IT'S MY BIIRTHDAY...
And I feel like shit. I was actually looking forward to this day but because some unfortunate events that took place, I am left alone today, tomorrow and who knows how long.
I have been so depressed lately, I can't get a hold of myself and it's making me anxious, sad, and tired. I have gone a few days without solid sleep. I can't rest at night, tossing and turning in my sheets keeps me awake for most of the night.
I don't know how to overcome this depression. I try to tell myself to be strong and deal with everything that has been happening but I can't even fool myself into believing it. I have no desire for anything, neither am I looking forward to do anything but shelter myself and stay away from people. Ugh...A month ago or so , I tried overdosing on Oxycottin. I could have been succesful but I decided to listen to to a love interest of mine and allowed myself to be helped.
I was drifting away, my heart started to beat faster and faster and I couldnt breathe, thank god for what happened next. I could have been a gonner. Now, in my current situation I wish I hadn't listened. I would have avoided all of my frustrations and problems. Yeah, I would have been in a place worse than where I am now, but this is as painful.
(singing) Happy birthday to me.
I feel like crying.
BREATHE ME
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe
FORGIVE MY TRUTH
All I want is for you to love me. It's so easy and so hard.
I see your eyes wander and it makes me feel gloomy, when all I want is for you to see me. That's all I need. The human condition of lust is potent but I see that its just skin. One year three mont hs is 1 year 9 months and a week shorter than my longest relationship , its scary and real.
I need to feel I am the one and only, the kind of man that you adore only. That's all I need.
Am I the one for you? My jealousy seeps out into my skin and I feel it crawling so I then crawl into bed feeling alone.
I need to feel that I am special, that you love me like no one else. I don't want to see you look at other guys. That's all I need. I'm your man.
Don't break my heart you see, I would bleed and bleed. Please just love me and ignore me being needy.
This is my first time on the field and I feel like a spinning wheel. Give me all your love. I know it's selfish, I need a lot. It's not easy to pinpoint the spot when I fell for you. I just want my love story. I want to know that you are the one for me and we will be happy and live so free. Life is not easy and neither is love but I feel it could be easier with you.
I know I sound crazy and my eyes are hazy from not sleeping after we fought. I just didn't want to think that I was not good enough to make you so happy. I can't live with the thought that you might not want me. It's hurting to put myself out there for you but I know its what I need to do. This is something you will never hear me say so I write it here in hopes that I will say it soon.
BAD DAY
FATE VS. WILL
We don't choose the things we believe in; they choose us."
—Lamar Burgess
Ive been contemplating these kind of questions more as of late. Its easy not to think about such dire things but it comes up everyday. For a long time...I believed in free will. We make our choices. We define our paths.
But lately..ive questioned this. Do we have any control? Its easy to say no..it frees us to an extent. Frees us from the burden of mistakes made, consequences. We can do whatever we want. When things happen in life that surprise us and we cant explain how they occured...it seems to point us in the fate direction. Im interested to find out how some of you guys look at this. Have you experienced events that changed your path..changed your mind?
WARRIOR
A beautiful quote I read today and it really moved me. It moved me for several reasons. I have begun to let go of the past and accept my present. It’s interesting that we live so obsessed with everything in our possession and what we can achieve. I have lived with everything and I have lived with nothing. I still exist in the same soul and that is what makes me a warrior. I fight for it, the answers to my questions. I am not a warrior in the sense of fighting battles or destroying adversaries but more a warrior of myself. Trying to make a way for the world to work for me.
I have recently let go of the past in many ways and its truly liberating. I began by deleting emails and phone numbers from the past, and letting go of my life before the now. I will no longer dwell on the past. I have always been, for lack of a better word, a gypsy. I go where I want and partake of the world in my own ways while honoring my moral compass that guides me. I don’t judge others when possible and expect the same in return.
I have learned that the only way to be truly free is when you are no longer tied down to the world. I think that is why ancient man never created a book called “He’s just not that into you”. The world has changed. The relationship structure has changed and many assume this is for the best. Is this for the best?
Ancient warriors would fight and return home as victors. There was a sense of honor and they never worried about their credit scores or who to ask out on a date. They took what they want, had a moral code, and fought for the rest. There is always a downside but the basic idea is interesting to me.
Simple lives existing in simple ways was the idea and it seemed to serve its function. Why must we constantly try to progress? This constant need to acquire more and more, create more and more, and to live longer and longer seems to be quite unique our day and age.
I am letting go of my past world. I have found a religio us enlightenment. I see the world in its true nature of good and bad and realize that without humans, the world would not exist. We cohabitate and we need each other, we all need each other.
