I've got the mic, you've got the moshpit

I'm starting a new musical project. I hesitate to say band, because that label comes with all sorts of conceptions.

I don't have much to show for it, yet. We have a profile on UG (
), but the song on there isn't exactly the direction we're going in. But! you can check out some sweet album art that I got permission to use from a lovely and talented girl in new york.




Oh, and I've also found an equally lovely and equally talented songstress from jolly old England who's expressed some interest in doing vocal work for me. Which would be really cool, since I sing like Christopher Paolini writes.


I guess that's all for now. I'd post the lyrics to the song I'm working on, but I'm pretty sure no one actually reads this blog, so it doesn't seem worth the effort. If you want to see them, prove me wrong.

give this man a fucking medal

Ever since Proposition 8 passed, I've been meaning to post about it. I first struggled to accept it, and then I struggled with how to put it in words. Thankfully, I don't have to. This man did it for me:



Please, respond, if you would.

halloween

I went and saw the midnight showing of Psycho. I'd seen it before, but it was still a lot of fun. Man, they just don't make 'em like
Hitchcock anymore. =[

Oh, and I was kind of proud of my costume.



edit: I'll talk about the Cobra concert later.
Suffice to say that it was amazing.

oh my bokonon

this makes me so happy

if raindrops had parachutes, maybe they’d enjoy the fall

i’m sweeping bones under carpets,
dusting off the urned ashes
of a summer passed.
now I put my pen to page everyday,
trying for some dark, dank university
where I can muffle regrets between squeaky floorboards,
and paint myself blue for a losing team.
my memories fading like freckles,
leaving me leafless to the teeth of the snow,
i’m trying at shedding you for newer growth.

from some ashen desk, I recollect:
you were content with your fraying rope,
your dying oak, your lonely throat--
and your greek naivety; the hubris hope
that sitting gods will let you hang with the stars.
back when you were such a pacifist,
with your opened wrists, your friends underground
and your curling fist:

i left you to your soil and roots,
watered the earth with leaky eyes,
and bid such a seed adieu.

now i wrap my arms around books and pens,
share sweet kisses with cigarettes;
as if a leaf, i’m losing hope,
remembering what you said autumns ago:

that seasons change,
people don’t.

on the distance between pen and page

I hate it when people ask me why I write. Do they honestly expect me to give a coherent answer? I write because I don't know how to not write. That's the best way I can put it.

With that said, I can hardly stand to read anything I put out anymore. It's always the same tone, same themes, same mood. And it always comes out as more depressing than I intended or imagined. I'm really not that unhappy of a person, so why is everything I churn out such a downer?

Ahh, whatever. It usually makes me feel better in that exhausted, narcissistic sort of way. Besides, I know I'm not that good and probably never will be more than capable, I don't know if I'm okay with that yet or not. Oh, and I joined a new writing site. I figured fresh influences and points-of-view could only help me at this point.
God, I bore myself.

I'll post something new eventually.

idea for a painting

a mermaid problem? by ~fromwhere on deviantART




should I go ahead with it? Thoughts? Comments? Criticisms?

And in case my intent was lost, I was basically gender-bending/blaspheming this:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matsya

but depicted as if a mermaid.

Woo for cultural crossbreeding and the subsequent bastard children!

don't cry out

I just ordered my tickets for the Cobra Starship show on the 28th, so I thought I'd post the lowdown on my most recent concert adventure. I went with two sophomores by the names of Ellie and Michelle, the later of which I'd met for the first time when we left, and my friend Jeff. It was a pretty cool group.

This was a couple of weeks ago, mind, so details might be fuzzy. Anyway, the headlining band was Shiny Toy Guns (I'm sure you've heard their song "Le Disko", whether you realize it or not), and I was a bit skeptical of how they'd be live, chiefly because they just got a new female vocalist. Their original one, Carrah (who is spectacular), was either kicked out of the band or ran away to Europe to be with her lover. It depends on who you ask. Regardless, the new singer wasn't as good, of course. She's the asian chick that was on that competition for being the next pussycat doll, and now that she's in Shiny she basically serves as a skanky dancer that occasionally sings. She pulled off Le Disko and Ricochet, though, and that's all that really matters. All in all, they were definitely good. Overzealous fog machines and ridiculous lighting effects combined with their extremely talented lead singer (No, not the skank. A dude whose name escapes me at the moment) to make their whole set surreal. It was actually kind of disorienting at times, especially since we were ridiculously close to the stage.

As for opening bands, the show started out with the electronica duo White Apple Tree. I'd head some of their recordings, but I wasn't too familiar with their stuff. They impressed me all the same (I even got one of their shirts!). Not the best live act, but they were great for only having two people, and their songs are solid. Look em' up.

