Sunday, December 30, 2007

there's no more happy endings. ever.

I've been asked a million times why I'm an atheist.

My soon to be ex-wife, who's a devout christian, and her family never stopped trying to convert me. For me to get jesus christ into my life. I was always asked "what happened to me" that made me lose faith in god and beliefs. For a while, they even got me thinking, because it seemed like a very moral and steadfast way to live. But now I realize that, aside from my tendency to view things pragmatically, why I never bought into it. And that's because no christian I've ever met has ever truly lived as a christian. Not fucking one. I originally had certain things written here that detailed how the one person who I thought was moral, decent, and 100% true to their beliefs showed their true colors, but I took it down. Regardless, I can go on forever about it but it's a useless exercise. In the end, what goes around comes around.

As much as you've tried to convert me, all of you, you've swung me back in the other direction with more force than I ever expected. This one person more than any other. When every person you meet that represents "faith" are horrible examples of the religion or belief they are supposedly touting, where's the incentive? If not one religious person can properly practice their own beliefs...? Not one can cease to be shitty human beings when it benefits them?

Maybe I'm just very hurt and I'm writing this out of anger and pain. But I know one thing, and that's Dave Newman The Atheist is a more moral person than 99.9% of the christians he's ever met. So use whatever fairy tale you need in order to make yourself feel better about what's coming for all of us one day, but don't believe yourself to be the slightest bit better off than the non-believers out there. I've done some bad things in my life, some of which I will regret forever. But nothing I've done is even close to the level of immorality of the things the closest christians to me have done. It never matters in the long run, everyone is always out for themselves, and that's why there will never be any happy endings. It's only a matter of time before someone devolves.

I refer you to the proof.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

autopsy.

let them surround me
the dissection table is you
we've been trying so hard
I've got no voice left and thousands of pages
tiptoe around all of my subjects
they put on gloves before spending time with me

I left my hopes and dreams home tonight
I just don't want to keep feeling this
so tonight I'll be someone else
I can't love you tonight, I don't care how I do it
so let them surround me
because I've been trying so hard
and nothing ever works

this is literally making me sick

Monday, December 17, 2007

at this point, I just need to keep pumping them out.

There's pressure in my chest as
I wait for a mailbox bomb
named Suffocate

I'm asking you to please leave
as your continued existence is making it hard for me to breathe
If I could just
function
please

(Who are you and what did you do with her)
the old man works his magic
fake magician hands

please leave
because I guess He is okay with your immorality
question mark

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

bile.

she struggles with the old man hands
shakingly feeling out her body in half desperation, half amazement
what would you do in his shoes

Monday, December 10, 2007

through text she kills.

who were you for that year
and were his hands tired
from all the tearing apart he did?

I alone can see the worst mirror, and your hands are on my throat in it
all I do is love her
and I'll never be able to show her again
because of you

my chest has sunk so low
with all that you ruined I'll never talk to you again
I hate you
you took her away from me

oh vicious regret, take your foot off of my neck
what's the point in rebuilding if
only one will live in this castle now

Friday, December 7, 2007

Isn't that your book?

I'm with current
all muscles pause for a bath in words of consolation
we'll now be hyper-exposed;
the crowds say quitter, quitter, quitter.
the martyr says nothing.
quitter, quitter, quitter
I was not born yesterday, but your complaints were
you'll see his true colors
are blacks and grays
a day too late

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

I will recognize you one day in a crowd.

"contain your excitement.  we don't want this blowing up."
yeah, we've got layers
pain under scabs under expensive fabrics
I send desperate emails rapid-fire
I am the lone bomber with no pilot or navigator
yeah, you've got your exit strategy
kiss the pall bearers at your husband's funeral
march the pain parade
what fun I am
all the words I write mean nothing
to the voyeur in my window, witnessing
entropy at it's finest

and the girl who visits my job saying how attractive I am doesn't notice
my figure slowly fading and my mouth forming the position of a silent
scream

Monday, November 26, 2007

thieves.

godIneedyoutogrowup
she takes a stand through eyelids clenched like fists sealed in tears
oh darling
you can't whisper me away

I am shards on your floor; lost
apathy is only the lack of love for oneself
I only have it for you; love
lost.
I might look stagnant, but every cell of mine is screaming
wheels spinning so fast they look motionless

please don't do this.
knees bruised from begging
please don't do this.
oh darling
they will say any words that will whisk you away
we all but bathe in naiveness
and yours always leads you astray
love
you can't whisper it away

what words to describe the fear that leads me astray;
godIneedmetogrowup
she sleeps so still, so silent, so permanent in my head forever and ever
what will become?
this is a refusal of basic grooming skills until the end of time.
(apathy is only the lack of love for oneself)

oh darling
please don't do this
I shudder when I breathe
I shatter at any thought too deep
I shake myself to sleep
I only have it for you, love

we've been sabotaged at every turn
consider this a white flag flapping
whisper me away
I only had one thing for you;
love

Friday, November 23, 2007

Mayor Of High-Five City.

the arteries are unlit and they lead to epiphanies
we flow with such ease
I steer kamikaze
dark roads, dark hearts, long drives, hard thoughts

when I tell you I just need to be out
there's nothing I'm leaving out...
don't be offended for me needing to clear my head.
I have to find what its like to be alone again.