TO FORGIVE
"Love is the first cause. It is the point of light beyond all light and darkness, it is truly the cohesive power of the universe. Love is the key to every closed door. There shoud be no discrimination in love, for divine love embraces all alike, no matter what color race, sex, creed or religion.... True love excludes self polluting energies such as fear of failure, fear of truth, and much more. The truth is you cannot enjoy the reality of love until you can forgive. Even from Christ's heart come the words" Father, Forgive them for they know not what they do. " excerpt from The Divine Doctor by Joseph Michael Levry. Forgiveness is the golden key needed to open the gates for spirit to accelarate the resurrection of the divine in living form.
RELATIONSHIPS
Relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just great.
AMERICAN PIE; HOW RICH?
You have to eat regardless of economic or educational hierarchy regardless ofphysical or mental strenght, regardless of will, want or wage, everyone has to eat. All are created equal in the eyes of the almighty apetite. What we eat defines us politically. Food on average travels 4,000 to 5,000 miles in America. Taking beef and dairy out of your diet can have the same effect as driving 8,000 miles a year. The carbon dinner plate is adding a bitter flavor to the all-American comfort.
In American the poor don't have the convinience of guilt; pocket book voting is a privilage granted only to those with a pocket book. In Los ngeles, the poor don't pine over ingredients to make their meal more eco friendly, they just don't cook. The problem has gotten so bad city council created a moratorium of building fast food establishments in inner city communities. Nationwide, the highest rates of obesity and heart diseas related to eating cheap calorivally dense and fat rich fast food lie in households making between $20,000 and $30,000 a year. In my neighborhood mercado they simply don't sell fat-free anything.
Once on tour in Plattsburgh, New York, (my crappy rockin' band), I met a kid named Blake working in a coffee shop. Plattsburgh is a tiny hippie college town with less than 19,000 people in upstate New York. In the winter, it's cold; in the summer, it's hot. Food there was something families did to ease the grip of elements. Blake made his body a testament to his family's comfort and tradition. He has a half stack of his mothers flapjacks tattooed on the inside of his left bicep. He had his family's kitchen table tattooed on his rib cage. These were images in which he found comfort; they were the tools used to build tradition and solidarity.
The median income in Madera, California is less than $30,000 a year. By far Madera'smost successful and profitable export is Metrhamphetamine. It's a sad dark place directly in the center of one of the richest, brightest states in America . The Fresno Methamphetamine Task Force regularly finds drug coffers in public housing filled with one-gallon Ziploc bags of crystal meth.
When my band stayed in Madera, we slept on the floor of a public provided apartment with three overweight sisters, one of their overweight daughters, one very irritated boyfriend and a fry daddy.No one in the house was over 20, and all of the there lives were in some way intertwined with meth. We met them at our show and they generously offered their home and food. As usual we were in no place to be picky, and we were grateful for their hospitality. On the road, some of the most generous were those with the least to give, those who can only afford to believe in things like music. These are the kinds of people that offer their homes to traveling nobodies but don't make enough money yo be concerned with buying organic. These are the kind of people that can be comsumed by dreams of get rich quick schemes like Avon, Herbalife and slinging crystal.
The refrigerator was stocked with typical frozen food-stamp fare. The government had provided them with nutrition fit for a heart attack; taquitos, fried tacos, deep-fried frozen burritos, deep-fried chicken, fish and hamburgerpatties, Tampico and push pops. We started the fry-daddy, we slept and we left. The family didn't cook with passion; there were no traditions, no kitchen table, no seasonings defining the pallet of unity and love. Food took on a scary role in Madera, it was something the family was ashamed of, because of where it came from (walfare not a paycheck), something that alienated them.
In this country the rich are gladly accepting the alienation of healthy, eco friendly eating. Eating Green is a welcome burden to those wealthy enough to swollow it, not only does it show a deeper consciousness but deeper pockets as well. Recipes are lost to ingredients, and thus the importance of family is lost to the shallow political statement a meal can make.
So here we have these two extremes. The impoverished, struck with heart disease and diabetes, losing family identity to convinience and subsidy. And the rich, flaunting the luxery to sacrifice for the political impact of their diet. Neither are identifying culturally with their food. Both starved for the substance behind their sustenance. The poor will never get a Big Mac tattooed to their ribs. The rich will nver get an organic locally produced jar of hummus on theirs. Eating is something you must do, but feeling full is somethingtsught to you.
CANNOT BE CREATED OR DESTROYED
Interesting facts about physics: matter, energy and momentum are all conserved. This means that they cannot be created or destroyed, only changed. For example, a quarter in the fist of an insubordinate juvenile atop a highway overpass has a certain amount of potential energy. When the insubordinate decides to ruin your day by dropping the quarter onto your windshield, it will reach your car with a certain amount of kinetic energy. The amount of potential energy is directly proportional to the kinetic energy. The kinetic energy then turns into heat energy upon impact with your windshield and then that heat energy disperses (not disappears) into the atmosphere. It never disappears.
