might only be 23, but I've seen enough and felt enough to sustain me for the rest of my life.

And so I look at her face, and I remember missing that first time. I look at her smile, and realize I'm not capable of putting it on anyone's face anymore like I did hers. And maybe I never was all that hot at it before, but for that moment in time, it's what I owned.

I'm glad she's happy somewhere else now. I know I'm better off as well.

But that's a piece of me I'll never be able to reclaim, which is fine. It just feels extremely naked.

"We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl."

-Until tomorrow.

Lately I been hard to reach, I've been to long on my own. (Day 163)

2009-05-17T20:51:00.000-07:00

You can listen to the new Eminem album here: I find the whole album pretty decent, but there are some stinkers here and there. Overall, I'm just fucking glad it isn't TI, or whatever the flavor of the week is.

I think it's interesting to hear such a prolific rapper put out an album out like this. Outside of the obvious singles, and some of the more...jokey tracks, there's some pretty confrontational and confessional songs on here. Detailing a trip into hell of losing a close friend, a continuously failed relationship and the loss of your best friend? I'm amazed he only got hooked on prescription meds.

Especially the tracks 'Deja Vu' and 'Beautiful'.

I really hope a lot of people don't overlook this album because it doesn't have his typical hooks, or that usual "angry" vibe too it. Sure, it's got anger to it, I'm not saying it doesn't, but it's more of a reserved melancholy of a person who's been basically reclusive for nearly half a decade.

I'm off to listen to this...a lot. I waited quite a bit for this.

-Until tomorrow

You can't feel it in your blood. The DJ's playing something driving you out of your skull. (Day 162)

2009-05-16T17:09:00.000-07:00

I just finished rereading Catcher in the Rye last night. I've honestly read this book at least once a year for...God, since I was 17.

It's funny, it was never part of the the required reading in High School or anything, and I've always had a love affair with reading. But for some reason, it took me so long to come across it. I constantly have to be reading, and of course I'd heard of the book, but it wasn't until the teacher I mentioned the other day, Ms. MacCaulley pressure me into reading it, did I. She said she always saw so much of me inside of the character of Holden.

I truly feel, unlike any other book, Catcher stands the test of time. Despite some of the lexicon being outdated (flitty/flit being an example, meaning homosexual, or called black kids "colored" or drunk "oiled up and just a lot of small nuances like that) as well as the difference in the price of our money (8 dollars being quite an extensive amount of money) the book is applicable to a certain sect of kids to this very day.

I think a lot of people could appreciate it, I know. I mean it continuously manages to sell hundreds of thousands of copies a year, and still manages to be quite controversial, but it continuously piques peoples interest. It's really fascinating to me. You have to have a heart and a healthy amount of imagination, and almost...I hesitate to say it, but purity to actually appreciate the art of a lost soul.

Lately I feel like I've been drowning. I've been pretty withdrawn, and so certain that I was going to fight tooth and nail to change who it is that I am, because I'm so sick of losing every battle. I'm so sick of trying, and getting so close to something I actually taste it, and then it's ripped away from me.

It's not that I feel I'm entitled or owed anything. I just wanted it to be my turn, for once, to be able to to hold something (or someone) and be able to have just that piece that's always eluded me, or has been missing...to have it.

I'm not a person that will open up about much. But for the first time in my life, I fought what felt wrong...and it felt so right. But like everything good, it came to a crashing halt.

Nothing in my life ever eases into extinction. It stops as abruptly as it starts, and to be honest...I've never once felt like it'd be wise to ever set up roots in anything. I know better.

I just do.

But for the past few months, I've just felt so empty and dead. I still do, to an extent, but...I just don't like what it is I'm becoming. But the struggle I have is...just because I don't like it, that I inherently hate it, doesn't give me enough of a reason to actually stop the transformation in its tracks. At what point do you bury those morals and dreams to keep on surviving? Not everyone is supposed to have that realm of security in their lives. Kind of like Holden said, "Life's a game alright. It's a game if you're on the side with all the hot shots."

But what about those of us who aren't? Well, we're just there to make the hot shots look even better, I guess. Which is fine.

But I'm so sick and tired. I'm sick of not knowing what steps I need to take to become a published author, I'm sick of sleeping with girls I don't have any connection with, and I'm sick of being told I need to do this and that.

I've been patient to the point it's actually unhealthy.

And all this while, I've backlogged frustration I have no clue on how to healthily let out. The person who means the most to me in my life, is the one I feel who's been the brunt of most of this devolution.

But at this point, I'm just wondering...man, what the fuck do I have to do? I would honestly just be forgotten, to fade off and that be that. But in the interim, I'm always that person that gets stranded at gas stations after botched beer runs, I'm the guy that doesn't even get that first chance, let alone a second.

What do I have to do to be worth something to those people in my life? This isn't a pity party, but me trying to make sense of it all. I don't want anything to ever be about me, there's more important things, but I guess I just want my moment as well. Even if it's alone, and no one is watching, just that moment.

