Mayday!!!

born in the flood
bloody fingerpaint sets
blackmarketed 

fresh water canons 

forget me not
epitaph 

airbrush with death
white tee's
wife beaters
button up
reattach flesh

in between the lines
outside of the law
underneath the veil
we dig our foundations
we navigate the globe
trying to find a pattern to break the mold
with a family to feed
there's nowhere we won't go

but what if we're caught
they say I'm a snitch
shot at the check point
found with his throat slit

there's spray paint on the teleprompter
anchorman screams that he's seen a monster
[mayday]
there's bloodstains on his shirt
[mayday]
they say that he's gone berserk

sometimes
when I wanna shut out this world
wanna rip up this page
wanna pour out this heart
wanna get up on this stage
and my lips become percussion
and my fists become the rage
and I pound on this table
till it gives me something to say
then I think about things that I've seen
right in front of me
that I don't wanna believe
gimme one of these mikes
let me let 'em know
the way that it is is not how it's gonna be
not if we don't let 'em get ahead of us
the present tensions no threat

it's just a fence across the path
that we're already ready to walk
rock solid footsteps
let'em put up obstacles
and prove that it is impossible
fuck that
we don't give in anyway
true liberty and freedoms at stake
peace will never become pass
live my life until my last day

it was half-past eight in the bat cave
when the cracks in the plaster collapsed
and gave way to gaps in the pavement
mayday mayday
put it on blast
for the passengers and messengers
cause this is a disaster
where the fuck are the rescue workers

not far
off pissing on a cop car
in the hall with a pop-tart
sipping liquor in the rockbar
everyone climb to the frontline
lunchtimes cancelled
all hands on deck to pull survivors from the landfill
onlookers passers-by brush of your shoulders
shake off that rubble
break free from your standstill

signs of a better world
causes we understand
failures we expected to occur
and bring redemption for our sins
safety from the crowds
in the shadows on the run
we write our own cider house
rules to keep alive
rituals that prove their worth
search for systems we can trust
rhythms we can lock into

this is madness salvage teams
can't bandage
hope when it's damaged
or broken compassion
not enough rope in the van when
world is collapsing
our mode of action
broadcast through the glass
all we can manage
donate with the plastic
scraps from the salad
hoping to balance
emotions invalidated
and staged on 4:3 aspects
just ballast for sadness
lives shattered are standard fare 

for cameras and channels stare 

no abracadabras

no faster answers
or mantras for disasters
remastered and plastered
we got it all backwards
do you know the faction your backing
it's another man down
another mother gone
child drowned
another silenced song
solitude
another kind of strong
I miss you
another strung along
missing in action
another page is blackend burned
turned ashes to ashes
dust off the flags and the caskets

we'll never find another you
despite the life of love we knew
these lightning times are trouble 

who can't count the strikes that punished 

through the bonds we thought would never break
and never will 

and never change 

and never fade
but there's the rage
of losing you to their mistakes

in between the lines
signs of a the next movement
refuge from the crowd
outside of the law
causes we understand
hands that trace
instructions for descendants in the
shadows on the run
underneath the veil
failures we expected to
occur and bring redemption for our sins

in between the lines

Hot Fuss

That felt good. It's nice to be writing something I don't think is total horse shit.

I stayed up last night till about 7 writing a paper for my anthropology class. This class is absurd.

This is the prompt for our essay:

Tonal remembers you all the way back to your birth; nagual is the part of you that was never born and will never die, so it must have anticipated you beforehand, as it is doing now. You are already past the Eagle, but just cannot remember how or why, or what the fuss was all about. Tonal only thinks, and so can only think as if it were acting, that is its only beauty, purpose, or controlled folly in life. Put on your tonal costume and tell us, in precise language, what the fuss was all about.

Yeah. You're probably thinking "Oh, I don't know what tonal and nagual are or what it means to be past the Eagle". The problem is, neither do I. Or anyone else in the class. Apparently if we knew what those things meant, we "wouldn't have to take the class, nor is there any class that can teach what those things mean."