I wanto know every street in the world
just as much as the locals themselves
my car doesn't judge me, even if im dying inside
it's there and its down for anything I need
anything i need at all

when I tell you I just need to be out
there's nothing I'm leaving out...
don't be offended for me needing to clear my head.
I need to find what it's like to be alone again.

Fate be my driver tonight. I'm your guinea pig passenger. I need to
feel something other than this. Anything other than this right now.
Endorphins will only last you so long.
I'm begging you,
take me away,
take these thoughts away.

Friday, November 16, 2007

gave her two weeks, spent them smiling.

It's getting darker through and through.
Sunset before 6pm, locked in an empty apartment, colder than normal and void of any conversation. Television noise echoes until the sound waves tire out.
I look for the lists of my shortcomings but find only bad memories. I know truth when I feel it, or feel nothing at all.
I've been here before, I remember these emotions. The chills up and down my spine, the moisture in my eyes, the endless questions that no one can answer.
Strangers in my life apologizing for something that has nothing to do with them; it's appreciated, it is. It's been real.
Anyone's hand in mine, please. Comfort me. My embrace in the heat has frozen over and I want for naught except to stay where I'm loneliest.

Friday, October 5, 2007

song number one.

Untitled Project
Tentative song title:
"Hello, Atmosphere"
derived from the writings "Hello, Atmosphere" and "A Seizure In A Sharp Suit."

Nearly finalized lyrics as follows.


All my paintings are stolen from churches
and are numbered one to infinity
They hang backwards in my room
which is rife with the ghosts of my past lives
And the mirror says, "I will wrap you in a sheet."
but look away and exhale galaxies (we're okay here).
I can draw masterpieces from memory
I etched them into my own skin
They're hanging next to broken mirrors
I will swing along with all the sinners
They hang backwards in my room
which is rife with the ghosts of my past lives
And the mirror says, "I will wrap you in a sheet."
but look away and exhale galaxies (we're okay here).
Yeah, the cold feels like home. Yeah yeah yeah...
Yeah, look what I've become. Yeah yeah yeah...

And the mirror says, "I will wrap you in a sheet before this night is done."
Well so says you my sweet, but look what you've become.




Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Free-flowing emotions.

I've been lower than you can imagine. I've been the puppet for the devil's doings, I've made many a mistake. I've hit rock bottoms that you can only dream about. None of you know the smells, the tastes, the tingling on the backs of your spines. You couldn't fathom where I've been with your or any imaginations. In your sterile environments, your oh-so-safe lives of tranquility and happy blissful ignorance. Can't say that it's anything other than the smart thing to do, I don't blame you. But you know what? I'm fucking stronger than any of you put together. Judge me for who I am, who I've been, what I've done, where I've been; go the fuck ahead. I can't stop you, and I know you will anyway. But at least I know that I can pull myself up off the floor, struggling, and get on my own two feet just like I've always done. And brush myself the fuck off, and keep going. I learn from my mistakes. And those of you that have never made big mistakes? Good for you. You're like auto-pilot: great until it fails, and then you have to take the controls, panic, and die. You know what? You don't get to judge me. You don't get to judge someone with more life experience than you and with more street smarts than you will ever, in your entire safe little lives, have. Get over yourselves.

Sometimes I really wonder what the point of relationships are. So someone can watch you drown and criticize you while you're gasping for air, and then when you finally are able to get yourself to land they sit there and criticize you for almost drowning, and then not forgive you for almost drowning. I give the fuck up. Life is too short to keep having my heart broken again and again and again. I learn from my mistakes, but apparently I missed this one. You try your best, only to have someone take your own shit and rub it in your own face, and ask you how you think that smells to them. So people can not recognize the huge effort on your part that you are making every day, and nitpick all the minor insignificant details. TALK ABOUT FUCKING SOUL-CRUSHING. I've never been so upset in my entire life. All the progress we've made, I've made. All the wrongs made right, all the cracks that were sealed, all the damage repaired, just to scuttle the boat from the inside. Talk about cowardice. Talk about a fucking waste. Makes me want to blow my brains out. To work so hard for someone and something and just to have them shit on it. You know what? I'm not going to bail. I'm going to sit here and keep patching up the cracks in the hull , even as the cold water creeps up my legs and slows my heart rate. I will sit here and die trying to save this ship as my head goes below water and it's quite obvious it will sink like a rock. You stuck it out with me so I'm not going anywhere, I'm going to stick it out with you. But if you want this ship under the sea, you're going to get what you want regardless of what I try to do. I'm not bailing. I'm staying right here. Kiss me, kill me, your fucking choice. Now hand me the welder and make your damn decision so I can die already.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Branching out.