But maybe it's always been my fault. I mean, not maybe. Most likely, 100% is. When I was a kid I spent more time reading than ever talking to anyone else. Even now. I don't know how to interact with people because I'm pretty boring, and I never have anything to say and my jokes actually go to the opposite effect. I don't think I've ever really made anyone laugh, which is fine.

I don't know. I'm just sick of being bitter and dead. I never wanted to be that person, but I guess sometimes you just have to grieve in your own way. I never deal with anything, I just push it to the side until eventually that overlaps and it floods, and the next thing I know...I have a broken hand and a near-shaved head.

There's a part in Catcher where Mr. Antolini is telling Holden that he's heading for a fall. And I must have read that part a million times, but at this stage in my life, how it's effected me...I just sat there, and without sounding too much like a pussy, I began to sort of cry. I began to cry, and wonder when the hell I was gonna be able to take that stick out of my ass, and just grow up.

I really have no clue.

-Until tomorrow.

You know you got a bad break, mama. (Day 161)

2009-05-15T23:49:00.000-07:00

My stomach has been feeling weird all night.

The past few days have been really weird. Tomorrow I'll give a really good update, nice and long. Right now I just wanna drink. I already drank tonight, but now I'm going to go read.

-Until tomorrow

Said goodbye to my best friend, sometimes there's no one left to tell you the truth (Days 159 & 160)

2009-05-14T16:01:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I had this teacher Ms. McCaulley. She was really unique in a lot of ways. The way she handled her students was something I never really saw in another teacher.

For instance, if one of them directly was defying her requests to be quiet, or something, she'd simply tell them to "shut the hell up", and just the initial shock, I guess, of a teacher swearing, especially at a student really did work.

Everyone really liked her. It had a lot to do with her casual attitude, and approach to teaching. Most teachers seem to talk above you in a monotonous tone, but she always seemed to search for something a little different.

I have no idea how it happened, but I wound up having her as a teacher every single year. She was an English and Creative Writing teacher. I'll be honest, I have no idea why I always seemed to get into her classes, especially because in order to be in her Accelerated Programs in English, you pretty much had to be this whiz or something. Yet sure enough, I'd have her yearly.

She really did help mold whatever the hell it is I do now, honestly. I don't write one thing without ever thinking about her, but I really wish I was still in contact with her because I'd be interested to see if she even remembers me, and if so if she even would think twice about anything I wrote.

She always seemed pretty much like one of those teachers you'd like to hang out with outside of school. I had three teachers like that, ever. Mr. Jaworski, who taught history, and Mr. London who also taught English.

London, I always wanted to play basketball with him. When I used to ditch classes, he'd be cool with sitting in on his class and being a makeshift teachers assistant. He always knew what the reason was for me being in his class, and he always used to laugh about it. But towards the end of Senior year he started to express concern. Not necessarily for the class, because it was some bullshit throw away class I didn't even need, but just that I could be so careless and apathetic towards doing something I should be and simply not doing it because I didn't want too, or something.

Jaworski, that guy was rad as hell. He really made me appreciate history in a whole new light. I've had a ton of history teachers, maybe no more than the usual student I guess, but like he really loved his job. You could tell it was his passion. All his kids were grown and all, so he was kind of older, but not like old-old, and he really carried it well. He had this awesome beard, and always gave out really fun assignments.

He would take smaller checks during the year so he would get paid during summer vacation. Every year he'd go to some place like Egypt or Italy for the History of it. Every single day I went to his class, he'd have some story to tell, and he was always firey and passionate about history. I loved going to his class. It was the only class I never was late too, not even once.

Teachers don't get enough credit for anything they do. Some are bullshit, yeah, but then you get a few that are completely awesome teacher who always puts forth this entire effort, but so often they get overlooked because for years you've had these jaded teachers who just don;t give a shit about their students, so the students just give up.

But I got lucky. It's unfortunate those teachers like that, they hardly get the due they are deserved. Bigger paychecks and adulation all around, stuff like that.

I think about it pretty often, honestly.

-Until tomorrow.

Down in south Oakland off east 14th it's raining, six a.m. on Sunday and the bums are praying (Day 158)

2009-05-12T23:44:00.000-07:00

You ever get to the point where you realize, "Holy crap, I'm too old to be doing this still."

I came to that resolution last night while I was having a nice jog in the dark trying to avoid policia. Sometimes...that's just my life.

But during the course of the night, prior to my audition for Cops, we wound up at a party. A party on a Monday night...because that's what adults do.

And while the "party" wasn't exactly a barn burner, and I wasn't there for very long, I actually met people I hadn't even known had existed in this cramped, desolate and small town.

I grabbed a guitar, because all night I'd been in the mood to play. The next thing I know I'm introduced to some very fucking cool people with very fucking cool music tastes. I never meet anyone, especially in the area, who is legitimately into vinyl, the Misfits or the Clash.

I wish to God I had their information. Maybe I wouldn't sit here all the time hating my surroundings.

Get out and explore, I guess.

-Until tomorrow.