| Banging on the Gong |
[Nov. 6th, 2008|05:08 am] |
I figure it's time to give some folks the heads up. A good number of people already know, but we are planning a House Warming party on the 15th of Nov. That's right people, a party. If you want to be clued into where I'm living now, toss me a line. Festivities will probably start around 8 or 9 (well except for me, they'll probably start when I wake up in the morning ;) ). Bring booze, bring good times, you all know the drill. Parking is at a premium, so if possible, carpool.
End of Line. |
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| Fair Warning |
[Mar. 21st, 2007|11:28 pm] |
Fair warning has been issued. Though typically I plan with more foreknowledge in mind, a semi-emergency has been declared. Our friend Ben may in fact be landing in tampa on friday evening. Which engages us to declare a definitive party action. This friday therefore is now officially enacted as a party at our place. All comers are welcome considering you know the directions, whether you are directly contacted or not. Bash this friday, I repeat... bash this friday. Bring some booze. Travel down. Enjoy the festivities. Friday... I repeat, friday is the night. Much boozerific goodness. That is all.
This ends the test of the emergency Dyschordian broadcast system.
RSVP for crash space. |
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| Accountability |
[Dec. 22nd, 2006|03:32 am] |
Alright, so what is so fucked up about the human race that people just can't handle their own shit, huh? Everyone wants to be friends, everyone wants to be happy and no one wants drama. Well I have a sad and sorry lesson for any who happen to glance eyes on this: Drama IS life. To go through a life without drama is to go through a life without ever being happy or sad about anything. Oh sure, you can say I'm over defining the word but what I'm really doing is simplifying things. Everyone wants to be happy. Everyone wants to get along. All that really needs to happen is for people to take responsibility for their own bullshit. It's the one thing that keeps this little town from being a friendly place and it's completely retarded. Instead of people taking care of their own shit, they bleed angst onto pages, or create situations where lines need to be drawn. Not because people will cause problems with other people, but because people will cause problems with themselves when presented with other people. That is some entry level bullshit I just simply can't get over. Why people do it is a whole different story, but it's simply that it's done that fucking burns me. Because lines are drawn, other people are forced to draw lines. Forced to do things that they may not want to do for the sake of the majority or for precedence or for a good fucking time. Whatever. So I have to ask, how does this not create drama? Sure it doesn't create drama at a specific event in time but the drawing of these lines, some pointed conversations and the effects of that instant ripple through the next six months of your life. It's more ignorant than getting suckered out of a quarter for a dime and two nickels just because there's more of them.
Now this might seem odd coming from me, considering anyone who's paid attention to me at all knows that I'm all about drawing lines. But c'mon people, there's a lot better things in the world to draw lines on. Draw lines about what you believe in. Draw lines about yourself. Don't draw lines because people can't take care of their own bullshit. On either side of the fence.
There are people on my list who will probably understand the above listed situation, as there will be people who won't. It saddens me that I'm forced to draw a line of my own, to simply choose to have no part in it. There are people coming down this weekend that I would have liked to have seen or wanted to see me. I was up until recently considering re-evaluating my weekend plans and sticking around. Unfortunately this is no longer the case. Perhaps I'll catch the next party though, who knows. It depends on what kind of lines are drawn I guess. Considering we children obviously still need lines. Some growing up is in order. On all fronts. That's about it.
--- End of Line.
Oh, and I almost forgot.
Merry Christmas. |
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| 8 Films to Die For |
[Nov. 12th, 2006|06:16 pm] |
I'm hitting up the horror fest this coming weekend in Tampa. Anyone else up for it? So far the list is two or three. If you're thinking you're going to head, drop me a line and maybe we can organize.
Countdown to the Revolution
--- End of Line |
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| Confession |
[Oct. 10th, 2006|06:37 am] |
Forgive me father for I have sinned, it’s been 30 years, 4 months, 30 days, fifteen hours and four minutes since my last confession. During this time I’ve done many things I should probably repent, but I think I’d especially like to concentrate on the last few months. Over the last few months:
I’ve realized my greatest strength is in convincing myself that I have the strength to get through things
I’ve realized that I haven’t always been a good friend, kept in touch, taken care of business or been that rock for people I’ve been in the past.
I’ve realized that no matter how long ago wounds closed up, they’re always easy to re-open.
I’ve realized that I’m directionless out of apathy. I just don’t care enough to be driven anymore. I lack the muse.
I’ve realized that still after a very long time I do not consider myself human, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
I’ve realized a lot. I still have so far to go. Even with no end in sight though, I’d scrape my bedraggled corpse of a soul one shuffled zombie step at a time. Because I’ll never quit. Ever. I can’t. It’s just not in me.
I’ve realized that I may suffer no greater sin than being denied tomorrow.
I’ve realized that I’ve never really been sorry for anything.
---
This confession was brought to you buy the light of the moon and the dance of the wind. From the fumes of alcohol and the ever revealing knife that is the dark.