Yes, the scientific principles that govern reality are just as frugal and recycle-minded we are.
Interesting fact about humans: experiences are conserved. Everything you experience is the consequence of a long series of experiences that have happened before. The world works like an endless series of dominos or the neck of a giant hourglass where we are pushed through by the weight of all that is behind us. It is impossible to destroy or create what has already happened or what is yet to happen.
Which brings me back to the topic of insubordinate juveniles.
I smoked with the same three kids every time.
Interesting facts about the three kids I smoked weed with under the bridge: one is now dead due to an overdose of Oxycontin, one went mad after a misjudging the potency of the New Testament and hallucinogens, and one I lost contact with after his second stay at a juvenile detention center in San Diego. Their experience under the bridge was conserved. It was not created or destroyed; it was confined to one form. Like water in a plastic bottle, their contact with reality was limited to one medium. Their existence may have been limited and finite but it did not end with them. It took on the form of urban legend and inspiration for this blog (cheers).
For me, my exposure to the world of weed turned into constantly smoking and getting busted. Me getting busted should inspired in me a legitimate and intelligent disdain for authority through which I identified with politically charged music and subcultures. That disdain motivated me to loudly articulate my frustrations in hardcore bands and through community activism. … and the list streams out into my life story (quaint, I know). My water bottle was busted open across the sidewalk, was evaporated into the atmosphere and turned into a storm cloud somewhere over the Midwest.
Historically we can trace the dominos falling on top of us from the dominos that fell before us. Dependence on a finite recourse for our energy led us into Iraq. The assassination of Franz Ferdinand led us into the Cold War. Dungeons and Dragons led us to World of Warcraft. Scientifically, we can calculate the velocity of dominos falling. A sonic boom is the conversion of kinetic energy into sound energy. Smoke and ash are the results of heat energy converting cannabis back into carbon. If we combine them, perhaps we can calculate how the quarter dropped in youth can shatter the windshield of adulthood.
THOUGHTS OF A DYING ATHEIST
Eerie whispers
Trapped beneath my pillow
Won't let me sleep
Your memories
And I know you're not in this room
I'm sure I heard you sigh
Floating in between
Where our worlds collide
Scares the hell out of me
And the end is all I can see
And I know the moment's near
And there's nothing you can do
Look through my faithless eye
Are you afraid to die?
It scares the hell out of me
And the end is all I can see
And it scares the hell out of me
And the end is all I can see
INNOCENCE COSTS
In 2008 there were 350,000 children under the age of 18 serving time in jail in the United States, there were more than 720,000 teen pregnancies (80% of which were unwanted or unintended) and over 5,000 drivers under the age of 20 were killed in car accidents. These are definitely severe examples, but American youth is about making stupid booboos that scar over into the calluses of adulthood.
However, it is a common misconception that one traumatic event is a eureka moment of everlasting maturity. Humans are habitual dunces, and bad ideas have a tendency to work like Jenga blocks. Cutting corners and taking risks becomes a test of creativity, until inevitably all the little wood blocks collapse (at which point we vow never to take such “immature” risks again whilst simultaneously setting the pieces up for another round). In this way, growing up is about learning how to eat crow, humble pie and shit, while still showing up to play again tomorrow.
I live in Los Angeles where there are roughly 3.2 million parking tickets issued a year. The city collects $113 million annually due to parking citations alone. In any given year I am responsible for at least a few thousand of those dollars. This is not because I am a terrible parker or because I accumulate, say, fifty $40 meter violations in 12 months. No, no, this is the handy work of letting a handful of tickets double, then triple then go to collections where they accumulate a collector’s fee for a few months. Every time this happens and I inevitably cowboy up and head to the downtown courthouse checkbook in hand. I stand in line behind an army of angry, slighted, suffering Angelinos (just like me). I then cut a check for a few months rent or a down payment on a car or a few semesters at community college; enough to level my savings to a pancaked flat line. Every time I vow, I honestly commit to myself,
“No way dude, never again. You’re a grown up now, man. Grown ups don’t do this.”
As the tickets pile up again the same unexplainable ridicules behavior piles up right along side. This is not growing up; this is just stupid.
If I changed my behavior I wouldn’t be any more “grown up”…just less broke. Growing up, it seems, is learning that no amount of assumed responsibility can suddenly propel you into the realm of adulthood. It’s about coming to terms with your bone headed tendencies and moving past the ones that you can while enjoying the ever quickening momentum of mortality. Growing up is about taking what you get and going with it, as simple as that may seem. It’s about facing the day clueless with a handful of fellow hopefuls and being brave enough to pretend you are not all terrified.