The next band was The Delta Fiasco, another electronica-type band, but this time from England. Their live show was really.....intense. I checked them out on Myspace the next day and was dissapionted--they're way better in person than in recording. Just because of that, I don't knwo if they warrent looking in-to, I'll leave that up to you.

The last of the openers was a rock band called Jonezetta. Probably my least favorite of them all, though they were pretty decent. It definately helped that they have a tambourinist who looks EXACTLY like Dominic Monoghan.


On the whole, it was a good show. Not the best I've been to, but certainly not the worst. If you haven't heard Shiny Toy Guns before, look them up now, and then follow that with a check of White Apple Tree.

Peace out.


PS: I might put up pictures from it sometime. It's really late though. And I'm lazy. And I'm pretty sure noone actually reads this.

must-hear albums of 2007

since I'm already thinking about my top albums of this year, I thought I'd post my choice picks from last year's batch.

all right, here are the absolutely must-hear records from 07:

#5: Icky Thump
The most recent release from the illustrious White Stripes, Icky Thump is a technically brilliant record. Experimental enough to give it flair without being annoyingly different, it's just an all around great album. Highlights include, predictably, Icky Thump (the song), and also the pure fun/chill 3oo MPH Torrential Outdoor Blues.



#4: Cassadaga
He's been called our generation's Bob Dylan, and I'd be hesitant to argue the label. With Cassadaga, Conor Oberst has yet again produced a piece of indie-folk genius. Between his soulful voice, sparse and effective instrumentation, and confessional and simply poetic lyrics, this boy has simultaneously endeared himself to countless listeners and singlehandedly restored my faith in music.

#3: Even If It Kills Me
Motion City Soundtrack have been around the pop-punk scene for awhile, and they've had their fair share of ups and downs. Their new album--though noticibly lacking in the "punk" side of the equation--is definitely one of the ups. Nothing more and nothing less than streamlined pop perfection, MCS have penned perhaps the best commercialized album I've ever heard.

#2: Viva la Cobra!
Simply put, Viva la Cobra! is the Even if it Kills Me of dance-rock. There isn't a single song on this album that I don't love. Unforgivingly catchy melodies and addictive synth riffs combine with ridiculous lyrics and good humor to make for an all-around good time.
Basically, get this album. You'll thank me later.



And, finally, the #1 Album of 2007.....
In Rainbows
It may be cliche to say so, but Radiohead have done it yet again. The pioneers of whole genres, if you don't follow their work, you should. No, seriously, you owe it to yourself.
I'd list the best songs, but the process of doing so would be like picking a favorite child. Except way harder. It'd be like picking a favorite icecream flavor.

The best I can give is 2%

I've too much homework to do to post a proper update. So you'll have to settle for another recent poem:

The best I can give is 2%

embraced each other like defeat,
in the wee hours, we
sunk bourbon down thirsty throats
burned the chill, swallowed the choke, and
swapped healthy for sane. We may
have flooded out our love, but at
least we drowned the pain.
Don’t cry over...

We ordered out and
ate with sticks.
I swallowed words
and a paper slip, that read
like an obituary.
You told a joke like a secret,
stretched a crooked smile,
and between blushing cheeks whispered:
We’re like books. When we’re opened,
We’re red.

That one just killed me.
Still showing teeth stained read,
you mop me up like
spilled milk.

I do not trust the spirit

I'll talk about the concert I went to later. For now, have some lyrics:


I do not trust the spirit

The half-empty kids weigh down the hall,
they try to quiet their shoes to listen for
the bad news, and the whispered wars;
To know if they can be half-full.
And the honest-eyed boy in the parking lot,
sold the speaker his soul, it's all he's got;
in hopes that he'll get his shot
with his voice and the six strings he bought.

Now allow me, to reminisce
and lie about it, more or less:

She said she's no better dead,
though she appreciates the roses.
She's barely aware of the heart in her head,
this is hardly the heart that she's chosen.
But she looks terribly well on the wall,
next to Poe, Plath, Lovecraft and all;
Prithee, please forget
any semblance of normalness
chalk it up to coincidence.



The no-nonsense girl on the plastic bench
found her future in a cookie for ninety cents.
She lives her life on a paper slip
that smells of soy and decadence.
While the only thing on TV
is collected dust and make-believe.
So much lust, so little screen
In space, no one can hear you dream....


Now allow me to reminisce,
and lie about it, more or less:

She said she's no better dead,
though she appreciates the roses.
She's barely aware of the heart in her head,
this is hardly the heart that she's chosen.
But she looks terribly well on the wall,
next to Poe, Plath, Lovecraft and all;
Prithee, please forget
any semblance of normalness
chalk it up to coincidence.

