Strange Endurance

2012-03-04T20:38:00.000-08:00

Because two sevens make fourteen
and one plus four makes makes five
I would say it's good to be alive.

Listening to a kick ass drum solo right now.

And I just learned how to make a really tiny youtube video... sweet : )

Colors. I was colors once. Just colors, but not just colors.. I was a couple of other things, too. Some weird things I suppose. I had a collection of action figures. I would toss them around, slam them in to one another, throw fists back and forth. Stories would accumulate. Heroes and villains, more or less, alike.
And that's the end of this write.

Arcade

2012-02-28T11:23:00.001-08:00

We were getting ready to play a show. I stumbled over the cables on the floor looking for my effects pedals. My long-haired band mate handed me one of my pedals and another cable. I was surprised that he had brought this equipment with him along with some other effects resting in a back pack alongside the bass guitar and guitar stand. We were in a big acoustic building, something like a mall. Our bearded band mate laughed at something. His hair tied back and his outfit black, he wore a blue t-shirt underneath. We prepared ourselves for noise.

The bastard I once called a friend was sitting next to me. Foul air breathed through me as he laughed. I sat in the chair next to him mapping out the cracks in his face. He talked as if we had never stopped talking. "How can you be so naive?" I thought. He talked on and on about himself and the incredible life he's been living. I half-listened through one ear. As my head straightened and my vision narrowed a familiar form entered the room. Long dark hair draped against a yellow tank top and grey sweat pants. A female from my past swayed into my sight. She was careless and seductive. She came to me in this dream as she has in many, but this time her face was different. She spoke, but I heard not words. Transfixed by her beauty I watched her flutter around the living room. The bastard still smiling, his eyes fixed on her, invading my sight just as he had invaded my mind in the past.

And somehow we were alone, the girl and I. Soft words were exchanged. Nothing was familiar about her face except her cheeks and her smile. "How could this be possible? Why have you changed?" Many questions ran through my mind, but no answers would occur. A mild heat rose between us. We were familiar on the floor. I had fallen to seduction as she crawled on top of me. We reminisced of the love we made many times before. I had her now on her back and I atop of her. She looked at me with that unfamiliar face and that haunting smile. She even turned her head to the left and looked away from with the same sadness to which I had become so keen. I wanted her. I wanted nothing more than to dive into her and to change the dream into the reality of shared nudity, but we remained clothed and flirtatious. She whispered, I challenged, the cards were put into place, but we would not embrace. It was now becoming more familiar to me and pressed against her warm flesh I sank into a deep sadness. The bastard returned and we separated. Guilt and justification hot in my blood. A wave of confusion swept over me and I returned to a blank space.

Somehow, now in the bright acoustic building where once I might have played a small concert with my band mates I found myself in an arcade with a few friends. We exchanged paper dollars for coins and had at the machines. I shared my ten dollars in quarters with my short haired friend. He played some fighting game whilst the others played games of their own on either side of him. I disappeared to a separate part of the arcade and entered quarters for two players. "...get over here! The game is starting!" I shouted to my short haired friend. "Alright one sec. I'm still playing." was his response. The tiny clock was counting each second that we hesitated. Time ran short and I was hastened to play both defender and offender. My short haired friend too tied up in his own game to play mine. Disappointed, I walked away from my machine. Whether I finished or not, I can't remember. But, I didn't want to play by myself. What did I care anyway? It was only a few quarters. My wallet housed more paper money and I could use that to buy cheeseburgers later on. I watched the others play their games and I disappeared once again into a blank space.

Mutant Children

2012-02-26T13:31:00.000-08:00

LAST night, we were all mutants on some great migration. All of us young, hungry, high-schoolers, high and on a mission. We were going to diners, buying movie tickets, shooting lasers from our eyes and hands, riding bikes faster than light, tracking our speed on global placement systems. We had ice cream and smiles on our faces. We were young mutants! And everything was as it should be. But, from who were we running from? No one would stop us if they caught us, we are not a force to be reckoned with. We're children! We are your children! We rode motorcycles and drove cars over dirt roads. Our hair long and untamed danced as we danced. It was all too real.

And before that, we were human. We were sitting around a television drinking tequila. "MAN SHOT" I would call out and the short and small, half-ounce shot glass would be replaced with a tall colorful shot-and-a-half glass. "I hate you, step bruh.." muttered from his lips, the birthday girls brother. And she was a lesbian, as was her man-dressed girlfriend. Butch and proud. Short and loud. The drinks were poured. The men and the women-men drank stoutly. "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY I GET HIGH IF I WANT TO!!" she shouts! Smoke was not present this night, nor mirrors to tell us illusions and stories of vanity. We were of celebration. We were beautiful. The night grew tired and us tired of the night and we, the brothers, took our leave. And we were talking about girls. About girlfriends present and past. About appearances and realities. It became an honest talk, one too honest for my inebriated state and my body decided for me that now is the time to sleep. And I was home, walking up my stairs, keying the door knob, locking the gate, shutting the door, quietly removing all of my clothes, and rested with the tequila warm in me. My little girl cub crawled her furry paws up to the bed and lay with me. And we became mutants.

2012-02-08T17:46:00.001-08:00

Dreams are dangerous things -things without physicality. So how is we, the soft creatures that we are, can hold onto dreams? Dreams are misleading, that they are truths disguised in a personal abstract atmosphere. What I find weird about dreams is that in a dream I have complete control of everything around me. And what I find weird about my waking life is that I can only control myself.

So how does one control his self?

I've been out of control. I've squandered, stolen, lied, and cheated. And this is me.
When was younger I stole an action figure from a boy younger than me. Stupid.
I lied to keep myself out of trouble, but never to intentionally hurt anybody.
I cheated on a french test - and got a C.

So a young boy that has stolen, lied, and cheated his way through youth shall become a man.
The young man that made a parody of his self will not be taken seriously by his peers.
An underachiever.