So I'm going to tell you a story about what happened to me last night.

I'm at work, helping customers as usual and listening to some kick-ass music while I do it (one of the many perks of my job). A guy and his girlfriend come in and they start looking at belts, and then belt buckles. The guy is dressed kind of "urban" and both he and his girlfriend look hispanic. They both seem to be very nice people. As I'm helping them, the guy (referring to a belt buckle in his hand) asks his girl if she's "ever seen a rapper wear something like this." So, being the sneaky little eavesdropper that I am, I ask him if he's a rapper and he says yes. Him and his friend have just moved down here from Chicago and are self-producing their own music under the name "Grindhouse."
Now, I'm a fan of pretty much all music, save for a few genres that just refuse to make their way into my bloodstream. But the first music to actually grab me by the balls and swallow me whole was R&B. Michael Jackson, Boys II Men, Janet Jackson, Bell Biv Devoe, these artists taught me how to sing and how to really "get into" music. I remember the first time I heard Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison" and couldn't get the hook out of my head, or Boys II Men's "End Of The Road" and singing it nonstop until even my Mom knew it by heart. When hip-hop and rap started using hooks from songs like these for choruses, and R&B artists singing on hooks on their songs, I was in heaven.
For some reason, I don't know why, but I asked this guy if he had needed anyone to sing any Robin Thicke or Justin Timberlake-esque hooks for their songs, and he looked at me like I just guessed his middle name. "How the hell did you know? We've been looking for a singer forEVER, since we got down here... do you sing?"
Okay, so I sing. Or at least I think I can. I've never been officially "taught" how to sing, just relied on myself trying to sing along to all the artists I couldn't get out of my head anyway. I've sung in a rock band that was together for a few years, and it was hard rock; but R&B-esque hooks on a hip-hop track? What the fuck was I thinking?
I told the guy I've been looking to do something like this for years, and gave him my number, half-expecting never to hear from the guy again. "Ready" (his nickname) gave me a copy of his album and went on his way. Sure enough, however, right as I was leaving the mall a few hours later, I received a phone call from him. "Hey man, me and my partner wanted to know if you wanted to swing by so you could hear our stuff and maybe we could hear you. We're only a few blocks from the mall, and we got pizza if you're hungry." Jesus christ was I hungry. I suddenly got very nervous though, similiar to the butterflies I had when I first tried out for my old band. Who the fuck do I think I am? I'm gonna go to the apartment of these RAP GUYS and try to sing on their tracks? Exactly how long will it take for me to be repeatedly stabbed? And how was I going to explain this mess to Nici? "Yeah babe, I met this rapper and I'm going to meet them right now at a place I've never been before. To uhh, eat pizza. And, umm, sing. Yeah."
I said fuck it. These are the situations that if you don't take advantage of, you end up regretting for the rest of your life. And since I've got more than enough regret than I should have to begin with, I found myself driving to some apartment where pizza and rap lived. For those of you worrying about my "safety," well first of all you're racist (hahaha) and secondly all worries went away when I pulled up to a very nice apartment/condo complex with some heavy security at the gate. After they gave me directions to the building, I found myself at the door to this apartment, knocking and being let in. Ready was there with the same girl he was with earlier, and his partner ZRO (Zero without the E. I didn't tell him he and my kitty had the same name, for fear of ridicule). ZRO was a huge, scary-looking tattooed heavy hispanic guy with two long braids in his hair. He introduced himself and didn't really give me much else... to tell you the truth, if I was him I'd probably react the same way. Who am I? Some "rock" guy who works at Hot Topic. I don't dress the part of the R&B singer who records with a hip-hop act. It would be like Tupac Shakur showing up to open auditions for the new lead singer of Iron Maiden.
So they sit me down, throw pizza in front of me, and start playing some of their new music. I'm immediately surprised by how high-quality it was. Recorded in their apartment on Pro Tools and then sent out to get mixed down and mastered, these guys are doing it and doing it themselves. The beats were just as good (no joke) as alot of the stuff on the radio nowadays, and they were genuine lyricists as well; they has skills. These guys weren't fucking around. This wasn't some local act trying to do be what they weren't; these guys had gained a big following in Chicago and moved to Miami because, well, Miami is basically now a huge mecca for hip-hop and is where all the labels are sending their scouts to find artists to develop. The butterfly in my stomach just became a fucking pterodactyl. That breathed fire.
After a few tracks I told them that what I'd like to do is mostly alot of falsetto work with their stuff, a la Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams. Since I knew they wanted to hear me, I busted out the first few lines of Robin Thicke's "Lost Without U." Bracing for impact from a chair or something afterwards, I opened my clenched eyes to see 3 mouths gaping wide open. "So... umm, do you think you'd like that in your songs?" Even the big dude ZRO was actually showing emotion. He sat right up and went to another computer, which I guess was their "writing" computer and had songs that weren't completed yet. He seemed very excited. He loaded up a beat, and then a Word document which had lyrics to a hook they had planned out, and his rap verse. ZRO started the beat and explained he was going to try to sing how he thought the hook should sound like, and he wanted to hear what I would do with it after I heard it. So he went through it once or twice and then looked at me, and started the track again. GULP.
So the first half of the hook I sang like normal, and went into falsetto with the second half; I played around with it a little, and threw some vocal "flairs" into the mix. Again, I braced for impact.
I kid you not, these two friendly-but-serious and semi-intimidating rappers were dancing around the room like they had just won the lottery. ZRO, a guy who seemed like he was born without a heart, fucking HUGGED ME. HE HUGGED ME. Ready was hooting and hollering, running around the room, and his girlfriend looked like she just took a shit in her pants. ZRO says to me "look man, I don't give ANYONE props. Ask Ready. Any nigga can just come in and work with us and when they leave, I'm like 'fuck that nigga.' But you, bro, you're gonna work with us. You're unbelievable." He literally made me sing that same hook over a dozen times. Every time he's like "do it again!" like he's in disbelief what he's hearing is coming out of ME. To tell you the truth, I kind of am as well. Fast forward until I leave, and they tell me they're going to call me this weekend so I can sit in the writing process with them and maybe write my OWN hooks for their songs. I drive home on a fucking cloud.
I'm not writing this to flaunt my amazing voice or make you think I'm cool, because 1. It's not that great, and 2. I'm not. But honestly, everyone needs an ego boost every once in a while, and this was definitely mine. This was something I always, always, ALWAYS wanted to do but didn't ever think it could or would happen. To the point where I'd talk myself down, saying "who do you think you are? that's not you." Seriously, fuck definitions, fuck your beliefs about WHO you are and WHAT you are able to accomplish in this world. The doors you close on yourself only limit the areas that YOU will be able to explore. Never, ever turn down an opportunity no matter what it is or no matter what you think your abilities are or aren't. Practically every good thing that's happened in my life has happened because I had to convince myself to pursue it, and drag myself screaming, fingernails scraping the ground, towards it.
Here's to jumping in head-first.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