Never forgive those that don’t seek absolution. I can’t be sorry, I can just be Me. |
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| Diary of a Madman |
[Sep. 22nd, 2006|03:21 pm] |
I've always held a great fondness for the dark. Night is probably my favorite time of our typical 24 hour cycle. My favorite thing to do alone in the night is drive. It like many other things presents me with a feeling of dichotomy. Your headlights focus your world. The road behind you is nothingness unless there's another car is behind you, anchoring where you've been in a beacon of light. The road ahead of you is defined, but you always find yourself looking to the edges of that light, as if by straining you could see just a bit farther. The dark always makes you wonder what's out there. That part of our brain that's still lost in the stone age is chilled at the thought of the unknown, but at the same time I feel like it brings whatever is illuminated into super focus. Where beyond the light the world is unknown, within it reality becomes defined. It's one place where I feel that I can safely narrow my view. Everything is peripheral except that event horizon where it's not quite light or dark. Regardless of what I'm moving towards, it always gives me the sense of moving towards some new adventure. Maybe some day it will.
Twist me up in twilight, so that I can feel the caress of the sun and the lips of the moon.
That's about it for now. Just more thoughts.
(The rest of them are on Myspace. Got tired of carbon copying for a while. If you want the rest, feel free to read there.) |
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| Dominion of the Asphalt Line |
[Apr. 25th, 2006|01:13 pm] |
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Today, I begin a trek north. Tuesday I will be visiting my family (See: The Boondocks) but wednesday I will arrive in Gainesville. I'm going to spend the majority of my day lazing around, but I thought I should mention that I will be at Bowling with Larry (See: The Bruce) and the gang. Anyone who wants to chill and share some conversational space with my persons is best likely to catch me there. That and there's good bowling. Me? I don't bowl I play pool, but I go there because the people that hang at the Cosmic League rock. So people need to show up. support your local black light bowling culture (They really need the support, so Alley Gators can actually GET some blacklights, heh). Alley Gators (Used to be Palm Lanes, it's behind the Sonny's on Waldo road), I think the bowling thing starts at 9:30. Information has been passed. My presence is imminent. |
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| An unsubtle revision |
[Apr. 22nd, 2006|11:05 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | disconcerted | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Blutengel | ] |
Earlier today I received my umpteenth gripe that I haven’t posted anything new to bitch about. So I sat down and took a look at everything going on around me and picked out something I thought I could successfully rant on about, with several colorful four letter words here and there just to make me happy with myself. Go figure, the second I tried to put it down on a document it vanished. What the fuck is that about? Has my inability to translate the images in my head to document or paper become so strong that I can’t even successfully (if not artfully) bitch about something that gets under my skin? I wonder what the next evolutionary step this incredible clusterfuck I’d like to call my brain is going to take next. Am I no longer going to be able to write a memo? The next time I try to write down the date on something am I going to be able to remember what day it is? It’s un-fucking believable. So for the time being I’ve decided to say: Death to the written word. Text, I abjure you. You are no longer part of my world. From now on I’ll communicate in dingbats or pictures. If someone wants to hear something creative from me, they can spark it and hear it on the spot. I’ll talk to myself when I have something I need to get out of my head, or put on puppet shows. I deny you and seek you no longer you incredibly elusive series of words. Eventually, I think maybe my head will explode. If I don’t write things down to expel them from a conscious stream of thought to something conversational, there’s a wonder if they will pile up. Eventually the pile will become bigger than my head and then well… Boom. If there’s a big bang anywhere in my near future, I’m sure you’ll be able to hear about it on the 9 o’clock news. Under the heading “Man’s head mysteriously explodes while contemplating Tampa traffic” or some such nonsense. So for now the written rants cease, until my next literary evolution or someone gives me something really interesting to bitch about.
It's been fun. |
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| Struck a Nerve |
[Jan. 7th, 2006|01:42 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | determined | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Bad Religion - Recipe for Hate | ] |
My apologies to anyone who has a sincere like of lj-cuts. I don't use them. If you don't want to hear my bullshit, you shouldn't have tagged me to your list ;)
So without further babbling:
To some of the people that know me here, the news of my resignation in mid December came as a bit of a shock. This is mostly due to the fact that my job is a relatively dreamy job. There are very few people whom I associate with that wouldn’t jump at an opportunity to do what I’ve done over the past two years or so. My choice of career was made mostly by accident, partially by luck, with a dash of people skills thrown into the mix. Most people at first glance wouldn’t consider me a ‘people’ person. Truth to the fact I have very little tolerance for dealing with people on menial levels. The three weeks I spent as a toll operator would prove truth to that statement. Where I excel for whatever reasons is in gaining people’s trust and loyalty. I would like to think I negotiate far better than I make friends but that would be a falsehood. Instead I turn those people I negotiate with into my friends. I’m able to get what I need from them because they want to give it to me. So I was lucky, I got the dream job.
Everyone bitches about their jobs. There are always problems, hassles; challenges to overcome that in both the short and long term seem completely not worth the effort put into them. We stress, we jitter and we bitch when time grants us the opportunity to blow off steam. It allows us to avoid aiming that cannon of disdain and bile at the people who write our paychecks. I bitch like everybody else, though it typically turns more into jokes with funny accents and mock gestures. Making fun of something helps me feel better about it. Unfortunately all the jokes in the world would have eventually paled to the amount of bullshit that came attached to my place of employment. Suffice it to say; it all boils down to a few things: A complete lack of appreciation, inadequate compensation and the instigation of paranoia.
