(no subject)

If I could breathe fire, I'd have my whole block in flames by midnight, I swear. I'm seriously ready for action, like I've never been in my entire life. I'm sitting here writing like I always have been but I feel like I've gone mad. Honestly, I feel like a roman candle, or a slingshot, or a clenched fist. Not sure if I feel good, but I am certain I don't feel to bad. Only problem is a can't really focus. That shouldn't come as much of a surprise to me because I have never been able to focus terribly well. Self-confidence can be a bloody nose. Trust me.

--dustin quit. I saw it coming, but I must have misjudged the urgency. The strange thing is I have never felt more confident in my entire life. For some reason that scares the pants off me.

--when I was living near san diego i was friends with these emo chicks. this was in '98 before everyone smart kid under the age of 18 became emo by default. --Chrissy, Ruthanne, Heather (Heavy Head), and Jolene-- those chicks were some of the best people I've ever met, I miss them like crazy. Chrissy's back in Oregon I'm sure. Heavy Head is probably n Norco somewhere. Jolene wrote me from Vegas before the floods a couple years back. Ruth is back in Jersey, I'm sure she's dating some punk, probably the lead singer of a mediocre band. I miss those girls like crazy. I'd leave here in a second to be with any one of them. I think I just realized that. I don't even know why I'm thinking about them. What a bunch of dolls.
  • Current Music
    Dave Brubeck - Audrey

(no subject)

Friday Already. I survived magic Thursday. Being in a ten-piece band can be a giant pain in the neck. It's funny how quickly practical discussions turn into existential musings, and self-important navel-gazing. I can't believe how much people think about shit. i think I'm just ready to work.

--I'm excited for the weekend. Even though I can't imagine how Saturday's show is going to turn out. We are practicing (finally) today.

--Once, at a show w/ Public Bun a few years back, we had let Geoff know how nervous we were because we had only started practicing 2 weeks before my first gig back from San Diego. Geoff laughs at us and said, "We haven't practiced n two years." Then they fucking rocked it. I think of that whenever start to sketch out.
  • Current Music
    Tiger Army - II: Power of Moonlite

(no subject)

I'm drawing a blank. Not only am I drawing a blank, but it may just be the largest blank that I have ever drawn in my entire life. In fact on the other side of the blank is a huge brick wall, and painted on the side of that wall in great big, green letters it reads, "I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"
--I tried to figure shit out for an hour. I sat in silence for an entire hour, blank. --Fucking band. Blank. --Fucking job. Blank. --Fucking Bank account. Blank. --Fucking health insurance. Blank. --Fucking Ex-girlfriend. Blank. --Fucking new chicks. Blank. --Fucking anything I give half-a-shit about. Blank.

Anyhow, I'm feeling sorry for myself, and I just remembered I left soup in the microwave. I'll feel great in the morning.

p.s. There is way too much porn on the internet.
  • Current Music
    Tom Waits - Tango 'Till They're Sore

(no subject)

The best days have got to be the days when we wake up wearing the half-smile of the drunken baffoon. The mornings where you smell the autumn sun before you open your eyes, and your legs lift you up --instead of your arms pushing you out-- of bed. Those days that are few and far between and well-worth the wait. When we listen to Tom Waits stumble out of the stereo and think (with only the smallest touch of smug)--'if only he knew'.
-Geez.. those days are the best.

(no subject)

So i've been sitting in my bedroom since 5pm. --I watched Braveheart --Then the end of the World Series. --Then I read the latest issue of Spin from cover to cover --Then I read a bit of Vanity Fair --Then I watched Part of The Emmy's --Then the New York Frier's Club Roast of Hue Hefner.

--what's my problem?--

--I have a splitting headache that begins just behind my left eye and wraps itself around to the nape of my neck and I feel totally worthless.
--I just checked our email, Shorty wants us to play at the Ballard firehouse on the 17th -- I'm sure we'll do that. --why not?--
--All as ask is that this Saturday's show isn't a complete disaster. My sail could use a bit of wind.

(i hate working at blockbuster and my head really hurts -- but for some reason i'm not in a bad mood --strange--)

(no subject)

At the risk of sounding falsely apologetic, here is my semi-monthly update.