True, I haven't started my own business. Nor do I have my own car. True, I still live with my mother, but 23 is an acceptable age to do so. True, I slept around. True, I now sleep alone. True, I work in a stockroom. True, I am the supervisor. True, I'm questioned my sexuality. True, I've never tested it. True, I have fears, doubts, and worries. True, I have courage and strength.

I see myself growing. Not taller, but broader. A sense of purpose is being defined. It's not what I want, it's not what they want, it's what my soul needs. A subtle expansion between the universe and me is shared. I'm becoming one of - and not one less.

So I tell myself, "If it feels good do it." And of course, if it doesn't I don't. Haha, but I do!! Someone suggested to me, "maybe you like pain.." I have dwelled on this...
As a child, I would pick my scabs. Every cut, gash, and scrap would remain raw and open. Pain was present, but it was not my focus. It was my curiosity taking over. Perhaps picking the scabs created endorphins. Maybe I've been getting high longer than I've known.

Started smoking a lot of weed. Today, I'm taking a break... last nights puff had my chest bubbling and must discomfort followed. It is these sort of things that worry me. Strange sensations in my body... But, I was in and out of the hospital all of last year.. I'll stay healthy and happy this year, thanks.
I was even in the hospital on your birthday, but you would have never known..

I'm procrastinating. Supposed to be scoring a film, but it (the movie and the music) makes no sense. So, I'm taking a break to read your blog, write mine, and mellow out for a while.
It is a gorgeous day outside.. Sunlight seems so infinite. Seems.

oh.. and remember

Shallow water
ripples
Deep water
waves.

For Aaron

2012-02-08T17:42:00.000-08:00

Aaron. My Dearest Cousin. You have given me much advice. Women. Money. How to treat my Mother. How to be a man. You've been a ghost-like Father to me, inadvertently. We've grown together, you more than me, in years.
Your mustang, blue and ageless across the freeway, would burn trails and ignite dust, a trailblazing howl of exhaust, roaring horses. You were limitless between those wheels. Lord, help me if you weren't the gears that powered the damn thing.

Something Real

2012-02-08T17:41:00.001-08:00

Something real.. It feels like that's what I've been in search of for a while. Something real.. I don't even know what that means to me. I'm turning 21 and I'm nothing like I thought I'd be. Nowhere I thought I'd end up.

"So how do you feel?"

I feel like I'm walking out of a reality check. As if I just climbed this big mountain of truths about myself and once I got to the top it stopped me. It shocked me. Made things a bit clearer for me. And now I'm climbing down this mount but, I haven't reached the bottom.

"So what's down there?"

I don't know... It all seems like a big mystery. Do I move forward with this new reflection of myself or do I use this information to become the person I want to be and do the things I want to do?

"Tell me more..."

I'm constantly analyzing and over analyzing the world around me. Constantly thinking about what people think of me and/or are thinking of me. I'

2012-02-08T17:41:00.000-08:00

I think about trees. Roots. Dirt. Leaves. Stems. Branches. Extending outward. Arms open and welcoming. They say "follow your heart. Run!" I step on their toes and they never complain. I pull off the leaves and they never pull back. I climb up and down. There's only me and my tree.

Rooted in me is hope.
I have faith that, if I put everything I have out there
something good will happen.
I have the power of an idea behind me
the ideas are in me
politely knocking on the walls of my skull
"anybody home?"
There is nothing more powerful than an idea.
When an idea is thought to be true
it becomes a belief.
Ideas are only Ideas.
Our heads make up the rest
little holes in the idea are filled with
imagination.
There is no limitation to an idea

2012-02-08T17:40:00.000-08:00

I built a complex
towering high above my head
four walls were

2012-02-08T17:38:00.001-08:00

I can't rely on anyone to take care of me. No crying or whining or bitching and moaning.
I've got to take care of myself. My life, my love, and my health. All need help. I can help myself.
All this time living in my head.... too long. I'm seeing things differently.

2012-02-08T17:38:00.000-08:00

I'm not perfect but at least I tried
I woke up to tell the truth and
in the evening lied.

Changes
Changes all around
Changes going up and down
I can't stand the sound of
Changes.

2012-02-08T17:29:00.000-08:00

strage time going

On the Outside

2012-02-08T17:28:00.001-08:00

baby it's cold outside
wont you let me in
begging on your window pane
i'm on the outside looking in

aint coming back

2012-02-08T17:28:00.000-08:00

Don't say a word
Don't speak
Don't walk away
stay with me
I know I've been wrong
before
but you've been wrong too
haven't you?
Oh
She likes when the bed
isn't made
She loves when the song I wrote
doesn't play
She walks out the door as if
she ain't coming back
Is she coming back?
I don't know

Don't hold my hand
if you don't care
Don't kiss my lips
It isn't fair
If I can't make you happy
Who the hell can?
If I can't take your past and
burn it. I'll paint you a new
present.

The Days Are Good

2012-02-08T17:20:00.000-08:00

I knew 2010 was a gonna be a good year. I felt it November. I don't know if you noticed but, the weather was amazing this last November. The skies were especially beautiful and the clouds brighter than ever. The weather had cooled down from the awful heat of last summer. November has always been my favorite month and I think last November has been my favorite thus far. These last few months have been better days and they keep getting better. I'm ready to face the challenges. I'm ready to have fun. I'm making it happened. The way I see it, in 2014 I'll be 25 and considerably successful. This is the uphill. I'm still climbing. It seems like every time I try to walk away from music I end up walking right back into it. It's a good thing.

I got accepted in to the Art Institute. Not to be confused with the Academy of Arts. I got accepted but, it seems like this time the cost outweighs the worth. I'm happy with that. This year is getting better by the minute. I feel good about it, like a rising sun. This is dawn. Time to shine some light and leave the darkness behind.