End all and be all? I did not work for nice people. I was under the employ of people who considered me or anyone else under their payroll nothing more than mindless cretins, to use up and toss away like a freshly squeezed lemon. This may sound perfectly normal to some of you. To that I would say, you don’t know the people I worked for. When making the decision to separate from them I was constantly plagued by questions, but none of them had to do with money or what I would do when the deed was done. I realized at some point that I had been beaten down. That they owned me, and I was terrified of their displeasure. That when they said jump, I would not only jump but I would leap an extra bound simply to make sure I cleared the distance. Those were the very thoughts that provoked my decision. I had never before felt brought that low by anyone. My pride would never allow it and once realized my pride would not let it continue. So I straightened my spine, nudged up my chin and gave them the big Fuck you.
The next hurdle came when I started digging into how I let myself be pushed into that position. How could I willingly succumb to their variety of control tactics? Granted they were effective, but once apparent they were remarkably simple minded and lacked a certain Machiavellian elegance. Even so far as three years ago, I would have never fallen into a trap like that. I have far too much pride to bow to someone telling me I’ve done wrong when I feel in the right. The fact that I’ve been able to do that and keep steady employment amazes me, but I’ve always been able to keep my head high and be confident that I could conquer anything before me without risking any sense of self. In hindsight I see that as both valiant and naïve. Anything you do involving community puts your sense of self at risk. There’s always a chance that something will homogenize; you’ll pick up a habit or you’ll lose use of some certain line of thinking. There’s a difference between putting that self at risk and sacrificing it on the alter of materialism. The latter is what I became guilty of. I had become so busy trying to distract myself from the reality of displeasure at my place in life, that those things I surrounded myself with became more important than my pride and my sense of self. Eventually I pressed myself into a position where I had to keep the job if I wanted to keep my lifestyle. I kept that lifestyle with more than a few great internal sacrifices on that alter.
Does this mean I’ll break all my toys, deflate my ball and go home? Absolutely not, I’m a techno-geek through and through. I’ll always love my gadgets and ‘new things’. I’ve realized however that I don’t need them. My things are not the sum of my self.
So with all that in mind, I spoke the words and voted my thoughts on the way my ex-employers treat people with the only thing that gave me any leverage. My feet.
There’s a time for everything. Act appropriately. Don’t hesitate. Be yourself. Fuck anyone who tells you otherwise. Point them my way; I have a few words for them. |
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| 5 AM |
[Jan. 6th, 2006|01:39 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
There’s a lot to be said for 5 O’clock in the morning. I can’t say for sure what that is, but it’s definitely something. Especially on nights like last night. It’s just cold enough to see your breath, with a fog that makes everything hazy beyond 30 feet. The atmosphere being similar to a bated breath, like this little urban meadow (because let’s face it, Gainesville isn’t exactly an urban jungle) is waiting for something. It engenders certain feelings in a being; something primordial and superstitious. You’ll hold your breath while walking past a cemetery, in fear of losing your soul. Every silhouette is a looming figure just standing there, waiting for you to approach. 5 am is when the will o’ the wisp wanders through the small patches of wood. A time that makes you start at the random call of an owl, until you realize how pretty it sounds. Other than the occasional passing car, everything is silent except for your footsteps, which seem magnified by the surrounding quiet. That small bit of time before dawn, when even traffic goes away here and everything just stops. It’s a time for beginnings, or for a new story to be told.
That being said, it’s time for my new story to begin. Last night I came to the decision that I’ll be shoving off from this little coil that calls itself Gainesville. I’ve made some very good friends here, and this is a beautiful place. The words however have run out. The stories have been told and it’s time for me to move on and slough off the pattern. It’s not a decision I make without great thought and more than a little bit of remorse. The place is nice and I’m sure I will miss it occasionally but the biggest tug at what passes for a heart in my chest comes with leaving all the interesting people I’ve met in my time here. This place is a melting pot for conformism and individuality. It spawns some of the worst and best people I’ve ever had the regret and privilege to interact with.
There’ve definitely been more good times than bad. Some pretty amazing experiences, truth to tell. Thanks to all of you who’ve made this place worthwhile.
That’s about all I have to say right now, but I’m sure there’ll be more to follow. |
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| sky sign |
[Jul. 4th, 2005|12:32 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | VnV Nation - Holding On | ] |
Sometimes I wish that I could just sit and look at the sky. Nothing else. No work, no play, just nothing but sitting there and looking at the sky. Every time you look up there, the moment is always different. You can always pick out something beautiful, even if it’s in shades of gray.
Thing is, this is synonymous with life. Our path on this planet is typically ever-winding. Sometimes there’s a straight in the road, but it never typically lasts long and definitely not forever. Savor all those moments, and not just the good ones. Every moment in your lives is precious. Sitting there and wondering what you’re going to do tonight is just as important as that which you decide to do. There really isn’t any risk too daring to have them. Good and bad, they’re jewels in our lives that teach us, comfort us, hurt us and pleasure us. Don’t fear these moments too greatly. It’s that fear that those moments might sour or just be bad from the beginning, which will keep you from living at all. Fear is a great survival mechanism for the body, but it often doesn’t do the heart and soul very much good. Letting fear govern your choice of moments and you set yourself to weigh everything by careful scales. Doing that leads only to a tepid existence, where though carefully structured is still nothing more than a house of cards. Fear keeps you safe, but it keeps you fragile.
The more you have, the richer you are. Do not let fear bind you. Do not let pain bring you long to your knees. Tears they dry, wounds they heal and you are always stronger for it. That knowledge you carry away with you is just as valuable as every smile you’ve ever had.