the last calendar on earth.

sing in the shower
replace literacy for algebra
build cathedrals; worship for yourself with yourself by yourself
outlaw on the run
preach on
hang on
this cliffhanger will go down in history
we caught you in a street fight with entropy
scarred one;
those who submit will be saved
the architects will be the casualties
smile a broken smile, for I can still hear the music;
sing in the shower
smile
for there's still her face
smile, and taste it
and savor it

Friday, August 24, 2007

hello atmosphere.

I keep the eyes of a rapist in a jar by my bed
walk lightly;
for that part of the room is glass
modern-day sorceror, am I:
blueprints and otherworldly photographs in my drawers
beakers and tubes filled with dust
the cold makes it feel like home
and when the mirror talks to me, it only says
"I will wrap you in a sheet before this night is done."
well so says you, my sweet, but look what you've become.
all my furniture, ghosts
rooms rife with other lives
no doors
my paintings are stolen from churches and are hanging backwards and are numbered one to infinity.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

a seizure in a sharp suit.

"All roads lead here."
now I've gone and done it
I'm crossing lines like they didn't exist
my eyes never close and everyone knows
I hear her crying every second of the day
it will not let me sleep
"I've been waiting for you. Take what is rightfully yours."
I am the shadow, and I am the snake
I occupy the body of this person you refer to me as
the sound of her crying never stops
it lives in the air ducts
"You must meet with the Devil. You must shake his hand."
the puppetmaster's remnants decay (as the sky)
I am covered in flies
they burrow in my ears
easy now, brothers and sisters; keep your eyes on the screen

focus on this bogus missive
now look away and exhale entire galaxies

"I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I told you so."

Saturday, August 4, 2007

curbstyle.

wet, cold 2am street concrete catches my feet
I am the arrow flung from the bow after the defeat
assembly line streetlight eyes watch as I flee
ignition switch positioning complete
her pleading's my pedestrian parachute
but I was doused in this petrol so long ago
I've got gears for organs and oil for blood
I'm the engine in the hearse of the funeral procession
I am the man who invented regret
I am the match; it's lifespan and action
I deteriorate all I see
magnesium paper carbon oxygen
I ignite and burn
I am

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

in the blue light.