2011

2012-01-26T14:34:00.000-08:00

I get that "pointing finger" feeling. When everything collapses I want to blame the world. But there is no blame. There is no world. Only me. I am the beginning and ending result of my own creation. I have my fathers genes, but not his blood - not any more, at least. I have my Mothers lessons, good and bad. I have all of these things, these tools. And I use them for what? To live? To survive? To get through another day? I have a dark mind. Painful thoughts linger.. This is experience. But, it is young. It has the potential, just as I do, to grow. Become something greater than, even if it is in a small way. Like Bill Withers said... you have to get used to OK, because sometimes that's as far as you'll make it. I'm getting used to OK. I'm getting used to not pursuing. And it's hard. It's hard to have no direction. It's hard to live like a drone. But, this could be what I was made for. Not for anything special.. not to astound the world with what I can do, but to be apart of the world and drone along with it. To do drugs and drink and fight and brawl. To be selfish and ignorant and nonchalant. But, also to love and give and be caring and compassionate. To make greater mistakes and distances. To stoop so low that I don't recognize even myself. And then to emerge in some yellow light as some victorious hero. A hero of my own fashion. I don't want to be my own enemy. And that, I have. My only competition is me. The only one that knows every one of my weaknesses is me. Sure, I have friends, enemies in disguise, suitors, tailors, lovers, and foes. And I know them just as they know me. We are surfaced. Shallow, individuals. We want it to be pretty. I want to live an ugly life. A gritty, modern pirate, sort of life. I want to work on some huge machine with a hundred other men and live the life of true hard work. I want to pay homage to those who work so hard before me and for me. I don't want to live in the plastic society. I want to scrape the bottom with fellows that know that empty feeling, that hole that lingers in your chest when something great has been lost. My broken spirit wants to mingle with other broken spirits. Spirits that have healed and grew stronger. Souls that are wise and aren't jealous. Keen spirits. Deep spirits. Mellow souls. I want to feel some warmth in the cold. I want to love some honest woman with a soul as gritty as mine. We'll roll embraced on the dark wet concrete. Everything has been so pretty... It's not real. This is my lack of satisfaction seeping through. That wanting feeling disguising itself yet becoming unmasked. It's not deep. It's shallow. It's not real, it's fake. But, it is, and it is true. I'm bored...
I'm just bored. Bored with this industry. My soul needs more.

Another empty corner of the internet to be unveiled

2012-01-26T14:14:00.000-08:00

Stop. Think About it. I already am.
Done.. I'm done. It feels useless. It's annoying. It's frustrating. It's stupid. I don't get it. I got it once, it has died out. It's pressure. It's tension. It's stupid! I don't want to do it anymore! But, I feel so obligated to it. Like I have to. But I don't have to. Everyone else has to get used to the fact that I don't have to. Fuck everybody else. It's me I'm talking about. I just don't care. It's useless. It's weird. I feel haunted by it. I have other things. I have many other things. Maybe it's this place. Maybe it's my Mom in every other room, her voice traveling the walls. Maybe it's my hands. Maybe it's my voice. My brain? My mind? My soul? Destiny? Maybe are must. It MUST be me. It MUST be my mind. It MUST be my hands. Now, jealousy. Why be jealous when we're all equal? Though I have what others may not, other have what I will never. So stay happy and fat inside your private gate, with your four wheel drive and your warm lover. Some people have it. Others don't. I'm somewhere in between having and have not. Wanting to want not. Nothing to not. Tied to many knots followed to loose ends. Everything slows down. People slow down. Skin droops. Nails thin. Hair trimmed. I'm sick of trying this over and over and over. There was a time for this. There was a time. Now it's old. It's done. I've heard the future. There is no room for my noise. Even if it's only for me. There is no patience here. I've been waiting. And there is the problem. WAITING. Waiting is not action, but rather the action of waiting. I'm tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired.

It's just nonsense. Why did it work so well a few years ago? Why does it all feel so lost? Why. Why. Why.

Disconnected from myself.... Disconnected from the people around me. I'm caring more and less at the same time. Because everything feels the same. Who are these people? What are they saying? They're all talk. And they will talk about hopes, dreams, passions, ideas. But there is no ACTION. Don't wait for me. Take off. Or help me help myself. I can't be helped, but only by myself. My ideas clash, my attitude high. What am I? Some lost treasure? Never to be found? Buried beneath some sand? I am tired. TiRED. It's stupid. I can't say it enough. I SO TIRED. I don't want to watch TV. I don't want to do anything. I'm just waiting around in this place. In this tired apartment amongst tired dreams, amongst, tired decisions. I'm taking care of you - perfectly able to take care of yourself. I'm trying to be nice about it. But I'm furious inside. I'm angry ALL THE TIME. I don't want to be here. But, I have to be. And I KNOW I'm supposed to be. I KNOW I'm being Taught a lesson. I KNOW I'm being punished. I know I know I know. Just GO AWAY. For a little bit. JUST GROW into something larger. A place I can be alone. I like it there. Alone. Alone. Alone. I don't care to be anywhere. ANYWHERE AT ALL. It's the same. It's all the same shit. Shot. Dead. Killed. Murdered. Suffer. Pain. Move on. IT's all sad. It's all trouble. It's money. It's power. It's greed. It's detention. It's arrested development. The SOUL IS HUNGRY. THE SOUL IS HUNGRY. I'm need nourishment. It's all sooooo gray. The plainest shade of gray drenches my mind. The shroud of colorless grief overhead raining down wont pass. All this wrought because I can't play guitar? I just want to fucking sleep. I just want out for a while. I can vent can't I? I can let my frustrations build and burst right? It's ok because it's all planned anyway right? My destiny predetermined RIGHT? My choices already made right? this verse already written OK? Who does that? Who puts us here? Who drives us to this lonely place? I don't want to decide for myself. I want you to choose for me. I want you to take control. Take everything. I am willing. I've been willing all my life. If I can't decide and you wont. Then just stay here. Nothing anyway. Nothing at all. Perplexed am I. Always. Forever. Never again. Fuck it. Dammit I'm lost. Lost in this maze. Just let it all out. Pouring through me. Dripping off me. Imprisoned in this big head of mine. Breathing gets shorter and shorter. My head starts to ring with the pain of an oxygenless brain. YEA i make up words. Yea, I have long legs. Yea I have man tits. Yea yea yea yea yea yea... So bored. SO BORING. Everything out here is a wasteland. Wasted PEOPLE. Wasted time on memories. NOthing last anyway. Nothing is important nothing is alive. EVERYTHING is DEAD. I'm bored bored bored. So bored that I don't even care anymore. I stopped caring a long time ago. BECAUSE I CAN. I chose to. Nothing NOthing NOTHING. I'm bored... This place is nullifying. These people are tiresome. This job is useless. And it's customers DRONES. DRONES OF THE FAKE WORLD OF SHITTY DESIGN. SHITTY INDUSTRIAL DESIGN. SHITTY INVISIBLE CHEMICLE DESIGN.
I"M DONE.

