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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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."

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

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.