Today, I found an old cassette in my car that's been hidden away for god knows how long. It wasn't labeled, and it was one of many mix cassettes that have seen the insides of my car stereo at one point or another. Many of the blank cassettes in my car are/were horrible recordings of songs that were "under construction," from quite a few different projects. The point of them was that I could have a recording of the songs sans vocals so that I could listen to them and be able to write to them at my leisure. Often times the outcome was me singing at the top of my lungs while driving to any destination.

I threw it in and pressed play and was surprised to hear what was probably one of the last practice sessions of my old band. We had recorded instrumentals of some of the newest songs we had written so that I could write to them; 3 songs in total. Right away the notes that I had in mind for certain parts jumped out of my subconscious and into my throat, and before I knew it I was humming the tentative vocals I had once written to the songs. It was both exciting and somewhat mournful as well. It made me think about that point in time in my life, what I was going through, and how important that period was for me.

After releasing an EP, a full-length CD, writing a multitude of various other songs that never saw the inside of a recording studio, playing both tiny and huge shows (in our eyes, anyway), going on east coast tours a few times, and signing to a small indie record label, I made the decision to part ways with them. There were quite a few reasons why I felt the need to do it, but the one that overshadowed everything else was that my heart just wasn't in it anymore. I remember the last few months leading up to my decision felt so awkward and uncomfortable; I loved the band, but I was bored and disenchanted. I felt then and still feel now that I'm far from the typical "band dude." By nature I am a fairly introverted, closed-off type of person. When I had first met the guys that became my bandmates, I couldn't even sing in front of them, much less in front of an audience. Public speaking was definitely NOT my forte, and I thought I was going to perform music with a crowd watching? What was I thinking? If it wasn't for the patience and persistence of those guys and their surprising belief in me, I could never have gotten over that fear.

Playing in a band and touring is by nature a very social activity. You're always meeting new people, jumping from one conversation to another, traveling, bonding with your bandmates. It was this aspect that never sat right with me. I don't know why. I had nothing against anyone involved, in fact I really liked most of them. For some weird reason I just couldn't successfully combine my musician side with my social side. It was like I felt the need to keep the two separated. I wasn't in it for the "cool" factor. A lead singer with a fear of attention? Come on. I needed it as an outlet, as a vehicle for my creative drive and my emotions. I never felt the urge to use it as a way to gain friends, or sex, or ego boosts. And I'm not saying that all people who are in bands are in it for that, or that the guys I made music with were, just that it wasn't my thing.

Maybe I ended up leaving because I knew it wasn't what I thought it was, or that it turned into something different over the years. But I still miss it terribly, and I always wonder what I would be doing now if I had stayed.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

sir, you must speak into the microphone.

Trophy Scar City:
I am the rat behind the dumpsters you will never know about
a politician's smile
I etched the maps of hell on my skin so I won't be so lost when I return
I compose suicide notes and send them to myself while driving in the rain

Yes, broken record man broke all the records!
We are live via flesh satellite.
Go on about your business, and so will we.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

soon, this will be a museum.

pray for this circle of strangers
for they know not what they do
comfort their new reptilian skin
clear out the fog they are in
barricade the doors behind you
quarantined deadly ecstasy
keep the truth from the children
make up stories to fill their heads with

sometimes we all need a lighthouse
we can't see the wreckage of those before us
and those rocks...
what teeth...
someone please climb the stairs.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

getaway car.

There is a man with snakes for hands.
Devils for eyes, and a tongue made of lies.
There is a man with a heart full of fear.
A bottomless stomach and food within reach.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

screaming the blues.

"The Blues."

Can you see it on a person if they walk right past you? Sometimes yes, most of the time no. Is it a scent? Is it visible wear and tear on the soul of a stranger, that you might somehow just notice semi-consciously?

Can you listen to them without them saying a word? Like putting a seashell against your ear, can you hear what the lines in a person's face are trying to tell you? The man with the dark circles under his eyes, the dirty jeans, the anxious way he taps his old sneakers on the floor while he nurses a cigarette; his eyes. His eyes... can you even fathom what it would be like to have seen what those eyes have seen?

Can you visibly tell when the human being you are looking at is a broken man or a woman? Or has been at one point in his life? Can you even imagine what it means, what it takes for every inch of you to be broken?

I know I can, because I was in a room full of them tonight. Broken souls. A room full of so much pain (and continuous healing) that it took every living ounce of strength that I had inside of me, I kid you not, to stay inside of it for an hour. No more, no less. No casual hello's before the meeting, and a quick exit at the end to make sure I wouldn't be subjected to what I was already in denial about, which was that I was at an NA meeting. Narcotics Anonymous.

