More awesome than a robot caveman punching God in the dick.

Push and Butan are best friends forever...

Been an interesting weekend. Which followed an interesting week. Everyone I've talked to about it agrees with me, though.

Which is a waste of my fucking time.

I already know what I think.  It was challenged, and in a more effective way than usual. But everyone around me is telling me the same thing. I know I didn't surround myself with lackeys and yes-men and my friends have always been good about letting me know what's up. I'll find somebody.   

Your first dawn blinded you, left you cursing the day.
Entrance is crucial and it's not without pain.
There's no path to follow, once you're here.
You'll climb up the slide and then you'll slide down the stairs.

It's foreign on this side,
But it feels like I'm home again.

Fable

Once there was a giraffe and a monkey. As far as giraffes go, she was pretty hot. Cool as shit, too. The story of how the giraffe and the monkey started hanging out is long and arduous and I'll save that for another time. But nonetheless, they were cool. They went bowling, went to see concerts, hung out on the weekends. They were in love.

Now the monkey, he was really smart. He basically knew the answer to everyone's problems. He was always right, because he was perfect. Sooo much perfection... Like really, he could do no wrong, like frickin' Jesus. And since he was so perfect, it was his job-no, his duty to convert everyone to his way of thought. For the most part he meant well, but his perfection had a curious way of getting in the way of perfection and fucking a lot of really important things up. Really though, he just wanted to make everything better. He wanted the giraffe happy and in his arms.

Did I mention he was perfect?

Now the giraffe had a really long neck. Sooo much length. That's what giraffes do. Because her neck was so long, the monkey had trouble seeing her face. This upset the monkey, because her face was beautiful no matter what twigs she had in her hair or giraffe food crumbs she had on her lip (what do giraffes eat? leaves of some sort I assume...). It was really hard for the giraffe to bend down and show the monkey her face. It involved a lot of twisting and bending and stressful, uncomfortable situations. The monkey thought it was worth it and because he knew everything always wanted to see her face.

And occasionally she would show it to him.

But a curious thing always happened. Whenever the giraffe contorted and squeezed and bent down to show the monkey her face, the monkey would accidentally kick dirt in her face. It was never on purpose, sometimes he wouldn't even realize he did it (which is weird...I thought he was perfect). But all the giraffe knew is that whenever she bent down, she got dirt kicked in her face. Why go through all that trouble, when you're just gonna get dirt kicked in your face? Besides, it's much easier to just not show your face. We all know that.

So the monkey was really stressed out now. Why did he keep kicking dirt in her face. That wasn't perfect. That was very NOT perfect. The monkey was scared he'd never get to see the giraffe's face again if he didn't stop fucking up. So the monkey thought. And thought and thought and thought.

Then he thought so more.

Nothing.

(The next few pages are missing...I couldn't find them...they'll turn up somewhere though.)

...so now we find the monkey and the giraffe laying undiscovered, making plans, sharing fears, becoming one and having nothing but endless sunshine filled days to look forward to.

That's a story to tell the kids

Ohh noo...

What they get out of the show

60. How frequently do you persuade others to your view of a problem?

The mouse hovers over "Always". 

Dammit

I click "Often" and move on.

I finished filling out my application for books-a-million today. I'm excited to try out the whole "UVa on a resume is a surefire win" theory. I also think that it would be a sweet job. Within walking distance, filled with books, coffee shop in the store. Sounds like a win for me.

Phillip wanted me to come in today and I need the hours, but he wanted to trade and I'm not gonna give a weekend up for a Tuesday. That's madness. 

Hopefully I'll get a chance to play set today, or at least talk to Dennis about mallet arrangements.  I think over the next two years I wanna write a serious arrangement of a combo of Beauty and the Mess and Smoothie Song by Nickel Creek. The percussion ensemble concert only re-affirmed my confidence that it would work really well. Something about "progressive bluegrass" (ugh, every time I see that, let alone say it, I shudder) really carries over with the infamous vibraphone-xylophone combination and with a marimba carrying the bass part I think it should come together nicely. 