2012-01-14T04:42:00.000-08:00

I care not to be too obvious
for that I always am
even now.
Even on "frayed edge" that
John Fucking Hollander warned me about
I'm still obvious.
Did you know I stole you're book, John?
I bet you did not. This isn't about you, anyway.
It's about being totally obvious. To the point -
something I am often not -
even now - evasive.

This is a love letter to lovers. This is a song of sweet solemn to those that have hearts far beyond vast canyons. A homage to the braves of marriage - matrimony's white doves (in love).
This is for the long haired, forever-changing-colors girl. The pierced cheek - silver tongued beast - of beautiful merit and honesty. I became you for a while and now you me. So, you must be blind. As I was and remain. I'm boasting you to the highest praise. For you, there shall be no other praise worthy. High up on some great steep I will shout down for you, toward you.
Will you ever hear me?

So to evade is to wash away what I really want to say. Growing in me are many personalities - all disillusioned and honest liars. They speak for you, they speak for me.*
One of these souls reads you in black forms. Exciting your words into inspiration, for that, you truly must be. Every sentence in your poems, though simple, extends complexities beyond the reach of any man. That it is true, the woman in you. She's a loving soul. A spirit worth no dollar, but of a million verses of gold. I'm mean to you, because somehow I love you. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of myself. I'm afraid that my sensitivity has gotten in the way. That I'm becoming less-than a man. And I'm afraid it is true. Though, I am in love with you. This is not weakness, my nerves grow stronger day by day and in Gods name I pray for you, love. Majestic lady, hear me not as a weak man, but as a man than had been weakened and grew mighty out of gloom - though, different.

I tell you to stay away because it is honest. I tell you to stay away because it's fair. I tell you to stay away because I am unaware of your exact intentions, but I know you. I know what you want. I can't succeed in this. I have my own fight to carry out. I wont be caught in what ifs. I wont strive toward anything. I will only be in love and out of sight, thus out of mind.

I want to tell you the truth, but I'm so scared. And Proud of that fact. So what.

*My usage of commas has become absurd.

Blaine Counter is

2012-01-14T04:12:00.001-08:00

lost in theory.

My Own

2012-01-03T16:37:00.000-08:00

The year is here. The year of the great the Dragon. 23 years ago I was born. I've been looking forward to this year as my year. A year where I can aspire toward something more - or less.

Twenty three. I look back on all that I have done. Things I have said, mistakes I've made, friends I've gained and lost, lessons learned... all chapters begin and end. To me, 2012 represents the grand opportunity of starting again. Of collecting the trials and tribulations of the past and observing them as a shore boarded sailor observes the storm still at sea. "I was there." So much has happened... I feel it longingly. It's a sad and true mystery of events gone now. All I can do is move on. I am a bull going on forever. Peering at the vast collection of works both complete and unfinished I see many inconsistencies in my progress. Two steps forward - three steps back. My drawings mere doodles on doodles. Endless doodles... feelings, none the less. Curious musical experiments and ideas laying about either in my mind or on my hard drive. Poems written.. some charged with emotion - others soulless and dull. All apart of a much larger experience - the experience of me. I've been wrong many times, I've been wronged by a few. It's the things that I got right which I emphasis with a more profound understanding (of self and others).
I came across a small notebook. Inside was my resolution for 2011. The date was set in early January. It listed everything I wanted to change about myself (at that time) throughout the course of the upcoming year. I read the entire list and took a moment to reflect. I thought something along the course of, "I wrote this in 2011 expecting to make all of these changes.. and here I am doing the same things and it's the middle of November! What happened?" I don't believe in the excuse "Life gets in the way." Life isn't something to get in the way of. Life is a constant. Nothing gets in life's way. Not even death. There is life in death. Death is not evil just as life is not necessarily good. But, they can't exist without each other. The changes I wanted to make couldn't have taken place without acknowledging that change was needed. So maybe I felt I didn't need to change. Or maybe I felt as if I could not. The feeling that swept over me once I had read that list couldn't have happened had I not written it down. What made me evaluate my myself was when I realized that I was feeling a that moment everything I felt when I made the list and then some. So something changed... not necessarily a good change, but a change indeed.
I can wasted no time blaming the past for who I am today. The past is an apparition come and gone. I am a constant, arguably so. The difference between the past and me is I can change - the past cannot (at least not yet. I'm sure the men in white lab coats and their funding associates are working hard at changing that fact). Change doesn't come easy. "Anything worth it hurts a little bit." A good piece of advice I picked up from a song. So I'm patient.. always have been. Asserting assertion into my life. Picking up the pieces. Completing tasks. I'm a better communicator. I read into peoples characters very deeply. I'm polite. Moderate. Consistently improving. I complete tasks. I lead myself toward good places. I am my own man. And I'm honest with myself. I'm happy. Thanks.