I guess in closing, I’m not quite sure where I’m going with this. Except to say that I always see so many people around me that are broken who simply wait for the next person to come along that can fix them. They can’t fix you. No one can. That person is simply a swath of gauze on a wound you’re never going to let heal. Expecting or hoping for them to fix you demeans anything you could ever feel for them. Only you can fix yourself. Only you can take those risks. Only you can have those moments.
If you can’t jump off the cliff, I won’t feel sorry for you. I’ll just wait and meet you at the bottom. Don’t fear the pain too much, lest you risk losing that which the pain would be felt for. |
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| A Wisp of Fingers and a Ghost in the Attic |
[Jun. 6th, 2005|12:53 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | nostalgic | ] |
Last night I died, and there were people who cried at my funeral. The colors were blurry and all the lines bled together, behind the veil I was forced to perceive through, but I saw them there. Standing around me in silence as a man droned on, all of them waiting to watch me mechanically lowered into the earth. They cried.
That’s how we measure things where I’m from. It’s the gauge of how much of a mark you’ve left on those around you. What effect you had on their lives, and what the loss of you from their life means. Would I cry at your funeral? That’s how I used to weigh my friends. I would look at them and think what life would be like if they were taken from me. That there was nothing I could do to stop it. What would my world be like without you? How would I feel, knowing that I could never look at you again? If the thought made me want to cry, it meant you’d touched me in some way.
I dislike these sensory dreams. Not so much people and places as there is sensation and emotion. A flood of passionate emotion left transient by a complete lack of true form. Maybe that’s the way passion is meant to be.
So in this dream I’d done it. I’d left my mark. You’d think I should have been proud, but what I was really thinking the entire time was that I wanted to go back. I wished strongly to return, even if it were just to look at them clearly one last time. To gaze upon them and remind them that all in this place is not lost. That I was gone but within them I would remain eternal. It’s in their minds and their hearts that I would live on forever, regardless of which form my spirit chose next for my being. Through the people we touch, we attain a sense of immortality. As long as they live, so too does their memory of you.
These are the kind of things my mind does when I sleep. These sensory dreams often leave me waking in a troubled state. They weigh heavily on my heart and cause me to continually rethink my perception of reality. Most of all they remind me, even though there are people on this world I may have touched deeply, that through all my evasions some of them have touched me…. And yes, I would cry at their funeral. |
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| My beloved Dyschordians |
[Jun. 3rd, 2005|02:22 pm] |
The pope has requested a census, as he's currently unaware of the complete population of the sect. I've heard his prayers and answered (unlike some other gods I know *scoff*), so here is the list as it stands...
Pope- UnDave
Prophet- Clete
Apostles:
Penance of Dyschord - Anthony
Mouthpiece of Dyschord - Olivia
Quasitor and Scourge of Dyschord - Larry the Bruce
Beloved and Muse of Dyschord - Jen
Warmaiden of Dyschord - Michele
Artisan of Dyschord - Patricia
Lethargy of Dyschord - Blond Dave
Minions:
Laura 1 (she knows who she is)
Laura 2 (also knows who she is)
Kris
Tina
Jon
Sequoia
Kat
Kara
As a note, all followers of Apostles shall from this point be known as Acolytes of Dyschord. Those Minions who possess followers of their own will be elevated to the status of Apostle, whence their title is chosen. All followers of Dyschord are eligible for the Dyschord Benefit package as well as a keychain flogger (a symbol of their god's favor).
As a note, if I've accepted anymore minions during a state of inebriation, that have not been mentioned, please drop me a line and you shall be added to the pope's list. |
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| Wanderlust |
[May. 23rd, 2005|04:06 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  indifferent | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Skinny Puppy | ] |
It happened again. The wanderlust, inevitably it takes me. It’s usually stronger during the on cycle of the moon. I don’t know why it happens, nor do I think I’ll come to understand it for quite some time. So I’m writing this as almost a rhetorical crucifixion. It’s a strange sensation to be driven by an unstoppable urge. You can hold it off, but not forever. Eventually like some starving man, I find myself out there. Staring at an endless sky, looking up at stars I can only ever dream about touching. Of all the things I haven’t discovered about this urge, the one thing I have is that it has a sense of inevitability. Denied too long it becomes insufferable and I find myself like a bulimic that’s gorged themselves, only my food is that of stasis.
Every time I go out I move farther and farther away from my center. Slowly winging away and constantly circling. Whether it’s like a raptor on the hunt or something circling a drain, I can’t be sure. It doesn’t feel like I’m running from anything though. There’s a constant feeling I’m watching for something. Like there’s some piece of this jigsaw puzzle that is my life, which has yet to fall into place.
I do my best thinking while on the move. It doesn’t matter whether I’m walking, driving, flying, floating or falling. In motion is where my brain finds that semblance of solace, that lets thought become fluid. Tonight that flow of thought brought me to this knack I have for acknowledgement. That I have this ability, which borders on the nature of a sociopath, to disconnect myself from situations or people when I feel it’s necessary. For a very long time it’s just been something I would do. I can’t say for sure any longer, why precisely I do it. The only two conclusions I’ve ever been able to come to are either I’m afraid that someone will get close enough to hurt me, or that I’m still too afraid to get too close to anyone due to the hurtful nature I used to be predisposed to.