It’s about yelling at the gods from the top of the mountain, “Yeah, I may have to push this rock up this hill for eternity, but I’d rather have balls than be an angel!”
There are plenty of people who move past their pitfalls and remain imbecilic teenage-minded thirtysomethings. There are plenty adult minded folk who are still crippled by repeated stupid investments (sub-prime mortgages, bad college loans, car notes). Do these tremendously overbearing mistakes automatically grant them the title of adult?
More than 5,000 small businesses declared bankruptcy last month. On average 56% of American entrepreneurs don’t make it past the first three years of commerce. Bad decisions are what the American dream is all about. Finding happiness regardless is what growing up is all about.
THE SUM OF SOME PARTS
When life hands me brain pudding, I make dehydrated coconut oil, sugar, high fructose corn syrup, gray matter, cocoa powder and tri-calcium phosphate out of it. It offers me a sense of control; if I can take something apart I can understand it and reconstruct it in a way that is more conducive to my interpretation of reality.
When I was a child I would pull apart my toys. I had boxes full of bike and skateboard parts never to roll again. The Dalai Lama takes watches apart to help him meditate on the vastness of the universe. American football fans systematically separate their favorite teams and get them into “fantasy” leagues.
Deconstruction is a good first step to reconstruction. High school anatomy classes use dissection because it is the most accurate way to explain muscular and skeletal structure.
There are of course many things that would be better left misunderstood and intact. The first few years of most presidencies, for example, are mostly devoted to picking apart the hard work of the previous administration. When Clinton left office with a $230 million surplus in 2000, the Bush administrations first response was to pick apart this progress to better understand what their financial strategy should be. Unfortunately had they “stayed the course” the national debt could have been paid off by 2012.
Many of the relationships I have had would probably have stood a better chance with out me picking at them. Most of my wounds would probably heal nicely had I not been so enamored with what happens when I unravel my sutures.
Questioning leaves nasty scars. I have been picking at a fresh scab for the last week.
One of my oldest and dearest friends, a girl with whom I spent a substantial portion of my youth kinda sorta romantically involved with, was murdered while traveling the country conducting research for a project she was working on (living free and independently together) and I can’t help but ponder the what ifs.
If someone in New Orleans had been paid to counsel parents on the importance of physical interactions and reading out loud to their infants, if those parents took that advice to heart, if those parents made enough money to give their child every ounce of education, every sports uniform and every toy for every birthday if that kid never felt alone, awkward or deprived, if that kid didn’t turn into a desperate teenager who felt alienated and forgotten by a country hell-bent on neglecting its desperately impoverished, if that teenager was taught how to deal with anger and depression in a constructive way by someone sincere and reliable.
If there were better streetlights in the 9th ward.
If in 1965 when the Mississippi gulf outlet was completed, someone would have noticed that it intensified the power of hurricanes by more than 20%. If the levees didn’t break; if FEMA and the president hadn’t avoided and mismanaged every element of recovery.
If they had seen my friend’s smile when she used to hold my little sister, or when she talked about social equality.
If someone, anyone, along the way had seen this person and shown them a fraction of the love that her friends felt for the woman they murdered, maybe there would have been a different outcome, and she would still be alive.
Deconstruction like this only works to reconstruct whatever trauma inspired it. Taking apart reality in this way leaves me with an unfortunate result; the world is laid out in front of me in nice pieces, each one detached and disassembled, and I can’t for the life of me remember how to put them back together in a way that works.
Controlling things has little to do with understanding them and even less to do with taking them apart. Football teams still lose regardless of a fantasy league. The Dalai Lama is still left with piles of springs and no answers, and I am left with one less friend and a thousand more questions.
Sara R.
1984-2008
R.I.P
EMPTY...
I woke up this morning feeling incredibly empty and completely devoid of any kind of feeling. I have been going through a numb stage as it is, but things were looking good for me for a hot minute. I thought I may actually be getting over it and go back to feeling normal, or just feeling something. In a way, it's almost like I'm watching a film of what it is going on around me, a film that I'm really into but a film none the less. Seeing it through my eyes but as a separate person would as if I'm wearing someone else's skin. It doesn't seem right to be this way, so I don't know if it really bothers ME, or if I know it SHOULD bother me. Maybe I'll just lie down for a while and hope it all goes away...
GETTING YOUR DOLLARS WORTH…KINDA
We often correlate value with rarity, if something is rare it must be valuable and if something is valuable it must be rare. Rare things are expensive; the first edition of Action Comics (June1938), in which Superman makes his first appearance is said to be worth $440,000, the last record John Lennon ever signed, a copy of Double Fantasy autographed five hours before Lennon was shot, is worth about $525,000.
Counter to this idea, rarely do we equate the things needed for survival with much value.