At our percussion ensemble concert last month, we had a guest artist. One very eccentric Ed Smith. Phenomenal percussionist. Potential creeper on our instructor who was his old student. Anyhoo, he played a solo that was half improv and half arrangement of Blackbird. It was amazing and completely rekindled my faith in the vibraphone. Now I want to at least attempt to do something similar. Ryan will probably be my major go-to-guy for awhile and it may turn out that I'm not capable of writing at that level and won't be for awhile. Whatever. It should be fun. 

Behind the melody the words don't mean a thing,

but every tone I play will give whatever I've not said away

Side note: Chris Thile of Nickel Creek uses Jameson to "keep his vocal chords relaxed" in the studio. Respect.

Abnegate

If there's always variety in the variables,

Is this the x to end all "why"?

I haven't felt like blogging as of recent, but I was watching Lost (getting mind fucked) and got an urge to write. I thought it was gonna be a monster post, but it turned out to be just what's above. Go figure.

Fragments

I started this the other day and decided to finish it. At 3 in the morning. Oh well...

I have a new hero. 

Like most things in my life, it all started with me watching Sesame Street.

Oscar is about to start Grouch-keteer (sp?) practice when Telly rolls up with some new bitch. Uh-oh. Oscar, who is already grouchy for some inexplicable reason, is not trying to deal with this bitch and doesn't hesitate to tell her. Telly has got her balks though and tries to explain to the Grouch that she would be a valuable asset to the group. Oscar says "prove it" so she pulls out a snare drum and sticks, at which point MY interest is piqued. Then she takes off her shoes. Oscar (who is still really ticked off...I just don't get his problem...) is like "WTF". She tells him that her name is Evelyn Glennie and she's a deaf percussionst. She takes her shoes off to better feel the music. Calling her out to be the lying whore she is, Oscar asks how she can understand what they're saying if she's deaf. She replies that she reads lips. Before Oscar can point out how absurd this is seeing as how he is a puppet whose mouth positions  consist only of open and closed (tee hee), not providing nearly enough variance for someone to be able to distinguish the vast array of words that make up the English language, Telly tells her to shut up and play. She starts to do her thing and of course she's quick nasty.  Oscar's hood-born instincts blind him to the fact that Evelyn is a prevaricating hooker and probably a witch and instead command him to spit that hot fire to her syck beatz. 

Or something like that.

Anyways, I was curious as to why she was influential enough to be on Sesame Street, so I looked her up. She's credited as being the first solo percussionist of the 20th century, commissioning all sorts of pieces, writing her own literature and in general just being an overall badass. She also has written a really good article about how her deafness affects (or doesn't affect) her playing..

Also, I ran across one of the pieces she commissioned balks in 2002. It's a piano/mallet concerto written by some New Zealander titled View From Olympus. In my head, I envision after Ryan and I get our music degrees playing it with some high school band who we suckered into getting them to play it with us. You can listen to the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd movements, if you want. They're pretty sweet.

Also, the number of the day was 17. Go figure.

That such a thing exists

All the things that really stick out to me in my archives are prose. I think I'm gonna try to focus on doing that more often. Should be easier, now that I'm done with school.

So many people have left. Jagabombz is leaving later today. J-town is probably leaving too. It's crazy. My first-year is over...

I debated on whether or not this blog was turning into a shrine. I decided I don't care. Inspiration is inspiration.

It's weird that I'm gonna go home and Kate won't be there.... I miss her.

Apparently I'm not going home until at the soonest, tomorrow. I don't even know what's happening. Not even trying to deal with it.

I need to figure out how to get my hands on a BProject EP. That's my goal for the day.

My heart wants to sing but my mouth can't find the words. How should I tell you that I love you and always will?