Plenty of people I know currently view me as a pretty decent human being. I suppose I’ve become such out of necessity. I was unhappy with what and who I had become. That monster is still in me though. I’m still that horrible thing. I’m still capable of atrocity, but so is anyone. If so, then why does it still bother me so much? Is it that even though humanity is capable of horrible things, that maybe because I have done some of those horrible things while they haven’t makes me wary? I have no answer for that. The only thing I can say to it is that when I look at myself in a mirror I see something completely different from everyone else. I typically just don’t talk about it. I disconnect myself from it. When pressed on the issue, I’ll avoid the topic. Because that’s not who I want to be anymore, nor is it who I am. Who am I now? I can’t quite answer that question either.
I acknowledge my past; I relish my present and look forward to my future. The best is yet to come, and when the ride is over I’ll get out of the car and move on. Until then though, I’ll enjoy my little pockets of stasis. Until that wanderlust takes me again, like it does almost every night.
Why do I drive? Might as well ask; why do I live. It’s just something that has to be done.
The thoughts as usual, were a lot clearer when I was on the road. What’s left here before you is a pale imitation of what slipped through my fingers only moments after getting out of the car. It’s a start however. This is the most cohesive sense of thought I’ve ever been left with, after a drive. That’s it. Meeting adjourned. |
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| A rigid pile of insurgence |
[Apr. 29th, 2005|08:15 am] |
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A note. My little social experiment in Myspace doesn't seem to be working too well for me. This is due in part to whenever I seem to find something to rant about, I have to write it in Word... which ofcourse gives me time to dull down and edit my statements, instead of leaving it in glorific (Gore-ific?) bad grammar and untouched. The reason being, everytime I think of something I want to spit out onto a page, where's Myspace? It's down. What a pity that. Oh well, I'll rant later. Definately. I think I'm just going to transfer all my serious rants here, for people to look at and shiver. |
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| Transplant 6: 11:10. After the commercial break, I found some words... |
[Apr. 25th, 2005|08:27 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Dresden Dolls - Self Titled | ] |
Well now that I’ve had a little commercial break, I think I found some words to express the vitriol I have for this modern day culture called emo. I’ve finally wrapped my brain around it hard enough to realize what pisses me off. It took some time, a couple cigarettes and a few on and off conversations with Jamie (See: The Scapegoat) to help me realize that I feel this shit demeans people like him. Most of the people I associate with really. I tend to let only passionate people gravitate towards me. Those people who are fence sitters, fluff kids, surface thoughts, whatever you want to call them; tend to be sloughed off as chaff. The people I surround my life with are some of the most passionate people I’ve met in my life. Whether it’s politics, philosophy, art, music, religion, video games or even fucking drinking; whatever they do they do it with deep run passion. They don’t talk about it all the time. They don’t share their pain easily, often or non-selectively. They have an impact. It’s part of what makes them real to me.
What burns me about emo is the people that sink themselves deeply in his subculture just seem turned inside out. They bring their pain to the surface and wear it like a badge. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but it just seems something done because it’s “cool” or perhaps they want people to see how badly they suffer, so that someone might suffer with them vicariously. I can’t explain that part, again like I said before; I guess I’m just not emo enough.
Does this mean I’m not “emo”-tional? God I certainly fucking hope not. If all the things that boil through my mind aren’t deeply passionate emotions, then I’m most likely instead: Deeply fucking disturbed. It’s a question I can answer though. I’m a passionate creature that surrounds himself with passionate creatures. I don’t care what you’re fucking passionate about, as long as it’s real. I don’t care how long I have to dig, as long as I get a glimpse of that ooey gooey center that makes us all real. To glimpse the pleasure and pain of another individual, that’s what I search for in other human creatures. Those who delve and live in the emo subculture not only make a mockery of that, they make it too goddamned easy. If you wear so much of your pain on your sleeve, and even if all of it is real… what the fuck is there to dig for? What the fuck is the point of getting to know someone that only seems to want to know misery in there lives?
They seem like hollow, mindless fucking mannequins, wearing what little pain they have on the outside, so they can swim in the deeper end of the social pool. Almost like they’re afraid if they didn’t have this angst to wrap themselves up in or write about, that they really wouldn’t be that fucking interesting.
Which unfortunately is the end summary. Continually surrounding yourself in angst, black and white pictures of crying faces, cutting yourself and all you’ll eventually just become fucking boring. Change the fucking beat once and a while. Don’t make a mockery of human emotion to define your subculture, simply because it makes you feel like you fucking belong. It makes you goddamned worthless. If the only thing you value in your life is the pain, then pain is all you’re ever going to fucking pull to yourself.
In final conclusion, I grant free reign for retaliation. As long as you have an opinion I’m willing to hear it, who knows maybe you’ll change my mind. This rant is a statement, and if you have something to say about it…bring it. While speaking with Jamie I heard about his few latest escapades at the Top. People calling his band Skum of the Douchebags or some shit. Thing is, no one really wanted him to hear it (unless you count the guys screaming it out the window of a speeding car). So if you’re any of these fucking people, I don’t want to hear shit from you. You don’t even have the nut to stand in the face of a skinny little white boy and tell him he’s fucked. Not only do you lack passion, you’re just fucking cowards. So if you have your convictions come stand and be recognized. If you don’t…. just stay in the fucking corner and cry. It’s quieter that way. |
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| Transplant 5: Inspiration like a lightningbolt, mind like a soggy donut |
[Apr. 25th, 2005|08:25 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | You so don't want to know | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Bad Religion - Recipe for Hate | ] |
Inspiration is a very fickle creature. Even on the way back to my house, the closer I got to give my fingers the abortive process they desired, the more words became a jumble in my head. All the eloquent things that wanted to pour forth are now doused in a mire of confusion.