Is this the best Superman comic and will it most aid your ability to sustain? No, modern comics make this early attempt look like a tofu dog next to a rack of ribs and as far as getting you out of the woods alive one would be better suited with a plastic grocery bag. Is Double Fantasy the best Lennon album? Certainly not (half of the songs were written by Yoko which might actually be a detriment to your survival) but because of humanities desire to detach from the natural world we give irrational value to impractical objects.
In a survival situation two of the most valuable things, things that increase the chances of living exponentially, are not things at all. They are perspectives about the situation that cannot be strapped to a utility belt or bought at REI, a sense of humor and a sense of purpose.
A sense of purpose is manifested most effectively in an injured or near dead member of a group. In all logical terms this makes no sense. It is assumed that the injured should be left for dead. Only the strong survive, survival of the fittest, a bad apple spoils the bunch. But clichés are so cliché. You would never think to strap a martyr to your utility belt, but making a dying person live can make someone believe that their own death is not an option. A sense of purpose is valuable.
A sense of humor is valuable. When you can laugh at the ridiculousness of your situation you no longer are a victim of unreasonable chance and circumstance. It like saying, “Hey, fuck you god, you can take my legs but you can’t take my funny bone.” The heart rate slows and endorphins are released to ease physical pain. Interestingly the active element in your endorphins is morphine, no wonder laughter is so popular in rehab. No one would ever think to pack a whoopee cushion backpacking in the Andes, but the laughter could save your life.
I worked in an insanely high volume Chinese restaurant, with a demanding clientele on a competitive slab of real estate. The pressures of this job can be so intense at times that I regularly have coworkers quit mid shift with a section full of hungry tables frothing out the jaws for an plate of crispy sugar meat. On average I trained two new servers a week. On average about half of them show up for a second day of work.
I would call this a survival situation. Business usually comes all at once and hard, unpredictable, like a levy breaking or an engine failing. Then suddenly, you are free falling, tray loaded, fake smile cemented, running rapidly for the safety of the moment when all drinks are down, all food is rung in and finally when all checks are printed.
This moment usually resolves in what I call a “red light,” something that makes you stop and change your course of action because a weaker server needs your help. Sometimes they ask; usually they are too blindsided to realize that they even need it. In the dash of a salt shaker, suddenly five tables need refills, two tables need to pay, all of the food is taking an unreasonably long time to cook and a party of 15 (the new owner’s family) just went down. When I begin to fall in and help the drowning server all of the responsibilities to my tables no are longer as dramatically important, they become periphery. It becomes more important to save the dying member than to save my own ass.
When in the heat of a rush I mistakenly order a kung pao chicken “PLANE, NO SAUCE,” instead of “PLAIN, NO SAUCE,” and I have to explain this message to Chef who understands very little English. I am able to laugh at myself and in that moment all of the momentum, all of the pressure is put into perspective.
These pauses are so important to my survival I cannot understand why they are not marketed, traded and sold. They are illogical and common, and of great value to me. In my restaurant I honestly believe that my illiteracy is often my Action Comics #1. It is what is valuable to me, because it is what allows me to survive. My signed Double Fantasy is an empty glass on a co-worker’s table, not rare at all but I need it more than anything I can buy on Ebay.
INFLATION AND FALL OF THE U.S FLOWER
Financially, America is starting to resemble a middle-aged ex-homecoming queen trying to squeeze back into her old cheerleading skirt for her wedding anniversary, just praying that she won’t bust a seam. She isn’t fooling anyone, things are bad and now it’s just about how you define it.
A recession, as defined by the National Bureau of Economic Research, is a “significant decline in economic activity spread across the economy, lasting more than a few months, normally visible in real GDP.” I define it as a period of time when daisies wilt in flower shops before people buy them.
In the month of May, inflation raised at a rate of .8%. That is the biggest monthly leap since 1981. Over the last three months the president gave $77.9 billion to (get this) normal people. Regulars in the restaurant I use to work are sharing $10 salads and drinking tap water.
National unemployment has been rising for the past seven months leaving us at a four year high of 5.7% California is currently at a 12 year high of 7.3% unemployment because of the gaping wound on the side of the housing/real-estate/const ruction beast. In the last two months I was working at the restaurant my work had fired 10 servers.
Record stores are closing. Outlets like Ross and Marshal’s are reporting huge sales because people are not buying what they really want, just what they need. Socioeconomically, we are about a month away from drawing an eyeliner seam down the back of America’s legs and calling them a healthy economy.
In the years when people still bought things and hand-to-hand CD sales still had an impact on a band’s relevance, my band (at the time) spent a lot of time standing in front of hardcore shows on the Sunset Strip. My hands usually full with stacks of hot Kinko’s flyers and CDs, I would wait until the shows let out into the streets, spewing bodies like a broken hydrant. Desperately we would compete with the flashing freak show of the strip for a moment of attention. It was hard and frustrating then. I can’t imagine what it would be like now.
