Friday, December 31


Two points.
Two times.
Two marks.
Two spaces.
Two names.
Too much for ink.
Too late for rebellion.
To the good times and the bad.
To the things I want and need
To the times I won't forget.
To feelings reborn
To knowings neverending
To words waiting unspoken
Through the places that wait
To really (perhaps finally)

[Listening to: The Faint, "Dropkick The Punks"

Thursday, December 30

What to do With Poo

I'm bored. Here's a picture.

:| update |:

[Listening to: Cibo Matto, "Sugar Water"]

Wednesday, December 29

Um... Skynet Much?

Maybe B's right. Maybe I do need to reajust how I look at things.

Take for example that Humanoid Robot project that engineers in Japan have been working on for a few years, that Asimo thing?

This morning I was reading a little bit about how they've been teaching it to run, and the ways that they've overcome all the unexpected obstacles that came along with reaching that goal. I mean, when you take a second to think about it, it's an incredible technical acheivement.

And yet here I am sitting with my coffee cup and my music and all I can picture in my head is some overbearing project leader in a thin black necktie and shortsleeved shirt looking at the thing tromping back and forth and then yelling,

"You call that running?
There's no way this thing is
ready to take on Will Smith yet"

              "Get back to work!"

[Listening to: Bad Brains, "Sheba"

Tuesday, December 28

Like Windshields Towards a Fly

Grace Under Pressure is a personal experience.

Which made it all the more strange that I woke up hearing parts of it in my mind this morning. Shadows of choruses; lyrics just out of reach. Familiar and comfortable, but at the same time unexpected. Unprompted. Unsettling.

I suppose it's possible that a dream had something to do with it, but I couldn't seem to remember any sort of specific details from the night before. Besides, my dreams don't usually manifest my moods -- at least as far as I can tell.

Still, my whole morning has seemed clouded.. overcast. Unanswered questions, less than desirable solutions, all these threads of thought kind of wandering in and out. These conflicts of interest, these facts that I can't deny, these things that are always right in front of me to see and yet never seem clear or focused enough for me to recognize what they really are...

the world weighs on my shoulder
but what am I to do?

I did what I could to push it away. Busied myself with details and tasks, emails and phonecalls, housecleaning and errands, but it's like every now and then in those moments when sounds fade away and all you are left with is yourself I could still hear the songs that pulled me from my sleep this morning, and the shadowed feelings that always seem to come with them.

You sometimes drive me crazy
but I worry about you

I still wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Or if I'm following the right paths for what I need to be happy. There are so many questions that I can't answer myself.. so many things that really are outside of my ability to control. I shouldn't let them have power over me, but more often than not that's exactly what I do.

I know it makes no difference
to what you're going through

I know the things I need to change. I know the things I want to have. I just don't think I understand yet how to get there from here. Or if I can at all.

                  but I've seen the tip of the iceberg...

[Listening to: Sneaker Pimps, "Ashes to Ashes"

Saturday, December 25

Shaking Boxes

I always wake up early on this day. I've always been the one trying to move around the creaking spots in the floor to see what's there. To check if the cookies had been eaten and to plug in the tree lights; the ones they said they'd "leave on all night" this time.

I'm that kid.

I've always been the one to want it to start as quickly as possible, and last as long as it possibly can.

Somewhere around six this morning I found myself looking out the window, inexplicably checking to see if there was snow on the Florida ground. There wasn't, but it didn't hurt the feeling any.

I like this holiday. I've always liked this holiday.

Anyways, they'll be up in a few hours. I should go.

Merry Christmas, Everyone.

[Listening to: Raymond Scott, "The Girl at the Typewriter"

Thursday, December 23

Little Footsteps in the Ceiling

My To Do List for today reads like this:
1. Drink Coffee
2. Take Pills

3. Kill Rat

[Listening to: Eddiemuerte, "Coney Island Boardwalk"

Wednesday, December 22

Holly Jolly

Guess what I'm getting for Christmas this year?

             ..Wisdom Teeth

[Listening to: Kerowack, "White Dress"

Sunday, December 12

Cops Hassle White Man

                Some things never change, knaamsayin?

[Listening to: Urge Overkill, "Revolution Man"

Saturday, December 11

Singing in the Car

There's this version of the song, live on a stage somewhere... Bowie trading verses with Reznor before they harmonize the choruses. The melody line is extended and the drum track lingers on in a way that makes me think about things that probably don't matter quite as much as I make them out to be.

The beat slides away and for whatever reason I flash back to this story I wrote a few years back; a story about a lonliness that I sometimes carry, a feeling I used to feel so uncomfortable with that I was dying to give it away to someone else.

Looking back, I don't really know if Darcy handled it the way I was hoping she would, but I'm still kinda proud of the words. And I think it still holds up, even if it was written in a time when my world was so much more about asking questions than trying to find answers.