Every week, one person "shares" his story for the others there, but they say it's mostly for the newcomer, so he or she can understand and not feel alone anymore. I put "share" in quotations, because, well, to me the word sharing is what a kindergardener does when she gives one of her toys to another classmate. Javier, probably in his early to mid-thirties, was not "sharing." As it was explained to me, it was the first time this particular member was telling his story to the group, even though he was there for quite a while, through many relapses. What this man proceeded to do was conduct a visual autopsy on his emotional and mental self while he was still alive, and talk us through it. He told us his story, and through his story I could hear what I could imagine to be everyone else's stories; I have a very vivid imagination. I did not know these people, but I felt them because they've struggled harder than you or anyone you know will probably struggle in their entire lives. Each had a story easily worth a million, or more, of mine and your tears. I know because my story has collected many of it's fair share in my short time on earth.

Javier sits there in a church all-purpose room, in a folding chair. He is part of a circle of people in folding chairs, and they are all listening to him speak, when he can. Some of them are looking at him, faces proud, yet eyes welling with tears. Some of them listen to him while they hide their faces in their hands. Some look ahead at the wall directly across from them, seemingly numb from all the stories they've heard. Javier sobs quietly as he tries to get through the part where he tells us all that both his parents were alcoholics, and both his brothers were alcoholics and drug addicts, and that he never wanted to be like them.
This is a confession.
This isn't a real worlder complaining about their roommate. This one confession, as with the few more he carefully, somewhat uneasily let out tonight, shook the earth. He studders at parts, takes long pauses at others. None of this is easy. He admits to certain actions, feelings, emotions that only someone else who has also hit rock bottom would know and relate to, and those people laugh with him out of compassion. I am one of those people laughing.

Javier is just a man. A smart guy, too. He isn't a monster, there is nothing wrong with him physically, mentally, or emotionally. He is just a man dealing with life. His life, and where it has taken him to. He is not making excuses, he is not placing blame. He is just a man who is suffering greatly, and will continue to suffer every single day for the hurt he has caused the people who he loves and cares about the most. He is a man who is lucky in every sense of the word. He is a man who feels guilt like I hope you will never feel in your entire life, a guilt I would not wish on my worst enemy. He is a changed man, changed by the confessions he had heard before him. He is a man with white chips in a drawer, every one of them painful to look at. I hold mine as close as a wedding ring. I am scared.

Javier gets to the part where he tells us about the laptop that he pawned one night to scrounge up money for drugs, and falls out of his storytelling mode, now just talking to himself; "why did I do that?" He starts to cry again. "Why did I pawn that laptop? I loved that thing, man. That was my laptop..."
This is a confession.
He digresses and moves back into his story, and meanwhile everyone in the room, including myself, knows exactly why he pawned the laptop he loved. I'm beginning to understand that since I understand, I belong here; if someone didn't understand Javier's journey, if someone had never walked those same footsteps, they couldn't even fathom it. I am Javier. Everyone in this room, filled with love, hurt, guilt, fear, redemption, god, pride, pain, and shame... they are all Javier. I am Javier, and thank you Javier for quietly lighting the path. He's not saying a word, he's not pointing in any direction, he's just lighting the way for me and then walking it himself.

I could have been acquiring nations;
now I am one man rebuilding a single castle by himself.
all we have are choices.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

the sunshine state of affairs.

Florida is a waypoint for the transient minds and souls of the citizens of every nation on this earth, drawn to it like moths are drawn to bright empty parking lot lights. Florida is every one of it's street intersections, where the homeless beg for change at stop lights, while the drivers of the hundred thousand dollar cars stopped there say pages of nothing into cell phones. Florida is oil and water culture clashes, language barriers and invisible walls at every turn. Florida is a portrait of the land of opportunity hanging askew in a condemned building filled with society's unwanted. Florida is a giant edifice of Christianity, a huge solid gold cross embedded in a foundation of narcotics, tears, and blood money. Florida is a library burning on a picturesque beach. Florida is a spear filled with inebriated, half-naked young Republicans dancing rhythmically to the beat of Ignorance, being surgically installed into the side of a mock Jesus Christ. Florida is a tired, wide-eyed family of immigrants from a 3rd world country being painfully searched for diseases and fleas before being eaten by the giant mouths of Visa and Mastercard. Florida is shattered windows everywhere for miles from the screams and piercing cries of a daddy's girl because Li'l Jon wasn't paid to come to her sweet sixteen. Florida is a mutated, steroid-filled, tanned, chiseled and groomed modelesque monster waiting to devirginize the newly silicon-enhanced and Brazilian-waxed Daughters Of America in the dirty alleyways of South Beach while tourists stop to take pictures.
Florida is a white man in an Armani suit doing lines of coke off of the carcass of a washed-ashore Haitian, who is clutching a postcard of Miami.
Florida is a trailer park named "Happiness Grove" next to a garbage dump covered with grass and shrubs, a cell phone tower which is built to look like a palm tree, and giant billboards shouting Walt Disney propaganda.

