(i like it when post secret actually has something i can relate to)
2.03.2009
all out of facts and i just can't wait
(i like it when post secret actually has something i can relate to)
12.13.2008
silver trees
saw The Delta Spirit last night. played to a small-ish crowd, but more people than they expected were there, and everyone got really into it, so they ended up playing this awesome extended set. but really, this isn't news -- it was expected. because i love them and saw them before when they opened for Cold War Kids which was equally as good.
the real news is this band i found called Big Boots. By far the best local band I've ever heard. They played various styles, but I think the band they were closest to is Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. On the slower songs though, they sounded like good ole' Bobby Dylan sometimes. Yes, my pants, they were creamed. It sucks that they don't have a CD out yet, but they have a couple of songs on their myspace. You should really check out that link. After their hour long set at Juanitas they went to Midtown Billiards and played a 1:30 - 4:00 am set. Sound familiar? Phil Lesh maybe? They have a lot of material and have been playing together for a while. Very tight sounding.
Besides all that, the bassist had one of the most wicked mustaches ever.
the real news is this band i found called Big Boots. By far the best local band I've ever heard. They played various styles, but I think the band they were closest to is Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. On the slower songs though, they sounded like good ole' Bobby Dylan sometimes. Yes, my pants, they were creamed. It sucks that they don't have a CD out yet, but they have a couple of songs on their myspace. You should really check out that link. After their hour long set at Juanitas they went to Midtown Billiards and played a 1:30 - 4:00 am set. Sound familiar? Phil Lesh maybe? They have a lot of material and have been playing together for a while. Very tight sounding.
Besides all that, the bassist had one of the most wicked mustaches ever.
12.10.2008
google ten for grandpa
pretty pumped right now. like i said, after reading THE CATCHER IN THE RYE i've been wanting to write more. well i started yesterday (see post), and today, to my surprise, the writing has actually continued.
i usually get pretty discouraged when i write stories because generally i imagine one scene, get it on paper, and then that's it. the process stops. but this time i'm approaching it from a new angle. one similar to salinger in fact, including a bit of the autobiographical nature of some of his writings. i'm going to steer my focus away from plot and, instead, focus on the main character's mental state (man vs self). that's not to say things still won't happen -- because they will. but the main point of the story won't be the actual events; rather, how the character interprets them, how he interprets everyday life. and, yes, this has been partly shown in my previous writing, but getting it out there, saying it, or whatever helps me get in the correct mindset sometimes.
so here goes nothing.
let's hope it becomes a something.
i usually get pretty discouraged when i write stories because generally i imagine one scene, get it on paper, and then that's it. the process stops. but this time i'm approaching it from a new angle. one similar to salinger in fact, including a bit of the autobiographical nature of some of his writings. i'm going to steer my focus away from plot and, instead, focus on the main character's mental state (man vs self). that's not to say things still won't happen -- because they will. but the main point of the story won't be the actual events; rather, how the character interprets them, how he interprets everyday life. and, yes, this has been partly shown in my previous writing, but getting it out there, saying it, or whatever helps me get in the correct mindset sometimes.
so here goes nothing.
let's hope it becomes a something.
12.09.2008
if a body catch a body
The rain was really coming down now. Big drops too, just ready to drown something, anything. The already gray sky was fading further and further away into nothing. I watched as the water-colored people around me did the same. The dull taupe trench coats, the brightly colored scarves would transform slowly into rainbows of monochromatic color, like when the tube goes out on the TV, only without those annoying lines that sometimes show up. My feet, soggy inside my canvas shoes, squished as I walked. The rain was loud, but my feet were louder. It’s always like that when your feet are squishing or something. The room could be filled with all kinds of racket, but as soon as you start walking away it’s like everything stops or everyone dies and all eyes, even the dead ones, are on you, and all you can think is Where the hell can a guy find a rug in this place? And no matter how hard you look you can’t find one anywhere. Like they were all taken up to be cleaned or something. Anyway, that’s the way it was.