I’m not sure this little social experiment is working very well. I can rant all day long, write down what I normally speak or keep to myself. It’s still not cracking the clay.
I hate this. I hate this more than anything in creation. With all my ability to despise, I so hate this stilted feeling. Inspiration hangs over me like a cloud. A luminous storm of creativity, hovering like an inmate about to be released on parole. The second my fingers find their chosen media, that creative urge falls back into a low hum. Still trapped somewhere deep in my mind. It draws a twisted kinship to holding a lover from orgasm. When you know a persons body well enough that you can keep their climax at bay until you desire to bring it forth. If this is truly how it feels, then I promise my word from this day forward that the climax of any future partner will commence forthwith, and without any delay for my gratification.
It feels like I need one more momentous thing in my life to push it back to the surface. Some epiphany or catastrophe to break through the last of those barriers and again feel that sensation. I remember what it felt like, as if something was trying to push itself from my body through my fingers. That undeniable urge to continue putting words to paper until the world made sense again. It felt like madness. It felt like wonder. It felt alive. I haven’t truly felt that for a very long time. Sensing that hiding so close behind my eyes, weighing my brain down like the warm wet thing it is, without being able to express it is completely fucking unbearable. I’m denied that elegance and forced to fumble for words and constantly replace them again and again, until they resemble a shadow of what was in my mind five minutes before.
I cannot properly express with words the loathing I have for this impossible barrier. I have them. They’re buried there in my mind. The words were there before I gained the method with which to release them. The words will be there again soon after I leave. The words are there, but something keeps them from release. Some shackle binds them and I don’t know if it’s fear, restraint or whether I just don’t have it in me to express them anymore. I’m not sure how well I could handle the latter. Fear can be conquered; restraint can be tempted to release, but to never again be able to express my imagination….
Typical.
I have no words. |
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| Transplant 4: Interesting events spawn emo heresy... Film at 11 |
[Apr. 25th, 2005|08:25 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Bad Religion - The Process of Belief | ] |
Before today’s rant ladies and gentleman I think there’s time for a little story. Yesterday a perfect plan was spawned. In an act of inspiration, three people (Un-Dave, Larry the Bruce and Myself) decided we were going to take the pimptastic voyage (A ride in the company car) to see Assemblage 23 at the Masquerade. It was going to be a wonderful drive-about that involved me getting out of work, loading up the people and heading to the show. A bout at the Castle afterwards and we would be homeward bound. Drop everyone off and then turn right around to be in Chiefland, FL (See: Boondocks) before 8 A.M. Saturday. It was going to be a hell of a trip, but it would have been worth it.
Alas, even though the stars aligned perfectly (a.k.a- we all had the time off and were available to go), Assemblage was switched to the smaller venue at the Masquerade in lieu of MSI and there were no tickets left for us. Sure I was upset. I got a little angry and the phrase “Useless misanthropic cocksuckers” left my mouth more than a few times, but I didn’t wallow in my misery. I looked into the future. After all, Pigface is playing on Sunday in Gainesville. There’s more than enough music to go around for everybody. Which leads me to this evening’s Rant.
The modern Emo culture amazes me. I find it infuriatingly whiney and morose, compared to its roots. From something so passionate and close to the chest, comes something so weak and pathetic, that I’ll never understand it. To delve into this, I should probably give those of you who aren’t familiar an idea where it came from.
Legend has it, emo as a term started around the time of a band called Rights of Spring, somewhere around the late 80’s early 90’s. In contrast to what had become of punk music, the term emo would tend towards the darker sides of punk rock angst. This begins an era where some punk bands would wear a heart on their sleeve instead of their size 12 docs. Over the course of this time, there’s a great deal of bands that would fall into the category that became known as emo. Most likely not a single one of them would have labeled themselves in that way, let alone at all. Punk was punk. Sonic Youth, the Pixies and plenty more were all good punk bands that bled their passion onto the stage.
That was a day long ago. A time and age that will probably never come again. Since then we’ve passed from the generation where music didn’t need to be put into slots of individualization and simply classified in genre. From there we move into an era where we parse out our music like isles in a supermarket. Anytime there’s a divergence in music, it creates an underground. The underground becomes a sub-culture and then that subculture suffers a divergence. It does great things to music, but I don’t really like the effect it has on some people. Diversity in music is great, but I feel no need to categorize it other than to use key terms to explain it to others.
Emo in today’s world is something I began viewing as repugnant. It has little to do with the music and everything to do with our day and age culture. Where people want to be their music instead of be themselves. That’s pretty much what this rant is about. It’s not about ‘Emo’-tional punk music. It’s about those people who feel like they have to live in this ‘scene’ and maybe be something they just fucking aren’t, simply because of the music they listen to or the friends they want to have. This is the thing that sets my brain on fire.