Friday, April 6, 2007

security cameras everywhere.

so steve left last night.

picked up at work by justine, the only friend I had in florida left for west virginia, and eventually long island. I had come to get used to him being at work; when he left it instantly felt like a different job. am I going to feel differently about FYE now? I hope not.

I have an amazing wife, and an awesome apartment, and two crazy cats. I am surely blessed to have these things. Aside from those things, there is no doubt in my mind that this is the loneliest I've felt in my entire life. More than a year into my move to florida, nothing has really changed since I got here. there is an unavoidable, uncontrollable sense of detachment. It's a different culture, a different people, a city in which I am the visitor (sometimes I fear it's so obvious) and I am trespassing onto ground I shouldn't be on.

I fear I am the tree that is uprooted to the point that it can no longer be re-planted.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

one dart impaled on a globe.

One thought that has always, and probably will always knock around inside my head is the thought of all the possibilities one life could potentially explore. We only get one crack at this thing called life; a choice you make now could possibly affect you forever. When you were ten years old, did you ever think you'd be where you are at now? Did you ever think you would look the way you do now, or do what you're doing now? Do you ever just sit back and imagine what your life would be like if you had chosen certain paths over others, how different you would be? These are the thoughts that chase away my much-needed sleep every night.

I can't help but let my imagination explore who I would be now if I had made certain decisions in my past differently. I can't help but wonder how I would turn out if I suddenly dropped everything today and moved to Hawaii, or Tokyo, or London. I want to type every possibility into some crazy futuristic database that calculates all of this information, and have that version of myself pop up, with pictures and descriptions and everything. If I had chosen to join the armed forces at 18 right after high school, who would I be now? If I had chosen to stay with my band instead of quit, what would my life be like today? With an imagination as overactive as mine, these thoughts become mental quicksand. Sometimes, I find myself painfully mulling over the most inconsequential of decisions because of the possible ramifications it could cause.

Another cranial habit of mine is exploring myself in every way (and no, not in that "I wonder if I can suck my own dick" kind of way). There's a memorable quote from Fight Club that reads, "how much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight?" The same mindset applies to your looks, for instance. Have you ever grown out your beard, just for the hell of it? Have you ever shaved your head, or pierced something just out of pure curiousity? Next time you're in a clothing store, go ahead and try on some outfits that you would absolutely NEVER normally try on, and take a look at yourself in the mirror. It's fun to toy with who you are. If someone was asked to explain YOU as best they could, would it be easy for them or hard? Would they have any trouble at all describing what you wear or what you look like? Personally, I would be disappointed in myself if it was, in fact, a simple chore to "explain Dave Newman."

We only get one life to live. There are so many paths we have in front of us to choose from, it's almost a tragedy we can't explore them all. There are so many destinations to visit, so many people to meet, so many experiences that will unfortunately never be had. I for one really need to make it a point to make my time on this rock a meaningful one. I don't want to be that classic car that's always in the garage under the tarp and never on the road, engine at full rpm. Let's do some driving, just for the sake of driving.

Friday, February 16, 2007

the dance of the dying.

I'm very frustrated, and I can't exactly put my finger on the reason.

It might be due to my current status of employment, which is basically, unemployment. Although I am trying, it does definitely take time to get a job; especially what I've been applying for, retail management. Any management hiring takes time. First phone interviewing with a recruiter, and then a real interview, and then they pass you on to the actual company they are hiring FOR. You then do a phone interview with the hiring person there, usually a district manager or vice-president, and if they take it to the next step, an actual interview with THEM. Then any other random steps they want you to take, whether it be online personality exams, drug tests, and so on. Only then will you be considered for the job.

Applying to many places is frustrating in and of itself; every single application, online or in person, asks you the same exact questions that get answered in a well-written resume. Most places suggest you have a resume, yet require that you fill out the basic application. Why? To make you want to scream, I guess. Anyone worth their weight when unemployed applies to many, many different companies... that's a lot of dumb, carbon-copy applications to fill out.

As much as I like sleeping in every day, it's kind of scary not having income and not knowing when you will. The hiring process of many of these places is too slow. Also, I don't want to make a bad decision when it comes to my new career. I like staying at places for long periods of time, I'm not the type of person to skip from job to job. So this next place will basically determine alot for the next few years of my life. If I make a bad choice, it's going to weigh heavily on me for a long time. The pressure is definitely real and I'm definitely feeling it.

More than ever, I want to make music again. I see my friends back home doing it, I reminisce daily. I need to get one of these projects going.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007

I haven't learned the controls yet.

What do I miss?
Where do I start.
I miss writing music. Performing music. Being in a band.
As many qualms as I had with my previous band, it what it was worth, it was an amazing time in my life. I can safely say that I overcame one of my biggest fears of my entire life, recorded about 2 albums' worth of material, and wrote probably 3 times that. Toured the east coast a few times, had some amazing life experiences. Unexplainable experiences. But most of all, I miss writing and singing, the act of creating a piece of music, a song, a piece of recorded material that other people can take from it what they want. Something that affects someone else, that moves them.