By this point, I was pretty cold and knew that I would start shivering soon. I do that a lot. Shivering, that is. It’s not that I’m dying of cold or anything. Really I’m not. I just start in looking epileptic and everything. I don’t much care for it. It’s embarrassing. So I slipped into this used book store for a minute to warm up and call an old friend, Jacob Leer. I went to the back of the store so that the gray mustached man at the counter wouldn’t listen in. Not that what I had to say was Top Secret or anything. It’s just that the people in places like that are always listening in on what you have to say. I was standing next to a dusty stack of old records when I pulled out my phone. Dead. I should have guessed. I’m the world’s worst procrastinator when it comes to things like this. That battery had been giving me trouble for weeks. It would be dead in just a matter of hours after a full charge. I needed to use the man’s phone, but I’d feel too crummy to go up and ask him without buying anything. It’s hard enough keeping a small place like this open, especially in a town like this, without everyone and their mom jacking up the phone bill at the same time.
So what I did was, I started in looking at all those records that were stacked up so nice. I remembered my Pop had an old record player in the garage that he never used. I asked him about it last year and he said that it just needed a needle. I guess that’s where I get all that procrastination from. But I was thinking, if I bought a needle for it, he would let me have it, or at least loan it to me. None of the names on the records sounded too familiar, except for one by an old colored lady called Odetta Sings Dylan. Or maybe it didn’t. I don’t know. But still, I had to buy something.
“That’s a fine recerd you picked there son. You best take good care o’it. Odetta had more soul, more talent than any other broad I ever seen. It’s a shame -- we lost ‘er just a few weeks here back” the mustached man said as he rang me up. “Comes out to, eh . . .” He hesitated while he waited for the total to show up on the beat up blue cash machine. “’Leven dollas and a quoter.”
Being this close to him, I couldn’t help but notice that his glasses sat crooked on his face, but it wasn’t because one ear was lower than the other or anything. It was because he had this mole on his cheek that stood out, right where the glasses sat on his face, that made the lens higher on the right side. Stuff like that gets me -- when people have big moles right on their face.
By this point, I was pretty cold and knew that I would start shivering soon. I do that a lot. Shivering, that is. It’s not that I’m dying of cold or anything. Really I’m not. I just start in looking epileptic and everything. I don’t much care for it. It’s embarrassing. So I slipped into this used book store for a minute to warm up and call an old friend, Jacob Leer. I went to the back of the store so that the gray mustached man at the counter wouldn’t listen in. Not that what I had to say was Top Secret or anything. It’s just that the people in places like that are always listening in on what you have to say. I was standing next to a dusty stack of old records when I pulled out my phone. Dead. I should have guessed. I’m the world’s worst procrastinator when it comes to things like this. That battery had been giving me trouble for weeks. It would be dead in just a matter of hours after a full charge. I needed to use the man’s phone, but I’d feel too crummy to go up and ask him without buying anything. It’s hard enough keeping a small place like this open, especially in a town like this, without everyone and their mom jacking up the phone bill at the same time.
So what I did was, I started in looking at all those records that were stacked up so nice. I remembered my Pop had an old record player in the garage that he never used. I asked him about it last year and he said that it just needed a needle. I guess that’s where I get all that procrastination from. But I was thinking, if I bought a needle for it, he would let me have it, or at least loan it to me. None of the names on the records sounded too familiar, except for one by an old colored lady called Odetta Sings Dylan. Or maybe it didn’t. I don’t know. But still, I had to buy something.
“That’s a fine recerd you picked there son. You best take good care o’it. Odetta had more soul, more talent than any other broad I ever seen. It’s a shame -- we lost ‘er just a few weeks here back” the mustached man said as he rang me up. “Comes out to, eh . . .” He hesitated while he waited for the total to show up on the beat up blue cash machine. “’Leven dollas and a quoter.”
Being this close to him, I couldn’t help but notice that his glasses sat crooked on his face, but it wasn’t because one ear was lower than the other or anything. It was because he had this mole on his cheek that stood out, right where the glasses sat on his face, that made the lens higher on the right side. Stuff like that gets me -- when people have big moles right on their face.