Confidence can be a sick fuck. Whisper the most beautiful things in your ear --late nights -- then vanish like a wicked tease. Confessing true love one day.. tomorrow she's gone like a high-school girlfriend, leaving nothing behind except a post-it note --"get over it" -- smells like perfume.
I never trust her when she is around --confidence. The broken bones of youth all testify to my apprehension. Even as the curtain is opening, I can't shake the feeling that there is nobody sitting in the theater. What a sad sack I have turned out to be. Even in my happiest moments I am cautious of future disappointment. However, you will never see me wear that -- not in a million years. In fact if you look close you will see quite the opposite. Why? Because that's all that I will show you. Arrogant and severely misled, it should be a tattoo on my forehead -- And what's worse is all my bellyaching makes my bellyache. I think back a couplefew years ago. What a great feeling it is to be the smartest kid in the universe. To be the righteous judge in a world revolving around your every piss and moan and fancy and romantic interest. Displacement is a horrible feeling, and what's worse is coming out of displacement and not trusting yourself anymore. That's where I am. Confidence slept in my bed, but when I woke up she was gone. I made a cup of coffee and said a prayer and guess who came a-knockin'. But you know me --the champion of fools-- I don't want to let her back in.

-btw- this is why I only write in this thing every month or so. The amount of insight contained in any of these midnight ramblings could probably be paralleled by the yearbook messages of a 14-year-old girl.

-oybtw- disregard that -btw- that's mostly just me fishing.. see you in several weeks.


(no subject)

--i remembered my password--
--and the angels sing--

I was on my second cigarette break of the day. Working a six hour shift requires that I smoke an entire cigarette, uninterrupted, at least every two hours. At one point I was only smoking once at the beginning of my shift and once in the center, and I kept this system in place for the four hour shifts as well as the eight hour shifts. But eventually the sweet song of nicotine seduced me into the old 2 hour fix.
Anyway, I was sitting on the curb, watching Sixth Avenue's four o'clock swing -- Expensive cars, poor-old-mad pedestrians, strangled schedules and broken hearts -- and I felt like an impostor. I couldn't explain it to you now for the life of me, except to say that each time I drew in a breath, I felt like I was stealing it from one of the more deserving natives of this tired street. So I lowered my eyes, and watched the pigeons dance --my arrogance and selfishness.
It was at this point that my body became cold as a corpse, then - a nanosecond later - I was overflowing with a warm comfort. It was like being drunk in a hot tub, except my thoughts were crystal clear. A skeptic might attribute this existential moment to a nicotine buzz, and who knows I suppose. I was afraid that if I thought about it for too long that it would escape me, so I tried not to think -- and I didn't think, I didn't think about anything. I simply sat there with the grin of a mentally retarded child and took in deep drags of my cigarette. In the late September air I could both see and feel Autumn sitting patiently, as Summer rode off into the sunset.
--and God sat there too
--and I knew it, and the madmen of Six Avenue knew it
--and I was no longer a stranger
--and I would never be a stranger again.

(no subject)

what ever happened to those old days full of hype? remember when we were confinced that we were the ones that would break through? we use to fancy ourselves so far beyond where we actually sat. remember that grey-blue skyline? that skyline that still sits, somedays on the horizon like an overfed housecat. those lunatic streets that scream at us (and we scream right back only louder).

i am attempting a paradigm shift. hopefully this makes sense. not an attitude change, not a behavior change. a fantastic uprooting. picture me, beachside, 76 maverick, singing the songs that the angels in heaven sing --only because life is good to me. and it is good to us.

-trust me
-we must make a change -- for the better.
-we musn't sit shotgun, and watch the mad street... --waiting for our time to come.

i refuse to skip the steps, i refuse to let the dull roar of a prolonged adolescence taunt the nape of my neck. eventually we're gonna have to toss out those old, rotten wineskins (would you rather burst them?). I suggest we celebrate on that lunatic dawn. fly fingers in the face of the presumttions of youth, and the folly of the dumb. We are no longer the dumb, get off of your horse my friends and walk with me into the sunrise. Burn out your eyes with me. I promise everything will end up alright.

(no subject)

there must be magic in an empty house. a welcome relief from the chaotic dance of cheap booze and expensive cigarettes. the strangling extroversion that manages to creep up my spine and nest itself in the back of my throat and the nape of my neck. why did i search for that maniac mad all my life.. streaching out my arms to her screams and taunts. wouldn't it have been much better to rest in this empty house (perhaps invite company)? and why still, knowing her charming, decietful song, do i rush to the deafening mad.
-the fucking poker game that never ends.
-the bonfire that stinks up your clothes.
-those drunken woods, where the sun is always setting but never manages to rise.
-the janks, the jerks, the jokers, the jackasses (the irony)

the only thing that saves me is that endless concrete tounge of the suburban beast. roll on, you savage. sing your song, and show us your white-picket teeth. some day soon i'll let you go, even though you've been a dear friend-- because each day i hear the new song singing louder.. louder than any song i've ever heard before. i suppose i had better cash in my chips and throw a load in the wash.