2011-12-02T11:23:00.000-08:00

I should keep one of these things with me at all times. That way when ever I get ideas I can jot them down quickly here.

Recently, I've learned that my preferred medium of writing (quickly) is via keyboard. I love hand writing certain thoughts and poems (using poems loosely), but typing is almost... second nature. It's been integrated into expressive traits. This must be through circumstance of being born in the computer age. My generation, and one before me, were a part of that great transition where computers were readily available for the new-wavers and still a gray mystery to the old-schooled. My mother, for instance, doesn't know jack about computers (or pretends not to). She is always asking me for help, she operates in waves of curiosity and insecurity when it comes to computers. For a time this frustrated me, but I came to a greater understanding of her struggles once I learned more about my great conveniences. It's easy being 23 in the 20th century. Everything is laid out in front of you. "How do you tie a knot?" "How do you give a massage?" "How do you sing?" One can almost guarantee that any question someone may have has already been adhered to the sticky walls of the internet (and, yes, they are very sticky). It may not be in English, it may not be worded the same way you would word it, but it has most likely already been asked. This isn't to say there is nothing left to be said or asked, but that there is going to be that much more to be questioned! Now that our puny species has come this far, our apex, we will continue to out-do ourselves by creating even more conveniences, more readily available information with ingenious practical ways to access said information. The "push-button" mentality has become greater. Search, find, devour. We are hunters and gatherers of the 20th century. We need not nutrition for our bodies any longer, flesh is now obsolete. We hunger now for vanity. This is the era of beautiful us. "Look at what WE have done, Great Universe! Look at us now!" It is a beautiful thing living in the future. Magic is real. Sustenance is possible. Immortality is just beyond the horizon (very advanced nano-technology will take care of those too quickly diminishing cells of ours). Quantum gravitation is here! We can make shit float!! What a rush of intense feeling I had when the assumed scientist placed a smoking disc atop a circular track, to see the disc floating there "locked in Quantum space." A flick of his finger and the disc raced above the track about an inch high. Possibility is here.

One morning, traveling from a small town to a larger town with a small city to a larger city with a small town, I began to get sick. I went from a warm bed, to a cold bathroom, to a warm showers, back to the bedroom, to a even colder outside, on to a very warm bus, to a cold bart station, to a warm bart train, continued on long cold walk to work, and finally to a mild stockroom. See the pattern yet? No wonder I was getting sick, my body is startled by these changing conditions! So now I leave the house wearing enough clothes to only feel one thing: cozy.

Recorded some songs the other night.. A session of live songs sung here in my bedroom. A comfortable setting for me.. alone in a dim lit warm space. Wearing the clothes that fit me best with a blonde guitar that buzzes and sings with the sweetest harmony. The buzz used to annoy me until I realized it wasn't the guitar that was buzzing, but buzzing because of me. So I changed my tune.. I play her differently and she sings to me. Very sweetly, the blonde guitar. Gave the redhead away to my sister. It wasn't until I gave it away that I realized how sweet she is. I played her softly against my chest and we sang together in the same breaths. Me and the redhead guitar. The brunette lost her strings because of a broken nut. I tried to repair it, but had purchased the wrong replacements. Now she's just hanging around, strings unbound. Went and bought a Frankenstein. A Fender-Johnson hybrid. Hums nicely. The Ibanez bass is quiet these days, but we play around every now and then. And the classic keeps me entertained.

Feeling pretty good about myself these days. Breaking bad habits down bit by bit. I've gone one week without a certain couple of poisons. Come one week two! Also changing my diet. Watched a documentary last night called Forks Over Knives. Very informative. I suggested anyone interested in bettering their health should watch that particular peice of work.

The night is dead and the day has begun. Off to have some fun.

2011-11-30T20:13:00.001-08:00

Always Greener

2011-11-26T00:40:00.001-08:00

always will be.

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Zodiac Shit

2011-11-19T12:53:00.000-08:00

Eh.. Listening to new music today, mate. In an Australian accent on a dirty beach. Waiting on still corners to meet Mr. Flash. Anywho, drugs are bad. How about you?

Under a freeway

waiting for a train

In my bedroom

laying on my bed

an abandoned house

by wayfaring tress

name tag elephants

the smallest mushrooms

my feet in the sand

sun shining down on me

bigger things up ahead

better drinks to be had

treasuring the memories

all the faces I've seen

someone was always there

walking with me

underneath a freeway

hanging out with my shadow

The Accused

2011-11-11T17:10:00.000-08:00

If I died today, I would be ashamed. Assured that my God would forgive me for the troubles I created. Approaching the lovely gates in awe as the accused, and, the accuser points his red fingers at me.

"He!" would he scream. "He is the child of yours that has disobeyed! That has lied! That has cheated his way! He! The uncanny soul that has drought of selfishness and not one ounce of pure honesty has dripped from his lips! He!" I would stand accused. My eyes large. Beckoning in trembling patience as the accuser jabs his crooked fingers at me. My body would be no more. Only a airy soul. And on some grand throne of which gold was born and pearl was inspired, the white-bearded judge. A smirk on his lips, eyes brows fashioned into a questionable state. He listens to the accuser, as he has listened time and time again, he listens to the red fingered hand, he listens to my trembling, he listens nothing between it all - and hears every thing. "He!" I stand. "He!" I shake. "He!" I stumble.
"He!" I interrupt.. "Have I not loved? Have I not toiled with hearts in the absence of emotion? There I found not love, but nothing. And that was all I found. Nothing was there when there wasn't love! I felt nothing.. But before then, before the passions of sin and the dangers of passion were invoked into me, was I not ignorant and loving? Did I not care with the tenderness of a man? I grew into a boy! And here, I stand, accused! I felt nothing when she was taken away!"