Whatever. If you don't want to not understand what's going on too much, just read the last paragraph. I suspect you can definitely appreciate the finale of my masterpiece.

Fuss?!

The fuss was simply about two things: the inability to define and the inability to use memory to remember. These two shortcomings, being intensities themselves, “frustrate” the essence of nagual creating yet another complexity. The word “define” itself creates immediate problems when trying to articulate the second reality and memory is the brains way of refusing to remember.

The tonal’s sole purpose of existence is to apply meaning to everything we see (and “see”). That means labeling, sorting, categorizing and packaging all our experiences into neat little bundles that our aunts would approve of and breaking them down into bite-size, understandable chunks. When isolated the tonal does just that, running smoothly and seamlessly to interpret our world. But when coupled with the nagual, both inherent and essential to the tonal, things lose their fluidity, their cool. When the tonal encounters nagual, it attempts to define it thereby confining it, transforming it into something reminiscent of the second reality but in truth is just a sham, much like a lengthy paper destroys points and locks meaning in a vowelled cage. This sham comes from the conflicting intensity of thought vs. feeling that says “the nagual by definition has no definition” creating a tonal barrier that prevents the brain from simply accepting the nagual, or “seeing” the first and second realities. The tonal is capable of comprehending the first and even the second reality, but cannot understand the two entwined as they are in totality. The first and second realities are essentially a yin and yang; two separate identities, both with inherent traits belonging to the opposite. Compound this with the yin and yang nature of tonal vs. nagual and you have one hell of a complex intensity. The fuss can be traced back in part to the simple act of attempting to define the indefinable.

Another folly tonal is often susceptive to is that of memory instead of remembering. A memory is not a recollection; rather it is a creation of ideas that often have nothing to do with the thing you are trying to remember. The nagual is immune to this because the nature of the nagual dictates that instead of having to remember things that happen, things often happen to be remembered (or more importantly, appreciated) and the nagual has already anticipated (and thus appreciated) them. Tonal however is not so lucky. If you base all interactions on false memories, than you’re building your house on the San Andreas Fault line. Recapitulation, though tedious, is the only surefire way to overcome the issue of memory and truly remembering their life exactly as it happened. By isolating yourself from the distractions of reality and focusing on the truth, you can see how truth and reality mesh to become something more than the intensities, something pure and unadulterated. Truth in remembrance is imperative to finding your way past the Eagle; you cannot find totality between nagual and false tonal no more than you can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with peanut butter and catsup. Although recapitulation and “re-remembering” are essential to finding totality, they do not guarantee getting past the Eagle. The problem of memory plays a role in what the fuss is about.

In summary, all the fuss was about definition and remembrance. The humor (the joke, if you will) however is that neither of those issues hinder the nagual in any way. So in reality there was no fuss. The whole fuss was about the fact that there really was no fuss. The nagual, acknowledging the lack of fussiness becomes “frustrated” (I say frustrated for lack of a better word; the nagual would have anticipated this from the beginning and does not react so it could not be frustrated in reaction, it only behaves as though it reacts) by being hindered by the tonal and in turn hinders the tonal. The only difference from a common joke is that we can’t tell the difference and the inability to distinguish the cause and effect creates “thought about feeling” and “feeling about thought” complexities. The fuss was about “doing” to “not do” and vice versa, thinking about it to not think about it. The fuss was about everything and the fuss was about nothing and that’s what all the fuss was about.


Damn. I can't believe it. Firezer's actually has a poem in it. Respect.

At least it gave me an excuse to listen to an awesome CD.

"Her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction." Yet here we are, laughing in the face of fate, flaunting happiness, a middle finger to all we're supposed to know and be. Is this a reward? Or is it some cruel way of picking someone up just to kick their legs out from under them, adding humiliation to the hurt. Irrelevant. The twist is that in rising up, you gave the one thing you should have kept. Belief. Honest to goodness faith. And so now, you can do what you like, it doesn't matter.

It's impossible to kick the legs out from under somebody who is flying.