Since I've moved down here, I've searched for a project to latch onto.

Anything.

R&B hooks on some crunk album, acoustic folk, pretentious indie? Whatever, I just need to fill this void. Or rather, empty my filled self into a void. But it's just damn hard to start a project when you know NO ONE. You are merely someone who lives in a state other people call home. I will never feel at home here. I didn't go to school here, I have no friends here other than my wife's friends and my one friend who is also here from NY. I have no roots in this ground. I have no loyalties, no love for this soil, just for my extended family who live here. I have disposable friendships with ex co-workers at a company I no longer even work for. Displaced. My heart aches even when I see Long Island grass and neighborhoods in pictures on MySpace.

I hope to find something to latch onto soon, something I can call my own that isn't disposable or temporary. Something that can make my presence here anything other than alien. And don't mix it up, it has nothing to do with my girl. Because the only thing keeping me warm, even in this tropical climate, is her.

Friday, February 2, 2007

Only so many minutes in a lifespan.

I am made from a different cloth.

Have you ever, in your life, had the sudden realization that you weren't in the right place? Perhaps you were at a bar and noticed that most of the patrons weren't people you would ever associate with. Maybe, while on a road trip, you chuckled to yourself at the thought of being in a Kentucky truck stop at 3am ever again. It's a sobering thought, exciting, scary, and weird.

I feel like this every single day.

Out of about a million examples, the one that is clawing at me the most today is the frustration I have with the way other people drive.
Is everyone on vacation? I'm not the only person on earth using a car to actually get somewhere, right? Why does everyone, and I really mean everyone (at least in my eyes) driving like they have all the time in the world?
Or maybe I have it flipped; maybe I'm just the only one driving like my time actually means something, and that I value it heavily. Let's be honest: driving already tests your patience, no matter who you are. Traffic, school zones, lights, stop signs, anything that is a hindrance to you and your goal. My long-standing gripe is with those people that make our driving experiences even worse. Case-in-point:
You pull up to a red light, and there is a car in front of you. After waiting about twenty seconds, the light turns green. The driver of the car in front of you does not react right away; they don't even react within 5-7 seconds of the light turning green. Finally, after you and two other cars begin to beep, the driver inches away from the intersection. About 3 blocks down, this sorry parade reaches another red light. Somehow, Captain Apathy is still in front of you. The light turns green, and what happens? The same exact thing.
Do you know how (hopefully) the thought of something like racism or bigotry is absolutely unimaginable to you? How, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't even wrap your head around it? And you become convinced that anyone who is okay with that sort of thing has to be an alien from another planet? Seriously, like not of this world, because any sane, rational, intelligent human being could see the error of this mindset? This is how I feel about these people. These ignorant, selfish individuals who use a public road like their own "lazy river" from a water park, just blindly roaming around as if they were manning a sailboat which has just caught the slightest of breezes, just beginning to lurch out of it's dead calm.

Make no mistake:
Every second they make you wait, every silent-screaming second, is adding up. They are killing you, just a little. They are stealing seconds away from your life. Laugh if you want, but I enjoy having values that are more important than yours. One man's overreactions are another man's strategic victories. A war isn't won with the largest cannon, but rather the smallest dagger. And let me issue my final stance on this subject;

The act of driving is meant to get you from Point A to Point B. If you are smart enough to be an "efficient" driver, than this also means getting from Point A to Point B as quickly as possible. If this isn't your goal and you find yourself behind the wheel on a public road, do the rest of humanity a favor and pull off to the fucking side. Maybe those other people behind you are actually trying to get shit done. If you are bored to tears or are just waiting to die, please do it somewhere else where you aren't negatively affecting the lives of other people who are smarter and/or less apathetic as you are.

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

As your feet leave the diving board.

Gainfully unemployed for the first time in probably 12 years.
How does it feel? It feels like everything. It feels like nothing.

I remember when I was a kid, coming to the realization that everyone has to actually "work" for a living. You couldn't just be a kid and do whatever you wanted for the rest of your life. I also remember being shocked at just how much time "working" stole from your free time; an 8-hour shift basically ruined your entire day; and 5 8-hour shifts a week?

This reality destroyed me. It broke my heart.
It literally took me over a week to accept this fact and move on. That our lives are pretty much spent under the employ of someone or something else, as we try to earn a living.
EARN a living.
We are alive, and yet we have to earn the ability to survive. Survive what? Our society requires that we have currency in order to maintain our food, shelter, clothing, etc.
Imagine if we as a society had no such established system.
People still farmed and hunted, built their own shelter, made their own clothes. There were no banks. There were no debts. There were no credit cards, no stock options, no mutual funds, no 401K plans.

Imagine if we actually were able to live our lives.