"STOP!" calls the judge.

"This has gone on long enough. You, son, were given only circumstance. Never coincidence. That is why you are here now. Not by coincidence, but because of circumstance. Do you know why you're here?"

My blank face sweeps into a puzzled stare.

"You, son, are here because everybody comes here. You are not the only one. You are not alone. Everyone must fall. You, son, have fallen no harder than I."

"..Than you?"

"Than any! We all suffer the same pain. We are tormented only by ourselves. You have been accused before, young man. You have been your biggest accuser, thus far! He..!" The judge points to the red fingered man,"He has accused you no more than you have accused yourself. Less, in fact. For you had to live in that body, on that rock. It is true, you are selfish. But, necessarily so. As a fish is selfish to eat another. As the ocean is selfish to the desert. You, young man, were merely irresponsible. ..and doubtful. You're doubt clouded your judgement, plagued your well being. Fear! Fear was your demon! Fear haunted you, caressed you, distressed you, and turned you to turmoil. It is true, I assigned fear to you. And, at times, you fought with courage. You held your head high with tears in your eyes. And at others you folded. Defeated."

The red fingered man sighed.

"Boy" said the judge "I am not your judge. I am your conciseness. I've spoken to you many times and many times you did not listen. In the end, you learned the ultimate lesson in the only way that your circumstance would allow."

A silence lingered.

"Boy" refrained the judge. "I will let you live. And you will live happily if you allow yourself to be so."

"But he!!" started the red fingered man.

"Silence!" The judge boomed. "The boy has learned but one lesson. He shall return to his Earth and he shall remain.. ..until he has learned his final lesson or until he is no longer fallible. If you continue to make mistakes, and you will make a few, you are to return here and we will continue this case and rest on a decision. Is that understood, boy?"

"Yes.. yes, sir."

"Then be gone. You will awake and you will continue your work. Goodbye"

A brilliant light shone from the judges throne and at once all was white. The boy aroused from his sleep. The morning was dark and pure. Red lights indicated the time: it was 4:42am. He felt as though he had slept for 100 nights. He was relieved to be in his bed. A nervous calm crept up his spine. He soothed his aching body with his hand and discovered a scar that had not been there before atop his head.

2011-11-11T15:46:00.000-08:00

We could of have a house
a place to call our own
you would be in the living room
watching television
stoned.
I would be in the bedroom
or guestroom
or garage
playing guitars
or drums.
Every day, I would serenade you with noise
and you would get annoyed.
Soon I would join you
and feel you warmly in my arms
your hair would sleep on my chest
my chin perched on your skull.
This gentle embrace could last forever
to the soundtrack of my noisy serenade.

We might have had a dog
and named him some incredible name
a husky or a terrier
lazy and untrained.
He'd lick our noses
no matter where we've been
no matter what we've done.
He would have been our first child
a hairy son.
We would have moments in the kitchen
lingering around the fridge
microwaving many dinners
until romance inspired a home cooked meal.
Some wild soup with corn and beef
paper thin cornbread.
A metaphor for casserole
passed down by many of your Mothers.
I would take your hand, dear
and stir myself in with your recipe.
Laughing in the oven.

2011-10-29T00:25:00.000-07:00

It's a lot like this
sometimes.
I feel the need to (just)
do.
And I do.
Not just
but,
because
I can
and I should
so,
I do.

There's never really
a stopping point.
(But) If there was
I would not stop there.
If I did
(however)
I would not want to
stay there.
I would not want
to want
at all..
..and this is me

a lot like this
sometimes.

Buried

2011-10-27T23:57:00.000-07:00

Meet my Demons

Haunting me for years

I buried them

at my feet

and left them to the sand

to one day wash away

San Francisco

2011-10-24T01:03:00.000-07:00

If you
asked me
what
San Francisco
was like
I would
respond...

Add caption

Butterfly

2011-10-23T23:55:00.001-07:00

This is a butterfly
inspired by the phrase
"biracial butterfly"
A phrase deemed
onto me by
a very attractive brown skinned
girl.
I think she's crazy
though.

Me

2011-10-23T23:53:00.000-07:00

This is me.
This is what I look like when
I am on break
taking photos of
myself.
My head is
always
in the clouds.
I like it up there.

2011-09-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

The feeling that I'm searching for something has yet to leave me. There's this constant want that my thoughts are pulled toward. Love, friends, money, my own apartment. My mind lingers in this state of wanting. This wanted is partnered with fear. Fear has been fed to me, as if to replace supplemental nutrients. I live in a fear based reality. Everything scares me. Things scare me because I let my mind wander down paths that aren't necessarily true. And for the first time, I spelled necessarily without using spell check. Twice now. I read a poem, it taught me not to identify with my thoughts. I am not my thoughts. Mostly, they are ideas. It's my choice to become the idea. Another program helped me realize that my mind isn't healthy. This is probably because my body isn't healthy. I'm a junk food addict. I eat shit, I become shit. I need colors. Colors to help me breathe. Colors to help me relieve this want. Replace the want with the food from the soil. Replace vanity with rich herbs. Subtract silence, multiply laughter. I am in the room. Where is my mind? The term "losing your mind" seems to take a more literal shape the further I reach. I feel that even in my attempts to not search, I am searching to not search. I am looking to not look. Change must occur within me.

Oh tonight.

2011-09-14T02:52:00.000-07:00

In this moment I am self conscious.

My back is arched forward

bringing my head closer to the dim

back lit computer screen

Cozma, the love of my life

the cat

is at the foot of the bed

her nights are calm here in my room

This place is her haven

the warm fortress of peaceful rest and solitude

a luxury for most street cats

who am I to disturb her from her slumber?

her life seems so much more important than mine

Moments ago my room went black

like a dark sheet suddenly blanketed my walls

there was no light

and in an instant the light returned

only to be taken away again

returned

and taken away

I sprang to my feet curious and

deeply terrified

the other day I thought that I had been victim of

an alien abduction

"Could this be the conclusion?"