Some of our biggest competitors were a small group of Spanish speaking ladies carrying bundles of fresh flowers for five dollars a piece. They could burn through a bundle in about three clubs.
It was impressive to say the least.
I remember waiting tables in a little restaurant on Sunset Strip, about a mile east from where I used to hawk CDs. I have come to know one of these flower ladies, Anna, relatively well. She is patient and kind. Anna tells me we are in a recession, not because of the GDP, but because of the flowers.
Sunset is a silly selfish pleasure for most people; A tourist destination for burnt out, sobered up butt rockers with bad tattoos and no coffee shops to go to. Flowers are things of temporary luxury, the impact of which only lasts a few days.
Flower wholesalers have been cutting staff due to a rapid decline in demand. Anna who has been in the business since I was 4 (she worked(s) at a flower shop in Culver City five days a week) used to spend Tuesday through Saturday nights from eight to three in the morning trolling the strip empting bundle after bundle of roses, now can hardly get through one a night.
Shipping of flowers by air cargo is down in some places 17% from this time last year. Anna has started scaling back her time in front of rock clubs and spends more time in restaurant patios.
“There is no one here anymore,” Anna tells me. “The money is bad, the people are cheap, and most of the other girls don’t want to try anymore.”
We had a game, I see her walking up to our patio at about a block’s distance I move to one of my tables, usually an affluent tourist couple looking for a chunk of 1989 rock nostalgia or at least a photo of the two of them wearing Guns and Roses shirts in front of the Whiskey. I bring up the topic of chivalry to the lady and ask her if she can remember the last time she met a true gentleman. At this point Anna is usually behind me. I then give a look to the prospective gentleman letting him know that this is all a set up for his benefit. I then turn to Anna, wink, point and watch her go in for the kill.
We can usually go through at least a half a bundle this way, but lately, gentlemen are hard to find. Anna sold a whole bundle last Wednesday to one guy for half of what she gets
selling them by flower. Chivalry is now more dead than ever and that is how Anna and I define a recession.
Now that I think of it, I haven’t been into the whole flower thing. I miss that. I think it’s time to get back into the game don’t you think?
I KINDA HAVE SOMETHING THAT MIGHT KIND OF MAY BE LIKE A DREAM / I HOPE NO ONE IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD READS THIS OR I COULD GET SHOT
In the post-college world it is becoming increasingly absurd to want to devote one’s life to a creative field of work. According to the Princeton Review of the top ten highest paying college majors, only one if them (Marketing/Marketing Management/Marketing Research) is remotely creative, half of them include the word “engineering,&rdquo ; and only one of the ten most popular majors is in the top ten highest paying. Dreaming for a living is dying in America.
Without perspective between what we have, what we want and the foresight to reach unreasonably far into the future for an intangible (a dream), we are essentially purposeless. Guitar Hero, The White Album, Cirque de Soleil, the Internet and this moment of journalistic insight are all results of a faithful devotion to a creative dream. These things give us purpose and make a life worth living.
In order to trust an idea/creative thought/dream you have got to be a little mad. Essentially all creative ideas, regardless of how practical, are based in faith. In order to commit to a dream you have to first believe in it. The dreamer must conceptualize an intangible, yet to be conceived thing. A writer sits down to start a script trusting that the script can exist, their task then becomes translating the script into tangible terms.
Perhaps this is all a little too ephemeral and reeking of patchouli to make sense of. Take for example my Ex Ex landlord’s son. This 19-year-old runs drugs out of my ex-apartment building as a full time job. Up until about six months ago, he had a part time job as a sales associate for a large commercial retail establishment and he had a dream. The stress and labor of his part time job was offering him little sense of reward or accomplishment. In order to deal with the stress he often came home and self-medicated with copious amounts of beer and weed. With a little foresight and a lot of faith, he began scaling back his hours at his job and devoting more of his time to achieving his dream. His logic was simple; he found something that brought him joy, so he decided to devote his life to it, regardless of feasibility.
He had to trust in the existence of a way of life that had yet to exist for him in reality.
This is still a bit abstract, so let’s take one more example involving the same individual. In order for my Ex Ex landlord’s son to get out of plain view of police, competing drug dealers and unwanted clients he must be able to move quickly from the stop in front of the apartment to behind the cast iron gate protecting it. This is a complicated task because the automated lock system is broken and will most likely remain so until God gives up and lets Satan get hammered off of communion wine. The keyhole is also quite difficult to maneuver and requires a good two minuets of feverish manipulating and handle shaking. If one wants fast access between the inside and outside some creativity is essential.