12.08.2008
“this is a people shooting hat,” i said. “i shoot people in this hat.”
today i finished THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, one of my all time favorite books. i've probably read this book nearly 15 times now. i never get tired of it. what's really amazing about it, and the reason why everyone likes this book anyway, is that Holden is such a relatable character. as i've gotten older i've noticed how different parts of the story appeal to me more than others, how those things shift in my head, how they are tossed and turned, and how they are always weighed differently. i think the same thing applies to the story INTO THE WILD. they both make you want to live in seclusion, blocking out the vanities of society and the poor wretchs' lives that get controled by some delusion or another. and just like Holden i've been on my toes for years trying to avoid becoming a phony --mostly this involves avoiding becoming the people in the churches i grew up in. i've always seen through them, those people of glass, those people Eliot called HOLLOW MEN. even as a child i saw through them. but now what's different is that i'm learning to distance myself without avoiding actuality like i've tried to do in the past. it's an impossible hoax anyway.
the novel is by far one of the most insightful books ever written.
Salinger always makes me want to start writing more too. fiction that is. i've been very happy this year as far as my motivation to write goes; although, it mostly has applied strictly to lyrics and poetry. if it weren't for finals at the end of this week (thank god the semester is finally ending), i would probably skip everyday, locking myself up in this old time restaurant that i frequent every week called Old College Inn and write. just write. nothing else.
god that sounds wonderful.
"Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."
the novel is by far one of the most insightful books ever written.
Salinger always makes me want to start writing more too. fiction that is. i've been very happy this year as far as my motivation to write goes; although, it mostly has applied strictly to lyrics and poetry. if it weren't for finals at the end of this week (thank god the semester is finally ending), i would probably skip everyday, locking myself up in this old time restaurant that i frequent every week called Old College Inn and write. just write. nothing else.
god that sounds wonderful.
"Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."
12.06.2008
daughter of ohio
Damien Jurado.
Give him a listen.
You won't regret.
Excellent lyrics too.
And that site has 4 downloads.
How's that for a perk?
You don't even have to find it at a store, itunes, or, god forbid, a torrent.
Give him a listen.
You won't regret.
Excellent lyrics too.
And that site has 4 downloads.
How's that for a perk?
You don't even have to find it at a store, itunes, or, god forbid, a torrent.
12.04.2008
a heart, a skid, a key
Three weeks ago
Said to myself,
“Think I’ll dig myself a hole.”
Some people stopped by
Asked where my tunnel led
“anywhere you want,” I said.
Personally, what it’s done for me --
I put all my sin into a bin
Locked it tight, was a heavy fight
Watched it fall till the morning light.
There it went
My shipment’s been sent
Definitely a part of me
That girl’s still here
Lucky for me
And to her heart I hold the key
And that hole’s a crater
Recently began to hate her
For no apparent reason
It must be the change of seasons
Five days ago I found out
My key don’t work, no
It got broke
The locksmith, he’s gone outta town
Went down to the river to drown
His wife left him with all eight kids
A pile of bills, a mess of skids
His head ain’t right
Just a slight
Thing sends him over the edge
Now you see?
Where does that leave me?
Pretending that I’m sailing the sea?
Oh, down by the water
Who’d I see falter?
None other than that broken father.
Heard him cry out, “God save me!”
He touched his heart, he took a knee.
This was my chance, “sir would you help me?
My love is broken, could you fix this key?”
Personally, what he done for me --
He took me in with all his kin
Told me not to push or shove
Showed me that the world needs love
Said to myself,
“Think I’ll dig myself a hole.”
Some people stopped by
Asked where my tunnel led
“anywhere you want,” I said.
Personally, what it’s done for me --
I put all my sin into a bin
Locked it tight, was a heavy fight
Watched it fall till the morning light.
There it went
My shipment’s been sent
Definitely a part of me
That girl’s still here
Lucky for me
And to her heart I hold the key
And that hole’s a crater
Recently began to hate her
For no apparent reason
It must be the change of seasons
Five days ago I found out
My key don’t work, no
It got broke
The locksmith, he’s gone outta town
Went down to the river to drown
His wife left him with all eight kids
A pile of bills, a mess of skids
His head ain’t right
Just a slight
Thing sends him over the edge
Now you see?
Where does that leave me?
Pretending that I’m sailing the sea?
Oh, down by the water
Who’d I see falter?
None other than that broken father.
Heard him cry out, “God save me!”
He touched his heart, he took a knee.
This was my chance, “sir would you help me?
My love is broken, could you fix this key?”
Personally, what he done for me --
He took me in with all his kin
Told me not to push or shove
Showed me that the world needs love
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