I thought

A strange static sound could be heard outside my window

so I ran to the kitchen to catch of view of the street

Street lights were flickering on and off

Lights outside of house and apartments teased on and off

I sat and stared in awe and utter confusion

Is this some elaborate robbery?
The idea wouldn't settle in me
I hadn't the idea
I glanced over to my Mother
who was asleep on the couch
and returned to my room
that was moments ago
Since then I've experimented with an online
dating site
and realized I'm terribly afraid of dating
What do I have to offer?
Surely there are more interesting people than me
You deserve to talk to them
I'll keep to myself
I'm a fly on the wall
a bad habit I get from my Mother
I observe and buzz around
The fly is scarcely welcome
is swatted at, killed, for doing what it does best
Flying.
A purple tarp lays on my floor
Atop it are containers of paint tubes,
paint brushes
and a few items I've been painting
A couple canvases
A couple soda cans
A couple of guitars
and a milk carton.
This is my life tonight.
Closed off in this tiny world I've built,
relishing prophecies I've foretold
of myself.
How I'll die, mostly.
My heart has been bothering,
I get so deep into thought that I forget to breathe
my temples blush with pain and I know I'm close
So I breathe slow
and feel my heart skip beats
wildly.
Pumping in no sort of sequence
and then in sequence.
It feels as if my heart has been pumping harder than usual these last few days
I'm happy it beats at all.

2011-02-07T03:35:00.000-08:00

Hello again, blank page.

Freewrite begin now. This is Monday. I am awake. It is 3:18am. I'm awake because I was asleep and then you woke me up to tuck me in. And now I'm awake. Usually when people are getting tucked in, they are being prompted to go to sleep. Of course, my body chooses to resist. Had another vision last night. These visions, only in the darkness of your room, are fun, magical, little adventures.

Last night's vision-venture started here on Earth. Where I was pulled from where I lay, through the roof, and into the sky. Above the house, the town, the county, the region, the state, the country, and eventually the globe then out into the vast black and colorful space. Here patterns danced. Patterns of rhythm and melody bounced along this astral plane as I soared with them. Red, green, gold, squares, triangles, stars.

I had a great English teacher. She made us sit and free-write for 15 minutes at the beginning of every class. Just sit and write. "Keep writing" she would say. We weren't supposed to stop.

Wtf... I want to sleep.

2011-01-30T08:04:00.000-08:00

My mother taught me not to talk about issues at home to other people. I used to think of it as some form of respect for the family. Now, as a young man, I reflect on what my mother taught me as a young child.

It seems we've always had money issues. One after the next. A constant mountain of bills building higher and higher. Less income than outcome. She was a single mom, after all. There's only so much one soul can do.. She gave up much for Azhara and I. More than I know, of that I am sure.

I remember nights in San Francisco when she would paint in the kitchen. The darkly lit room accompanied by moody music and warmth. She would lay paints out for me and I would paint, too.

I remember being knee height and getting lost at the mall.

I remember all of my scoldings. She'd spank us if we misbehaved. She'd use her hands or a belt. I recall the use of a wire hanger as well.

Wrought by family dysfunction, Azhara and I were raised to be independent.

I have a lot on my mind. I bet my girlfriend is sick of that phrase. I've got a lot to say but, my lips are usually zipped shut. To me, talking is all about timing. Lately, I haven't found the time to really talk about what's going on. So, I'm reverting to writing again. A friend told me, "I don't like reading your blog because it's so depressing." Well cheer up, buttercup. Life isn't always a hand basket of flowers. So what's really going on.. I'm twenty-two. I share a bedroom with my sister. I supervise the stockroom of a glorified furniture store. I've been out of school for 5 years now..
When I was a child, I knew what I wanted to be. "I want to be a rocket scientist!" I would exclaim. Then I had no idea for a long time. Then I wanted to be a musician. Though I poses some musical ability, it seems the rock star life will have to be put on the back burner. It's turned into something dark. My mother encourages my talents but, I can tell she secretly resents it. I feel like my girlfriend does the same. I can't blame them.. I put so much time into something so surreal that I forget to care of myself and the people around me. Frankly I'm embarrassed. I've made a joke out of myself... I made it so clear that music was the only gift I could give. The sounds, the feelings, the enchantment, and the mystery of music. It's like black-magic. But it doesn't work on everybody... "I'm not giving up." I have to remind myself. Life has to happen.
I have a lot on my mind... I'm learning who I am whilst the girl I love is learning who she is. I'm learning of who I am to her. We've known each other for 2 whole years now and we're seeing the each other for who we really are. I haven't been impressed with myself so, why should she feel any different. I lack something that she craves.. a smile or a sense of humor. I used to laugh a lot. I still do. She wants a silly guy. I haven't shown her how silly I can be. She wants someone to protect her. I look like a matchstick. She wants me to talk with her openly, discuss what's on my mind when it's on my mind. But I look at her and lock up. I can't stand it and niether can she. We have communication issues. I read in this fucking "Sextrology" book that a characteristic of Sagittarius woman is that once they learn you have issues, you're forever a loser in their book. It said she seeks a self-made man, or an athlete, or some thing like a librarian with a huge dictionary... She told me she didn't think I'd fight for her if she was ever in the position of leaving. I told her she doesn't understand me at all. Sometimes she gets this look of... disappointment? Frustration? I don't know.. but she rolls her eyes all over me. Like nothing I say could make it right. I throw in some smooth gestures and tell her she's beautiful but, it's like she doesn't believe me. I tell her I don't care about the make up on her face, it's her I want. She's such a beautiful girl, I'm trying to keep it together before some man or woman sweeps her away. Since she's bisexual, I feel like I have to work twice as hard to give her what she needs; the strength of a man, and the compassion of a woman. She needs some sort of satisfaction that I don't understand.. I notice. Sometimes, it drives me up the fucking wall. Somedays, it's the only thing I think about. We have a communication problem. If it's not spoken, it will remain broken.
I have a lot on my mind. My mother has been asking me for money. I feel like shit because I haven't seriously helped out with finances. I've been watching her struggle.. Indulging myself. I feel like such a greedy, selfish child. My sister and I argued out how selfish of a person I was just a couple of weeks ago. Yelling, shouting, cursing at each other as we drove up to the sad apartment. This reminded me of the most recent Christmas where my mother, my sister, and I spent half the morning arguing and crying. Not exactly the Christmas cheer I had in mind but, oh well.. This is the hand I've been dealt. Where there is a lack of tradition there is an abundance of disappointment. My goal was once to play music, get famous, and buy a house for my mom. Now I don't know anymore.. I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm going to do. I've been spending my time trying to make other people happy.. So much that I forget to make myself happy. And if you're reading this and you're not happy, do what you need to do to get happy. Even if it means closing your browser and discontinuing to read my sad little blog. If singing makes you happen, do it. If dancing makes you happy do it. If stripping makes you happy, do it. If fucking all night makes you happy, be safe. If being miserable makes you happy... you might have a chemical deficiency or something.
I'm going to play my guitar. I'm going to sing in front of strangers. I'm gonna dance off and on rhythm. I'm gonna flirt. I'm going to pay everyone back. I'm going to go to school. I'm going to talk about shit that makes me angry. I'm going to punch a bunch of random shit when I'm angry. I'm not going to take any bullshit from any bullshitter. I'm not gonna let some douche bag call my girlfriend a "dumb bitch." I'm not going to let go even if you tell me to.
Today is a new day. I can start this triumphant pivot toward being a better me when ever I want. Truth is, it's started. I've fucked up soo much but, that's ok. Can't have the good stuff without the bad stuff.

