I supply my own devine morality. (Day 71)

Today rules.

Have a great weekend.

I really got nothing.





Today rules.




-Until tomorrow.

I woke up last night and my nose was bleeding, I think I’m dying. Oh, Hallelujah! (Day 70)

Day seventy, and going strong.

I feel like I'm trapped on an island at times with all this Day this, and Day that crap. Why don't I even get a damned Wilson of my own? For God sakes, I have the most viewed story on Bitter Press, I at least deserve a desecrated volleyball with a bloody hand print on it. For all inquires on where to send my sports ball/imaginary friend, email me at aaron.halewilliams@gmail.com. I'm serious. Get on it. I'm lonely as shit.

Wow, my mind went to a sad, and dark place just then. But thats okay, these pictures of an adorable fawn will salve my hurt. Go away pain, go away...







It's been dubbed the Jason Deer by Spazzy McCanadianspazz. Apparently, that cute deer baby was a cesarean cute deer baby because the mother was killed. Nothing that adorable should ever feel any sort of hurt in it's life. Why couldn't Jim Belushi suffer this injustice, besides...his...brother...dying. Whatever, he still sucks.

And apparently, breaking news...a nine year old has wrote a best selling book, nine year old...wrote a best selling book called..."How To Talk To Girls". Now what in the figgity, figgity fuck is this sheep shit? I'm 23, have touched a boob, and this little zygote gets more action? I want him to die alone in a gutter, and also wish for him to tutor me. Email me, Alec. Email me.

Stay away Chris Hansen, it's not what you think.

So I decided to start a few days of updates having a little theme. The theme for these next few days, as I might be preoccupied, will be 'Thing I have learned'.

Things I've learned:

-My dad knows every thing. Every thing about important things, like farming and cars.
-I still miss Phil Hartman and Chris Farley.
-Staying pissed, and proud of it. Motto to live by.
-Girls kill me. And I hatelove it.
-I don't ever want to own a bed.
-The prospect of getting paid for writing is more gratifying than not getting paid. Selling out is fun.
-I really don't like NOFX.
-I really don't like Jim Belushi. The wrong brother died.
-I really, really like Green Day. Really.
-I hate goddamned Laura Linney. I didn't know acting could be screaming and crying in every. single. movie.
-I'm glad I was born in Colorado Springs, Colorado and have lived virtually my whole life in Arizona. I wouldn't appreciate having the desire to always want something more if I hadn't, and I truly believe that.
-Gin and Cranberry juice is the greatest drink ever to be concocted. I would fight a war for it.
-Fake Problems are the coolest guys in a band I've ever gotten to know. Tom Gabel is rad as shit, and #2 from Anti Flag is kind of a doucher. Tim McIlrath is the nicest man on earth.
-Christopher Gutierrez might be a cool guy in person, but I really, really got rubbed the wrong way by him. He's the reason why I can't stand 'straight edge' as a declaration, or writers as a whole.
-If you're not driving this, are this man, or take pictures like this and this, you probably shouldn't be conceited.
-Ben Templesmith is amazing. And highly underrated.
-I hate shaving.

Thats all for now. I really should be cleaning, but I have an obligation to all three of you who read this thing. Also, to the kid in Romania, please email me at the email address above about the Menzingers. I didn't mean to act like I was blowing you off, I'm just not sure how you sent it to that email thats no longer active.

-Until tomorrow.

Phoenix in flight, I'm here to break your wings. (Day 69)

God bless the heavier side of music. Lately, I've wanted to punch everyone in the face, and I can live vicariously through drop tuned guitars punching me in the face with hatehappy instead. See, hatehappy means it hates me, and in turn it makes me happy.

I really wish I knew how to address this, or deal with it, but I just don't see anyway possible. Maybe I preemptively cut beef out of my diet, or something, but whatever it is, I kind of would like this to end.

It's okay, someday soon they'll find me in the john at Sears, collapsed in a heap on the floor with my pants half undone, bleeding from the eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Severe hemorrhage, no way anyone could have caught it.

I'm kind of along with Daniel, where I drop is where I should be allowed to rot. It's not like we rush out to pick up dogs or cats from the middle of the intersection. No, no. The coyotes will take care of that, and the birds will get the rest.

Circle of life, friends. Circle of life. I can hear Elton John playing it out, now, while Simba has his way with my carcass. It's in the Lion King DVD, it's under "Simba Sex and Cuisine."

I should be cleaning right now, but to be honest...I just can't find the motivation. It's not like my room is even messy. It's just those hoops we jump through to impress people with exterior things, because the inside is so rotten and bland. "And this is my book collection, oh and could you please ignore the fact that I don't have a soul? Thanks, that'd be great."

I'm trying to figure out where to put my action figures. See, okay...I'm not big into this at all really, but every once in a while I'll pick up a figurine from...say Star Wars, or Batman...or Captain America...etc.

Well, they've never been an issue since, well...girls don't come over very often. Well, thats all coming to a screeching and crashing halt. Heres the thing, she's seen the figurines (we're talking about Velvet), but...she calls them something else entirely different. And every time she calls them this...I just about lose my entire three strands of sanity I have left. Every time she calls them this, I have an identity crisis, and wind up yelling in my head, "I'm an adult! They aren't...that..."