BP

SEW THE SEAMS

she was the homecoming, prom queen, couple time pageant winner
Hollywood dreams, anyone could see the passion in her
anyone on God's green earth would've been happy with her
but something snapped with in her

she was carryin the weight of the world tryin to be perfect
over time that weight builds up, now it's a burden
suddenly that weights too much, it starts hurtin
then that weight just can't wait – she's gotta purge it

swears its only one time, promises it won't last
but dammit if it don't feel good to get control back
dammit if it don't beat the hell out of some prozac
but if she looks so good then why's she so sad?

cuz the world eats at her she won't eat back
literally starving for attention but she sees fat
we don't see that, we think she's beautiful
she thinks if she could lose a few we'd love her like they used to do

but we don't know about the hurt in her heart
about spending every day on the verge of a fall
it's like she's livin in the sky but never heard of the stars
like she's fightin for her life but never learned how to spar

we don't know
we can't judge
we're so close
but can't touch
it's just life
it's like that…
…and we don't know about it

[so she looks up in the sky sayin]
the world goes round in circles [it goes round, it goes round]
it all falls square on me [and then it all falls, and then it all falls]
and I try to find some peace of mind
but all I find are broken pieces
and I can't sew the seams

his mama's pride and joy, went to college on a scholarship
god fearin, god bless'em doin what the bible says
stayed away from all the drama and the partying…
…until his world started fallin in
he heard the good die young
never wanted to sin, and then the good died young
first his girl in a car crash, his brother in the war
his father lost his battle with the Devil in His liquid form

now he feels a little scorned, like the world is spittin on'em
everybody near'em's disappearing, God don't listen to him
so he throws a shot back, wishin he could stop that
but misery loves company and he ain't even got that

lookin for comfort at the bottom of the bottle
as if the sorrow wasn't hard enough to swallow
alone his soul burns slow, he wants to let the world know
but they could never understand how much he hurts tho

cuz they don't know about the permanent scars
about praying every day he could return to the start
about livin life like he'd been deserted by God
watchin everybody die just to learn who they are


we don't know
we can't judge
we're so close
but can't touch
it's just life
it's like that…
…and we don't know about it

[so he looks up in the sky sayin]
the world goes round in circles [it goes round, it goes round]
it all falls square on me [and then it all falls, and then it all falls]
and I try to find some peace of mind
but all I find are broken pieces
and I can't sew the seams


I'm hanging by a thread and I want you to know
that I quit caring long ago
and I can't hide behind these walls…
…watch me fall

Good recording. Better live. Even better with a jazz ensemble. 

Best listened to with someone you love.

An Autobiographical Account of a Chain of Events

I am presenting you with an autobiographical account of the chain of events that incited a chaotic, topsy-turvy time in my life. I beg of you to remain within a close proximity for but a scant few moments as I recount how I metamorphosed into the heir apparent of the municipality referred to as Bel-Air, California.

Amidst the occident of Philadelphia I had been sprung to life and had been nourished. A lion's share of my youth and adolescence was consumed by the outdoor entertainment facilities at the park. Carousing with my pals, merrymaking to my maximum ability, and unwinding, I often partook in a friendly match of basketball at the schoolhouse's arena.

It was during one of these excursions that a pair of rabble-rousing fellows instigated malevolence. I took part in nothing but a single skirmish, yet my mother became immersed in fear, at which point she commanded me to transfer my residence from her dwelling to that of my aunt and uncle in Bel-Air, California.

I proceeded to hail a taxi and, upon its arrival, I made out an inscription on the license plate that read "FRESH" and was intrigued by a pair of dice draped over the rearview mirror. If nothing else, a claim could be made that this particular taxi was atypical; however, I came to the conclusion that recollecting this occasion in the future would be a fruitless venture, so in lieu of attempting to implant this incident within my memory, I implored the chauffeur to transport me to my destination of Bel-Air, California.At approximately the seventh or eighth hour, I disembarked and proceeded to inform the driver that I would inevitably become acquainted with his odor at a later point in time.

At this juncture, I beheld my new abode and came to grips with the fact that my mission to become the heir apparent in Bel-Air, California, had been consummated.

Copypasta'd from /b/