"Incidentally, I never wrote this and you never read it. Complaining doesn't help. Defining a thing in our rough and twisting words pulls it apart, pulls it out of the amorphous aether - reshapes it, locks it in a vowelled cage, and sin of all sins, makes it stick around. Some things are better off left whole and mysterious, sliding away."

Phenomenal writing.

Also, I hope there's a God sitting around somewhere who appreciates irony. All the irony in the world.

Why being a drummer is...advantageous

Sorry I didn't follow through with my promise of a real post on Friday. I got...distracted.

It'll be fine though. It's been awhile since I wrote anything real.On here at least. Oh well.

Two weekends ago.
I went to the beach. $3.5 million house on the beach in Cape Hatteras. From the front of the house you could see the ferry docks and from the balks you could see the beach (It took me awhile to actually understand what a cape was, but I feel like it's fine now). The house was 4 stories. It had a pool, two hot tubs, a movie theater, 17,000 luxurious bedrooms, and a frickin' elevator. It might have been the most gorgeous house I've been in. There were 23 people there, and everybody got along perfectly. There was no superfluous drama, just people hanging out and enjoying each others company.

In short, it should've been absolutely amazing. And to an extent, it was. But the whole picture was missing something. Even though I had a good time, it could've been so much better. Soooo much better.

Flash balks to the real world. Other than the lineup, the week was pretty monotonous. I ended up going out Thursday and bringing home a traffic cone. Worth it.

Friday, I got a text around 4:30.

"Abduction in 5 minutes. Black car out front."

Alright, I don't have anything better to do.

6 minutes later, I'm in the trunk of Kyle's car as he's whipping around Oakhurst circle. I end up hanging out with them for the rest of the night. Somebody discovered a Natty gold mine; $7/case at Harris Teeter. The fridge is full. We geek out and re-create Star Wars battles (Death Star, Endor, and the one with the ATATs and the ATSTs in the snow). To avoid making poor decisions, I put my phone on the table and check on it periodically. At around quarter till midnight I check my phone and see I have 4 or 5 missed calls. From Molly. I call her balks.

"Hey, so I'm like 15 miles away right now..."

Words no longer do this story justice. I guess you just had to be there.

I've never been so content with waking up at 6:30 in the morning. Ever. I've also never been so satisfied with/by a lot of other things (ohh maaan).

It was good to know I was even more right about things than I (could've possibly hoped for) thought.

Don't be mad. Or quasi-mad.

"On a scale of 1 to Kate Perry, how badly do you want to kiss me right now?"
Respect

That's unfortunate...

Try not to lose...

Philosoraptor

If a tree falls in the forest, can I still eat my children?

An Aria

Took my mind with your malice
It's the final time to go
I was on the corner, running still
Fight the anger, fight the leaves
It was autumn of my love
All the thoughts and moments winding down
So wait, again
Don't find the lies that answer
So wait, again
Don't hurt me by, hurt me by
So make, again
A dime-a-dozen love clichés
And feel the night we sang
October dulls, it dulls too soon
The lonely calling of the cars
Beating their way amongst highways
I'll find my way to them
The smell of memory and touch
Another visceral excuse to take
Another drink alone
So wait, again
Don't find the lies that answer
So wait, again
Don't hurt me by, hurt me by
So make, again
A dime-a-dozen love clichés
And feel the night we sang
Just find the moment
It's not coming back again
Your hair, it danced in summer wind
Just break the surface
I don't really know
The meaning, cause, and attributes of fall
So wait, again
Don't find the lies that answer
So wait, again
Don't hurt me by, hurt me by
So make, again
A dime-a-dozen love clichés
And feel the night we sang
Just find the moment
It's not coming back again
Your hair, it danced in summer wind
Just break the surface
I don't really know
The meaning, cause, and attributes of fall

I'll work up the initiative to write a real post later tonight, I think.

Memories

Sorry, dedicated blog readers. The blogification juices haven't been flowing as freely lately. Bear with me.

I don't know why I'm pretending like I'm awake right now... because I'm not.

You know those notes on facebook where you're supposed to leave one memory that you and the note writer share. I've always wanted to fabricate a memory and then guilt trip them for not remembering it, but never took the initiative. Until now. Sort of.