Online media is the worst I’ve seen it so far. You tool around live journal or myspace.com and you’ll find them by the thousands. Poor little rich kids, taking black and white pictures of themselves in a mirror, in the dark… crying. They title the picture pain or lost hope and somehow it completes this little part of their life. That’s fine. I’m good with that, just don’t tell me you invented safety pins on clothes and you’ve been doing it for years and I just don’t fucking understand. I have a little news for you. People in my generation started that shit because we were too fucking poor, and didn’t have parents with money to run out to hot topics (which didn’t exist at that point) to buy us a new sweater or jacket with safety pins in it. Complete with little eyelets so you don’t tear the goddamned fabric.
If you have something to be unhappy about, be fucking unhappy about it. We learn from our pain far more than we ever learn from success. Just don’t pull all this false angst on yourself because it makes you cool. Emo… Don’t be a culture, be yourself.
Diverging a bit here. Just what the fuck is with this new underground movement I’ve been hearing of called Emo-core? Hard core emo...uhm, is this to suggest that punk music in general wasn’t a passionate creation? Tell that to the late Joey Ramone and I’d love to see him step out of his grave and whip your ass.
Back to the topic at hand, and to a conclusion. The moral of the story? As if you didn’t hear me babble enough, is not to let culture rule your lives. We make culture, don’t let culture make us. Don’t think we don’t get you. Don’t think we don’t understand. Don’t have the fucking nerve to stand there at a show and look at someone like the scapegoat like he doesn’t get it. He does. So do I. We just happen to think it’s fucking funny.
Then again, maybe you’re right. I didn’t whine about missing out on assemblage. I didn’t take a black and white picture of myself with a downcast face and my eyes closed. I didn’t label it ‘lost hope’. I guess I’m just not ‘emo’ enough…. I’ll probably never understand or be able to accept it because maybe I just don’t “get it.”
I missed it, got pissed, got over it and decided to make a good time out of my weekend. I like to make the best of my life without a tool kit.
No Assemblage required. |
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| Transplant 3: The Big Pacing Cat |
[Apr. 1st, 2005|08:21 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Apocolyptica - Reflections | ] |
For the past month or so, I’ve been afflicted by sleepless nights. My brain functions ideally on six hours of sleep. I can survive on three or four though, and that’s all I’ve been getting lately. The past two nights have been even worse. It’s all part of how my brain chews on things though.
I’ve always wondered if other people think the same way, but never really asked. So much of my mental process works on compartmentalized logic. I’d like to think I have a pretty good understanding of myself, but I can’t truly and adequately explain this process, other than that term. Something gets under my skin, and my brain takes it and puts it in a small room and mulls it over, while the rest of me goes about daily life. I don’t know what goes on in this room. I’m not privy to the interrogation, just the side affects.
The largest of which would be that I can’t shut my brain down at night. No matter how little sleep I have, unless I’m damn near comatose my brain lights up like a beacon the second the sun hits the horizon. It doesn’t make me hyper, jittery or fidgety. It just keeps me awake, so that the part of my brain that’s figuring things out can do its job. Eventually I become privy to what’s going on. It will dawn on me what’s bothering me, why it’s bothering me. The cause and effect will be presented to me, once all the information has been rifled through and properly filed.
I guess that’s the best way to put it. Needless to say, this little interlude was caused by one such instance. The specific thing on my mind this time is that I tend to help comfort a great deal of people. Help them with their problems, calm their fears, and defend them… whatever. I’m a guardian archetype, that’s what I do, and one of the things that makes me most happy is protecting my own. I realized however, that I never really let them have that little bit of me that I help sooth in them. I never talk about how things affect me. I talk about the causes, and what I think about them. It’s all hypotheses however, and not how I feel.
Sometimes it’s due to that compartmentalized logic. Where I don’t even really know how to feel, until I figure out what’s really bothering me. What else is bothering me is that I’ve realized that maybe that’s not very fair to those people. I’m sorry for that, but I don’t know if it will ever change.
One of the other things I’ve done is never really let anyone in on how I feel about myself, or my own personal spirituality. I’ve given it out in small doses or stories, but I’ve never just said “This is how I think and feel.” Largely, this is due to my belief in a constant state of dynamism. That we beings are always evolving (at least mentally and spiritually); and thereby constantly re-evaluate and change our opinions. These things are very personal to me, and I don’t share well with others when it comes to me. So I figure, why not lay it out here completely naked, where I can’t take it back because someone read it. If I do this now, I can lash out at that fear (or whatever it is…apprehension maybe) that doesn’t allow me to share things like how the world or other people affect me.
The first thing I probably need to discuss is about what I call the ‘Big Cat’. I use that term to describe the very core of my emotional self. Often people will hear me speaking about this as if it’s a separate entity. It is in fact, the most basic way to describe myself. I am a big cat. It’s often reflected in my body language, and non-verbal vocal communication. I’ve always felt more predatory than those around me, at least on the inside. It’s not a thought that I share too often, as people often have a cross view on social predators, largely due to the fact that it’s usually associated with something bad. I am a social predator. I stalk good conversation, I pace around the prey of passion, I lust after sensation, and I crave sensuality. I’m largely a sexual creature by nature. My version of sex and most other peoples can and are often completely different. To put it down to the lowest common denominator, everything is sex to me. Good conversation, Good booze, Good sexual contact, everything. I’m equally driven sexually by both mental and physical stimuli. It’s just how my brain works, and if it doesn’t get me off in some way, I just don’t engage. There’s an area for misunderstanding here, because by get off I don’t mean a climax of some sort. What I mean is if it doesn’t drive me, or inspire me to feel passionate about something, I’m just generally not interested.