She calls them, "Little plastic men."

And I swear to God, it kills me just a little bit more every time, mostly because I sense she gets a great big kick out of it.

I've also decided I probably shouldn't drink around people anymore. See, the last three times I have, I've wound up singing this bar from the Menzingers song, Victory Gin, (which can be found on the list of tracks they have for your listening pleasure on the link provided.) The lyric goes, "DADDY I HOPE YOUR PROUD, I GAVE THEM MY SOUL" and I think it's self explanatory why I think drinking alone in the dark is the mature and responsible way to go from now on.

-Until tomorrow.

I think I was bored in New Jersey. (Day 68)

For about five years I've had a really crappy knee injury that continuously likes to re-activate itself just for snickers. The other day I got it reevaluated, and it really didn't go well. It turns out that not too long ago, I'd slightly torn my ACL. I would've went to the doctor sooner, but I had a doctors appointment coming up, and I couldn't be sure what the problem was, and quite frankly...I won't go back to the hospital in Casa Grande unless I'm bleeding, or worse.

So earlier this week, Monday, I got a knee brace I've desperately needed for years. It's kind of reassuring to have the brace, and I don't know. I feel like I can do a lot more.

The guy though who I had to see to get it taken care of, etc, he was adamant in showing me how to put it on (because Velcro can be tricky) and, okay, heres the thing:

My brace has steel on each side of my knee, and it has a joint for mobility. The brace goes really high on my thigh to put pressure on my quad as well, and as he was doing one of those tricky straps, his hand grazed the steel joint that was near my inner thigh, looked up at me and begged me to tell him that was my keys.

This guy has been kind of a prick, and I'm kind of a sarcastic and apathetic prick, so I just flashed him a very fem. smile and told him, "Only the keys to my heart."

Who doesn't realize it's the steel from the brace? Like honestly. It's not like my dick got hard from the pressure of a brace, and suddenly grew 8 more inches.

I'm glad I made the rest of that appointment awkward. It was a lot of fun for me. I love fucking with homophobes. It ranks right up there with good old fashioned, consensual, heterosexual American sex, and basketball.

-Until tomorrow.

I want my hands in your hair. (Day 67)

It's going to be a long week, but this Thursday is something I've been looking forward to for quite a while now. My friend (and constant link from this site) Velvet will be coming to Arizona to fuck shit up. Cause thats what she does.

Shes a rock and roll, road tripping reinvented of the camera lens. If you think any differently...well, hey we're all entitled to our own opinions. It just so happens that yours in this instance would be completely, and utterly wrong. She makes Ansel Adams (enjoy the cold dead ground, hack) look like Koko the Gorilla with a disposable camera.

So I'm stoked for that. It's gonna be awesome.

Also looming this weekend is the biggest reminder that I'll die cold, alone and unloved and not be discovered dead in my apartment until four months later, and thats after I've been late with my rent for so long I'm about to be forcibly removed.

It's okay though, the landlord will pick my pocket and sell my shit. So, you know...he's covered.

On a side note; my friend Jon recently lost his grandfather. Condolences, Jon. You've been a tremendous friend, your extremely talented, and you're one of the best human beings I've ever encountered. I hope in this time you feel comforted in knowing how loved you were, and how assured he was that you loved him as well.

Thats all I've got for tonight.

-Until tomorrow.

I'm pretty sure I don't believe in God, but I can pretend for a little while. (Day 66)

I really don't want to be awake right now. All I want to do is listen to None More Black, read, and forget everything I've learned or witnessed for the past thirteen months and just go from there. Well, I wouldn't want to forget American Gods, by Neil Gaiman, but asides from that...I'm more than willing to wipe the slate.

Theres a wanton desire to wind up back in Albany, and I'm not so sure I wouldn't have went back by now if it didn't snow. I hate weather dictating where I'll wind up.

See, at least there I didn't have any obligation to myself except to work, come home, get drunk and watch Scrubs or read comic books. I kind of miss that, as weird as it sounds. There wasn't any question about what was going to happen to me, either. Get up, go to work, come home. Thats it. Drink until you're numb on the weekends, fit food and sleep somewhere in there, and when Monday came back around...time for work again.

I had a few friends, but when it came down to it I wound up spending almost every single day, and almost every night alone. It's not that much different from here, except it was almost like being exiled. I don't know now if that was the worst thing in the world, honestly.

I do more damage than I do good. I'm a slow acting poison, and the antidotes no where to be found on this body.

And I think back to what the High School version of me would have done. I'm pretty sure he would have kicked me in the face, too, because this right here is almost completely unacceptable. My music taste is a lot better and much more refined, but when it's all said and done...I'm pretty sure I would've tasted a size 13 Vans rubber sole.

This doesn't feel like life. Maybe it isn't.

Maybe this is satire.

Theres a doppleganger right now living the high life on the opposite side of the Universe, and I'd like to shake his hand.

-Until tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rebel yell from the pits of Hell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not for me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you all so much.

-Until tomorrow.