Many have devised intricate systems of folding of magazines, cigarette butts and coat hangers but none have been able to create a consistently successful method. The gate is heavy, and while logically many of these doorstoppers should work, it is nearly impossible to slow its momentum as it swings closed. The landlord’s son however had a creative dream. He discovered that crumpled up newspaper not only keeps the gate from fully closing it also works as a shock absorber killing the momentum rendering a space between the gates latch and the door frame.
Before he decided to try his method of door stopping he had to have faith that it would work. He had to have faith in an abstract concept, a dream. It is this faith in dreams that is responsible for society’s accomplishments. It is also this faith that is becoming increasingly rare.
Interestingly, only three of the ten highest paying majors appear on Princeton Review’s top ten recommended majors. The others are all open to dreaming. The point: Guitar Hero beats accounting, and dreaming beats running around in endless circles regardless of the paycheck. At least that’s what I’m banking on.
THOUGHTS
Hey guys...Long time no post. So here we are again giving you an update on my life. Here we go.
Lately I have been questioning everything in life. I guess you could compare it to Descartes' method in The Meditations. Similarly, I have decided to start from scratch, developing new ideas as to what reality (perhaps mine in particular) really is.
"Is" is a funny word. It denotes an even funnier concept: being. If reality truly has being, then shouldn't we be capable of perceiving it? Often times, we do not. Instead of acknowledging reality for what it is, we get caught up in what we feel reality should be. We spend too much time dwelling on the past and/or envisioning what the future should look like. That's where we go wrong. The shoulders, could as, would as hold no true being in the now. It's simply not reality. Same goes for ideas about the future. I will allow that ideas concerning the future have somewhat of a role in the now, however, there is a very fine line where the ideas become more destructive than motivational. Sometimes life throws us curves, shattering our most precious dreams for the future. If we cannot adapt to the inevitable changes that will no doubt occur, then we have not succeeded in living. Getting stuck in life typically is a result of living in the past or the future, rather than the now.
With all this in mind, I pledge to quit dwelling on the past and to worry a little less about the future. As cliché as it sounds, I am choosing to believe that everything that's meant to be, will be. I will simply have faith in myself and my ability to make the best life for myself. Of course, there comes the reevaluation of everything I had perceived my life to be. But ultimately, it comes down to my pledge to choose my own reality, which happens to be the now. I no longer want to surround myself with superficial people who cannot grasp what it is to control their own reality. When we live under a mask of superficiality, we are not living in reality. However, despite this vow of choosing better company, I'll need to be careful to not judge too quickly. Judging itself can prove to be detrimental. I do not want to plead guilty to any more mistakes in life. Of course, I realize that error cannot be completely avoided but I do want to live my life in as pure a way as possible. I guess it really is simple after all: be true to myself. If I immerse myself in what I view as my reality-namely love, positivity, and truth- then I will have no choice but to smile and feel true happiness.
WHAT'S BEST FOR ME
I woke up this morning with a new moon in my eyes. I took stock of the characters I’ve been playing and they’re nowhere near the potential of what I’m really worth. I carried a cross for too long and I’ve held on to the past to the point where it’s affected my present. Now I’m aware and I’m considering a new way of living without the pain and the self inflicted torture I’ve been putting myself through. It’s just as easy as making up my mind and following through with what I know is best for me. This is me now.
NEW MOON
I’m going stir crazy in this place all by myself. I’m getting frustrated and bewildered at the cards I’ve been dealt. I can’t find the time to describe the time I’ve been having trying to keep myself entertained and inspired. I have a saving grace and a shoulder to cry on, but there’s nothing there in the middle of the day when I’m going slightly mad at 4 in the afternoon. Maybe I’m gearing up for something huge and this is the calm before the storm, or perhaps this is the lullaby I live in while everyone else is working the week away. Either way it seems I have to find something to occupy my time and carry me through this slow moving, inch worm like motion of a day that is making me wonder what the new moon will bring.
2:19 AM
Awhile back we bought a new rug for the living room. It was pretty costly but it looked great and it was blue which is my favorite color. Within a few hours of the new lay down, my cat decided to claim one corner as hew new scratching pad. She pretty much fucked the rug up by morning wreaking a small havoc on the threads, but not to the point where it was destroyed. We had an instead to go back to IKEA and buy a smaller round rug to put on top of the new $200 rug we just bought, hoping my cat was merely territorial and not destructive. Our plan worked and now a five dollar topical rug serves as her scratch pad instead of the expensive rug. I also find her laying on it regularly in a semi-circle. Tonight as I was just about to fall asleep but I rather spent some time playing with her. She loves the little round rug so much. And I thought to myself how simple the idea was to solve this little kitty problem and how much happier we all are for having these little disasters work out perfectly. I wish that every idea I have would manifest so quickly and with such grace as this small example. I wish that I knew exactly which strategies to play that will work the best in real time in every aspect of my life as quickly as my cat took to that rug. I firmly believe that the work I’m doing now, believe it or not I will eventually bear fruit I can live off of. But I know that it won’t come easy as driving to the store to buy some sort of remedy. A year ago I didn’t have a couch to sit on, or a refrigerator to keep my beer cold, and I was stuck on the floor of this house realizing that sometimes the simple things in life are the most forgettable. I’m valiant in my efforts to realize the future, but I’m amazed at how much I forget to appreciate the present. I should work on that.