Leave one memory in the comments section of this post. It can be happy, funny, or sad. Just make sure it's relevant, awesome and most importantly, completely made up.

That's right. I don't want real memories. Waste of my time. So tell me something I couldn't possibly know. Extra points if you convince me it actually did happen.

Do the Dew

I know you do the dew...





but dooon't.

From a champ

FIREZER:
donnnt
you did 11 hours ago on your status
undo the do and dont


you just did again
you have two dos to undo
or two dos to dont
DOOOONT
-2:04 Wed, Match 11
Facebook

hmm...

Maybe I SHOULD get a haircut...

Wit

So I was looking over old blog posts, and I've realized something.

I'm really funny. Like, soooo funny. And clever. I'm the next frickin' Seth MacFarlane.

But seriously, you guys are lucky I even let you read this stuff without charging a fee.

Damn, I'm funny...

Can't stop

I started a post earlier today about all the things I wanted to write about last week. But I'll finish that later.

More importantly, IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL OUTSIDE!

I can't handle my life. Today was expected to suck really hard, but its turned out really nice. I'm so incredibly giddy, I'm reminded of everything that makes me love this place and it's only gonna better.

Music choice has helped a lot, too. Props to RHCP for an awesome pseudo-summer-but-really-it's-hardly-even-spring anthem. And I'm talking about the awesome version with the guitar solo at the beginning on iTunes, not the gay shit they put on their album.

Pent-up

I was just trying to look at some pics on facebook while consuming copious amounts of water before I went balks to sleep and what do you know, somebody facebook chats me. This sucks, right? I'm just trying to go to sleep.

False. It's Jon Covel.

He was in Greece. Now he's in Turkey? And I think he's going to Mars during the summer. What a champ.

There was a cool article in Rocktown that I read. I'll probably write about it later.

Whenever I was a little kid, I would call people and as soon as they would say "hello" I would tell them/ask them whatever i called to ask/tell them. My mom said that was rude. So now whenever I call people, I always ask them how they're doing with the least amount of sincerity I can muster. It's actually depressing how ingrained the habit is. Even if I'm talking to somebody I really care about, I don't actually listen to how they respond. If I really want to know, I'll ask again later in the conversation. Oops. I'm gonna try and work on that.

Spreak was really good. Sooooooo good.

Watchmen was awesome. Would have been better had it a)had more of a message to offer at the end or b) been a little shorter. At three hours of my life, I wanna at least pretend i'm a better person for seeing it.

People tried to not have good days and include me in their not-having of the good days. I refuse to let them tell me how to live my life.

If I ever write a song, I might call it "memories and metaphors". I like it b/c it's part irony, part spite and part love. I think I'm gonna take a poetry class or something.

I might have something more focused to say later, but right now I'm doing. I need to undo. So don't.

"His brain is always on shuffle"

Apparently I'm not welcome at my house anymore. I got home and my little brother was pissed that I put my stuff in "my" room. Because now it's his room. When I went to grab clothes, I realized they were no longer in my closet or my drawers. All my hardware is gone. The password on the computer is changed and she won't even tell me what it is. WTF.


Whatever. It's good to be balks. Like, really good.

I tried to have a snow moment last night, because I was jealous. Actually I tried twice, but the first time I got called a creeper. I failed the second time also, but it ended up being a moment in itself so I'm kind of OK with it.

I hate orange streetlights. They make everything seem so harsh, which is only compounded by the snow. One thing I am grateful for though is the contrast it can provide. Or the way it scatters through bare tree branches and frost covered windows.

This morning, one of the guys on TV3 said the best advice they could give was to curl up in a warm blanket with a cup of cocoa and enjoy... and then he sort of stuttered and was like "well...yeah, that's the best advice I can give... balks to you, George" (it wasn't George...where the hell is George?). I like to think that what he was going to say was something to the effect of "enjoy the company of the people you love". So yes, guy who sucks at keeping your personal thoughts separated from your job, I think I'm gonna try to do just that. We'll see how things play out.