She said she's no better dead,
though she appreciates the roses.
She's barely aware of the heart in her head,
this is hardly the heart that she's chosen.
They're doing terribly well when they live,
but well is awfully relative.


We're ambulance hitchhiking across the lane,
feeling out the lines on which our bones should break.
We've a list of our favorite aches,
you say you only need to live 'til yesterday.
Now you're made-up in your Sunday best:
Dramamine and loneliness;
and I look at the breadth of ICU West.
You take a chance, I take a breath.

When automobiles had cut-glass vases

something recent:



When automobiles had cut-glass vases,
and odorous air surrendered to the freshest daisies;
When disputes were settled with shotgun shells and smiles,
fame was passed out like some incurable flu,
from blackened tongue to beckoned ear.
And we,
We held hands like candles,
love flickering in the winter wind,
brickle wax dripped across our laced shoes
like ice cream from a child.
And you watched our brittle breath haunt us,
a ghost chained to this leaden ball called life.

We traded lies in coffee houses shaped like coffins,
slowed into road sides, letting dead things
mattress under us, all decay and love and musk.
And I slipped my heart into a time capsule,
spaded it into the ground.
But I close this diary like a casket:
That was then, this is now.

a profound whatever

I would never normally do 2 posts in a day, but this is more than worth watching:

Mormon Love, or Something, Something.

from this year's NaPo. April 4th's to be exact:


Mormon Love, or Something, Something.

Poeticks in water, string-finned
and swimming, Tawdry gills
pluck breath from seas
as lint from mothed scarves.
But you said, “You see,
quite simply, the sea,
has nothing on the stars”

So you dragged fish knuckles to the shore,
left scales behind like sinners,
dropping off and drifting
between Knock knees,
Knock knees,

Who’s there?


The ground, though,
had a rope hugged your ankles,
called it ‘gravity’
And drove a stake through to keep from air.

Listen;
after 2000 years of lidless days, spent
like foodstamps on dirt
You softened to the thought of stars,
not only at night, but all the worthless while.
So held a poesy rope ‘round your poesy throat
and once tied to a kite,
pressed it to the winds and begged
(On Knock knees, Knock knees,
--There.)
To learn to swim that height.

I'm not the only one

at least I hope not.

Any of you watch the Presidential Debate? I know, I'm that weird kid that comes home and watches CNN instead of MTV or whatever it is you kids are watching these days, but it's more discouraging than anything. The media is a tool, nothing more, nothing less, and if you think anything it shares is objective, you're wrong. But that's not what this rant is about...


So, the debate. I'm not going to endorse one of the the little party effigies that cause such ruckus, because there's no point in it. Our democratic process serves one purpose: To throw the American people a bone every four years and make them feel like they have a say in something. That's it. Ever wonder why election after election, we're forced to pick between the bad and the worse? Because this isn't a democracy.
The line between Government and Business has been blurred to the point where they're indistinguishable: The recent buyouts and push for regulations are just examples of this fact finally showing its ugly face. We're in a cash-fueled aristocracy, with our supposed elected representatives all bought and sold. The part that really makes me sick is that they pretend like they care. They still keep up the pretense that this is all for you. So just go to your room and let mommy and daddy decide what's best. Why? Because we said so.


There's still some hope, though. People like Ron Paul help remind us of the ideals this country was founded on. People like Mike Gravel are actually in politics to make a difference. But, Media is a tool, and an effective one, so election after election we're lucky if we even know their names. Forget actually seeing one in office.

Whatever. I'm not being particularly coherent in my arguments tonight, so I'll end this one. Just remember that Big Brother's got one hand in his pants and the other in your pocket, and that it's not about to "change".

"If you've nothing nice to say, come sit with me"

I press chalk to the street and draw a door
made of blue oak and chicken bones, but
you only pour laughter from your lips and
scrape the knob away.
Heel toe, heel toe.

A mother calls in her child, with
a voice like the earth leashing the sun
and dragging her by the collar to the basement.
Peddlerman mutters something like “Hell
hath no fury--”
You interrupt, nodding, high-browed,
with “No, none at all.”

But all I can think, as I spray my longhand
over the walkway and side, is that
writing is like coming home to find the fish is dead.

all the cool kids were doing it

So I just randomly decided to make a blog today.
I figure at best, it'll be an interesting outlet, and at worst it'll be a handy place where I can keep track of all my poetry/whatever, since that's kind of a problem I have.

I can't guarantee how often I'll be on here, since my writing comes in waves (usually). I might put lyrics up, too. Oohh, and songs and pictures. And rants? And random wuotes and stories I like.

So....basically just your average blog.
Fun fun.

For now I'll leave you with this:

Merre drew that. Lovely, yes? I especially like the detail in the herpes.