I'm still asking questions, though. Questions I never used to have to ask. It used to be a stare, or a smile. It never used to have to be a question at all.

But it is now.

It's like you were surprised to hear it. This song that I usually sing to myself,. this song that I normally only get to hear when I'm alone. Even though it's always better with harmony. Even though it's always better as a duet.

           I wish you could hear my singing.
           I wish we still made music together.

[Listening to: Reznor/Bowie, "Hurt"]

Friday, December 10

Primal Concrete Sledge

It's been a strange couple of days. There's a lot going on, but for whatever reason there don't seem to be the right kind of words to put with the way I'm feeling. I don't know.. it's hard to explain.

What I do know is that there was a point not too long ago when it was just me, a cat, and a guitar living by ourselves in a one-bedroom apartment a few miles off campus in Tallahassee, Florida -- and during that time span I spent more than my share of hours listening to, learning, and re-creating every guitar line that this man ever played.

The guy was a lot of things (not all of them pleasant), and his music certainly wasn't for everyone -- but he could play the hell out of a guitar.

          ...and he didn't have to die

I don't know -- I don't want to get off on a rant here, but I've worked a lot of shows. I've been on the crew for a lot of hardcore shows, a lot of metal shows, and everything inbetween. And while I've never been to the place where all this mess happened, but I can tell you one thing for sure:

               When our crew worked the door, everyone got searched.

Our door guys would take keychains, pocketknives, and even spiked bracelets off of people before they could pass through. Stage security was something to be taken very seriously, and not everyone on the crew was allowed to do it. And I realize that my days of working shows were in a different time, and that things are probably more amped up now than they used to be, but there's still got to be some culpability here.

Somebody was in that club with a gun.

               Which means that somebody else
               wasn't doing their fucking job,
               and innocent people got killed.

[Listening to: H.I.M., "Souls on Fire"

Monday, December 6

It's the Holidays

                So be sure to respect your family.

[Listening to: Rush, "Kid Gloves"]

Friday, December 3

The Red Chair

This morning on a break between classes I drove out to a nearby bookstore to see if I could find a novel that I've been hunting for. On the way there, as I was moving with the flow of the cars all around me, I noticed something on the side of the road. Not in the median among the grasses and wildflowers, but right there on the asphault, in that tiny space between the white lines and the edge.

               A tiny red rocking chair.

Bigger than a dolls chair, it seemed to made for a small child or a toddler. If I had been looking the other way, or checking my rearview mirror for traffic I probably would have missed it. But instead I found myself kinda staring in wonder at this bizzare sight. Right there on Southside boulevard, rocking a little bit in the wake of the cars rushing by was this little fire-engine red rocking chair made out of wood.

        It was just sitting there
        completely out of place

Almost instantly my mind started snapping to possible explanations; how it could have fallen out of the bed of an open pickup truck that was moving items to a new home or apartment, or just slipped off the roof of a family car returning home from a Christmas shopping trip, but even with those ideas, just the image of it seemed to stick in my head.

Roadways (especially Jacksonville roadways) don't seem to be meant for bright red things. Even the faded green-white of the sun-drenched grasses behind it seemed dull by comparison. And I found it kind of strange that thoughts like this had never entered my head before. Or that they were even in my mind at all.

All it would take was an oversized SUV or some careless driver listening to a cell phone to reduce it to splinters.

         But there it sat.

Too small for anyone to sit in. Too little for anyone to turn back for.

a tiny
rocking chair
sitting by the road
[Listening to: Groove Collective, "Rentstrike"

Thursday, December 2

Save A Prayer

I feel like I'm being leaned towards something. Hinted at. Carefully suggested. I feel like there's a lot of people all around me saying, "Hey, have you ever thought of this?"

And it's not that it doesn't make a certain kind of simple sense. It's not that it's something I haven't considered. It's that it's not the answer I want.

Perhaps there will come a point where it's the only answer I'll be left to face, but until that point appears I'm not sure how to take all these voices. All these leanings. All these suggestions.

Just because something seems easy doesn't make it right.

         But just because I don't want it to
         doesnt mean that it won't happen.

[Listening to: EZO, "Here it Comes"

Wednesday, December 1

No Static at All

Driving in to work this morning I couldn't stop looking at the sky.

The orange-purple shade slowly fading into blue, and the leftovers of the past night's clouds -- hanging like streched pieces of cotton nervously pulled from the inside lining of a winter coat's pocket.

          And all the while that I was staring at it
          I secretly wished that I knew how to fly

Not to get so far away from anything, or to be that much above -- but so that I could be the one to make the wingtrails that streak across the sky.

          I've always wanted to be able to do that.

To be that high. To go that fast. To be able to have my path followed by a kid lying flat on the grass of a backyard somewhere with one eye open, and an outstreched finger tracing the line.

A kid like I was..

                    A kid like me

[Listening to: Steely Dan, "FM"

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