I HEART L.A.
I live in this town where the hills are crawling with hikers and the trails reek of dog shit and urine. I live in this town where the only value of theatre is the shock it sends to your system and not the quality of acting that I remember. I live in this town where souls are sold for a quarter and a bad of blow goes for twenty bucks. I live in this town where I find myself counting the days until I can leave to find some balance and when I get back I’m slowly drained of all inspiration and heart. I live in this town where I don’t like 99% of the people who are in the same game as me and it makes me wonder why I choose to do it anymore. I live in this town where it never snows but there seem to be flakes all year round, and I’m just as guilty as the next guy. I live in this town where excitement means a red carpet and paparazzi, and news is defined by the covers of trashy magazines that come out weekly. I live in this town where the billboards reach past the tallest building and star maps are used as a navigation system. I live in this town where I drive around alone but I’m always surrounded by idiots. I live in a town where the smallest detail is scrutinized and pickled apart for artistic integrity, but no one ever comes up with an original creative idea. I live in this town where money defines a lifestyle of comfort while the rest of us work jobs we loathe just to survive another day in this town. I love L.A.
THREE CHEERS FOR TYRANNY, AND UNAPOLOGETIC APATHY
It is almost humorous how attached we become to the things we own; how it can feel like a piece of your soul is missing when things are lost. Maybe, deep down, it is the invasion of your privacy that really scratches at you from the inside out. For a few nights now I have been waking up from dreams of being robbed- people threatening me and taking the things that I hold so dear. And one bad situation often makes you think of others- a whirlwind of "what if's" and "what would I do?'s". If you do not know, someone stole my band's van with all of our equipment inside of It (2 years ago). Besides the fact that nearly every dollar I have earned in the past..god knows how long...has been put into purchasing musical equipment, it feels like the tools of my passion are gone.
But on the other hand, the passion is not. The anger, the shock, the sadness...they all are being transferred into other feelings: inspiration, appreciation for what I do have, motivation, and, oddly enough, thankfullness. Since this has happened to us, people's true characters have truly been shown. I feel very gratefull to be a part of a community of people who care enough to try and help each other out when someone is down and out. It is truly incredible the amount of help that has been offered to us even in the simplest form of apologies. And I am reminded why I always believe in people unless given a reason not to because there is good in everyone. What does not kill you, will only make you stronger. Our band is going to be an impenetrable fortress.
And then there are those eyes. And the smiles. The murmurs. The slurs. The warmth of not being alone. It is comfort I forgot could exist feelings I forgot that I could have.
This could be a lot worse; I could be a complete mess right now. But I am not. In fact, I feel good. Everything in it's right place.
READ ME LIKE A F-ING BOOK
I have come to an interesting conclusion; had a realization of sorts:
It is much easier to live in the moment- seemingly, mostly carefree- when the moments are meaningless in the end. Not to say that every moment does not have meaning....but some moments of your life will undoubtedly stand out as much more significant than others. Anyways, I am getting off track. So, all of a sudden I am reminded of the way certain things can feel. And certain moments become engraved in my soul. Then they are over, naturally. And, as usual, I have trouble letting go of them. I want it to be like that all of the time. This leaves me completely frustrated with myself.
But really....I can do this. Just like I can do anything else. It's not like my confidence is shaken or my determination skewed. Questioning yourself and having a few challenges along the way are preferred anyways.
And I have been paid a few incredible compliments as of late- the kind that make you feel proud and embarassed at the same time. The kind that I will never forget.
Oh yeah, rock n fuckin roll will prevail.
YOU DONT BOWL OR RACE FAST CARS
If I can say everything, then let's say it all. I made a promise and I intend to keep it...but how different for me. A victim of my own thoughts. A simple explanation: I refuse to settle. Nothing but the best is good enough for me, and I can be disappointed if I want to; in myself, in the way things pan out, in the most insignificant of details. I want to be so much more- always. When you are feeling the happiest, the stings sting even worse. My emotions are heightened, and everything has become even more significant. Clearly, it is worth it because the numbness is so unattractive to me. Bring it on. Just bring the proof. And show me those eyes.