Now to describe it in terms that people might understand is to explain what drives me as a person. I feel things very intensely at times, and these are often experiences that I would describe using the term the big cat. When you lightly stroke a portion of skin, like on the back of your arm for example, over and over again it eventually develops this oversensitive slightly tingling sensation. Now imagine feeling that throughout your whole body, like something is rubbing against you from the inside of your skin. That’s the way it feels. Passion drives that and I crave to feed it. It could be the simplest thing. Watching someone or looking at something, a conversation, a look. It’s one of the reasons I feel so much affinity towards music, because it tends to bring that out most often. These are the things that let that part of me off of its leash.
Now the reasons I leash it are primarily my own. It’s mostly due to a common courtesy. Even though I sometimes (i.e.; mostly) come off as an aggressive or forward personality, I do have some sensibilities towards politeness. Because of this nature for being a social predator, people are often intimidated either physically, mentally or socially. It’s not something I enjoy; I like my people on par for the most part, not subjugated. Although subjugation has it’s perks as well, but that’s a discussion for a completely different topic. Sometimes I slip the leash unintentionally. People tend to notice this, even though it’s only a subtle shift in my outward personality. Maybe my way of looking at people becomes more penetrating, or it shows in my body language, and maybe even my tone of voice. Thinking about it, I’d probably say it was all three. Some people respond to it, others become more cautious. I understand how this must sound largely sexual in nature, but it’s simply the best way I can explain it. It most often has absolutely nothing to do with intercourse. The last thing to note on this part of the rant is that I can never completely put a leash on it. It’s who I am, so it will always show through, even if only a small bit.
The second thing I most commonly share pieces of about myself, is my sense of spirituality. I give my views on it all the time, but it’s not something I can point to and say “This is how I feel about life.” First and for most, I believe the universe is strummed to the chord of rhythm, connection, passion, perception and faith. It’s what drives us. Makes us what we are and even how we take in the world around us. I do not believe in a consensual reality. 2 + 2 = 4 only because we perceive it to (unless you’re a trig person, then it can equal something completely different, heh). Our realities are affected by both how we’re taught to see things and our own innate ability to perceive slivers or pieces of someone else’s reality. Color is the easiest way to describe this. What if my green was really how you see the color blue? We could never truly know the difference between you and me. We were both raised to view this color as green (this example does not work for those of you who may be blue/green colorblind, but any colors will do). It’s our faith in what we believe that colors and creates our own realities, but its how we connect to each other, which allows us to share it.
Connection is an interesting concept to me. When I picture this in my mind, I think of the people I know and see it like a web. These strands connected to me are also connected to other strands that I’m not. So on and so forth the weave of connection winds through us all. As people we connect on multiple levels. Mentally, Socially, Physically and Spiritually we all tend to act and react accordingly to what we see in other people. The different types and strengths of connection with a person tend to show in the relationship with that person. Anyone can look at the world at large and think it’s full of shallow, superficial and ignorant people. No one ever seems to stop and think about how many of those people feel the very same ways about you. It all boils down to that connection. You just don’t, with these people. You can’t understand their world view, find them generally unattractive; don’t get their spirituality, whatever. You don’t connect with them (or connect with them so little), that their world just isn’t that important to you. Friends can usually be found to have stronger connections on varying levels, but are usually strongest in one or two aspects. Think about all the people you know and are generally close to. You know people you party with, but wouldn’t talk religion or politics with. You know people that you screw around with, that you wouldn’t go have coffee with. You know people that you’re attracted to, and if only they weren’t such fucking morons you may actually be a little more interested. These are all good examples of varying connection. The scale just continues up from there. Lovers, who are also friends, tend to more often than not, connect strongly in three or more aspects. I don’t believe in soul mates, but I do believe in near total connection. A strong connection on all levels, creating a deep bond between two people. Connection however is always in a constant state of flux. As people continue to grow and change, certain parts of the way they think will shift. This causes them to fall in an out of aspects in their connections with other people. We all have people we were once really close to, but now we really have nothing to talk about. It’s relatively common.
The last sliver of this rests in something I call spiritual rhythm. I believe everything in the universe has a harmony or a vibration. Whatever you want to call it, we recognize this hum or not in the things around us. In the music we like, the people we know, the things we watch. Somewhere in that other song, we can hear a part of our own rhythm. So we’re therefore drawn to it. It’s this rhythm that gives us passion and drives us to connect with other peoples worlds. Within this rhythm our faith is harbored by the song we know, which returns it to the beginning of the cycle.
So there you have it. There’s a lot in my own personal philosophy that’s adapting and changing. My brain is still chewing things over. But these are two very important concepts that have a very large part in making me the person that I am. A year from now, the cores will still be the same but my view may be completely different. That’s the thing about dynamism. We’re always learning something new, always changing in little ways. These little ways add up and eventually you’re completely different; with echoes of something still the same.
I hope you enjoyed this rant, even though the topic for an odd and hopefully one time change was about me. I don’t expect any sort of grand insights or insults from anyone for this one. That’s never the point of any rant. It’s only to look at it, take it in and if it makes you think about something, then I’ve done my job. Ranting isn’t about finding people who agree or argue with you. It’s just about speaking your mind and in doing so hopefully you make someone else think about themselves or how they see things. That’s the beauty of a Rant…and that’s all for tonight folks. |
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dyschordianx's journal
irritated