2010-12-28T12:04:00.000-08:00

Lost my phone on the Bart. Rather, I left my phone on the Bart. That was two days ago. Today and right now I'm sitting on Tali's floor listening to a CD I made from Omar's music library for Laura and I to enjoy. However, Laura is at work and is not enjoying it with me. I have a smoke and alcohol hang over from last night. Not to mention that stuffy and nauseating feeling you get when you sleep too long. My shoulders are a little tense and my neck is stiff. This is all right now. Present life.

Everything we do, as people, effects the way we think, speak, and live. I don't want to write like I'm teaching a lesson or writing this out for someone. This feeling of someone "looking over my shoulder" has made it hard to write, think, or do anything without feeling judged. But why should I care? I'm judged every day in every way. Whether it be my girlfriend or my peers. Someone is creating there own summary of my being on a daily basis. I also can create and deal judgement.

With growth comes transition. I'm facing a time of reflection. In everything I do I see two faces. I reflect on this. I feel selfish most of the time and it haunts me. A ghost hanging over my head. I feel guilt. I feel shame. And I turn to the mirrors of life on Earth and reflect, "that's life."

This is what happens when you're alive. You face the foundation of self which you have made and judge every decision you've made, every face you've spoken to, every word you said. This can turn on you or it can work in your favor. However you use it is yours to choose.

I've been living like I'm dead. But there's a difference between dead and dying. Live everyday like there's no tomorrow... Words I could benefit from. Is it wrong to believe that there will be a tomorrow? We could never know for sure. There could be no today. It could be a constant "then." Maybe there is no "now." We live in universes of our own. These universes are influences of other universes bumping into one another each constantly growing outward or shriveling inward. Often one's universe will push and pull to the limits of one's psyche but, our forever expanding and capable minds were designed to overcome such obstacles with a sense of ease. It's not easy being human. It's not easy dealing with other humans either.

Art makes me happy. Music makes me sad. I try to find a balance. Love makes me lust. Lust makes me love. Positive makes me negative and negative makes me positive. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger. We're all actors here playing our part. We are mirrors bouncing off of one another. We are all children still starry eyed and innocent. We are prisoners guilty of original sin. We are advanced machines. So advanced, so curious, and so bored that we have to create little machines to keep us entertained. It's said we only use 10% of our brain. Who knows what the percentage has dropped to now that memory is something built into a microchip. My brain can distinguish shapes, colors, sounds, smells, and textures. This is wrought through an intricate systematic web of sensors called "nerves." These nerves tell me that I'm feeling pain or ecstasy. These sensors are built into my human skin and are protected. My brain knows the name of hundreds of people know and people I never met. Celebrities, dead historical figures, friends, acquaintances, co-workers, friends of friends. My brain can count, add, subtract, multiply, and divide numbers. My brain can sequence, pattern, and algorithm. My brain is sequence, pattern, and algorithm. The universe is sequence, pattern, and algorithm. Instead of saying that you can't or that you're not good enough say that you can and that you're overqualified. You'll never know until you try. The brain is a tool. A privilege. A gift. The ultimate computer. It only works if you let it work. So much time is spent preventing things from happening that nothing ever happens. Use your brain in ways that you've never thought you could. The thought alone bring new original ideas to mind that only you have control over. This is 100% yours. Unique. No copyright needed. It's yours. Take this. Run with it. Create a colony of people, beings, monsters, that know the true value of the mind and the acrobatics that it combats daily. Beings that can use the brain the manipulate the world around them. Being that are aware of the ultimate tools; brain, body, mind, and hands. With these tools you are naturally equipped to take on any endeavor. All you have to do is apply yourself. Say yes. Say no. Say what ever you want. It's your life, bend it.

Happy Holidays from the Santa Claus Food Face!

2010-12-25T18:01:00.001-08:00