No trade-backs

I had an interesting conversation yesterday evening. The setting: helping my friend Scott play a gig at a sorority on the campus of Indiana University. Apparently, said sorority (whose name I don't remember) was friends with a fraternity (again, don't remember) and those boys were there helping out. Scott is also a member of that fraternity, and to give him his due credit, he was right, they were not all total douchebags. Only a few.

Still, I marvelled at the youth, the arrogance, the hubris, the total lack of self, some of these "men" epitomized. There were more polos and khaki shorts than you could shake a stick at. As for the girls... I was very proud of that particular club, because not all the girls were thin and blond and super attractive. Most of them were average or just a shade on the pretty side, and a few were a shade on the other side... or worse... not at all bad or ugly... just not what you would expect from a place like IU where the greek system is ruthless, heartless, and soulless.

Those were my impressions when I went to school there, from 1999 until 2003. I was glad to see both a frat and a sorority moving in a positive, more-normal-people-friendly direction.

As I was saying... I was there to play guitar and help back up Scott. One of his frat brothers introduced himself and we began talking. He seemed like an alright kid, maybe a little confused and maybe a little less than a rocket scientist, but generally a very nice kid. The thing that shocked me... he had SOOO many questions for me.

What's it like in Indianapolis?
Why aren't you working in your major?
Why do you live with other people?
What's it like working a real job?
Do you ever miss college?
Did you party much when you were down here?
Did you party much when you left?
Why are newspapers dying out?

There were many more questions, maybe not phrased exactly the same way, but just inquiry after inquiry. Many of the questions all seemed to point to one simple thing - responsibility after college, or life as a real adult (however you want to phrase it, that's what it came down to).

And you know what? I gave him answers. I tried to tell him that it'll be completely different than college. And I thought the whole time, "kid, you don't know how good you have it right now."

I hope I maybe imparted some wisdom to the young man. I hope maybe I prepared him for the future, the real future, not the one where they (high school teachers and counselors, parents, etc.) tell you that you can be anything you want to be when you grow up - but the one that really exists, where the only things anyone cares about is that your ass is in your chair 5 minutes before work begins, and your check is in the hands of the power company and mortgage company the day before it is due.

All in all you are just another brick in their wall.

So what is it that moves you, and keeps you from being ordinary? That's the task you have to focus your free time on, so you're not just another number.

The man upstairs is through with all of this noise...

... and I'm through with screaming.

Is the man upstairs listening? Does he care? Does he care how I approach him, how I reconcile years of denial, how I admit to moments of utter brokeness and bitterness, often directed at him?

God is a curious being, for sure, for sure.

I am constantly plagued by big questions - why here, where going, what doing, who with, et cetera. It's been a while since I threw off the blanket of my protection, tore down my walls, opened up and ran free. In short, I haven't stopped to smell the roses in... a while.

I could and do sometimes complain all day - I'm overweight, overworked, underpaid, underappreciated, used, taken advantage of, live in a world of idiots who can't drive a car, have o time, et cetera. But, I am tired of looking through pessimistic eye glasses. Tired of looking through lenses that only see one shade.

God knows, as I've debated with him so often before, that there are many shades of grey. There's not just clean and dirty - there are many subtle levels. The difference I'm wanting now, the change I'm seeking, is to start focusing on the lighter shades of grey, not the darker ones.

Life can be sinister. Life is hard, to be blunt and cliche. With the situation I am living in, I feel stuck in a rut. I have not the time nor the financial power to break out, so I've got to find other means. I have always said that the best person to break one's self out of a rut is ultimately one's self. No magical romantic love affair with a woman is going to make it happen (neither is a magical love affair with a man - because if it would, it might be worth compromising my morals and personal preferences... just kidding). No magic paycheck is coming. No lottery. And... no hand of God is reaching down to get me back into school, to build the perfect wife (and make us in love and compatible), to fill my wallet with cash and my bank account with positive numbers.

No. God isn't doing that. He breathed life into me, smacked me on the ass, told me a few things, and sent me on my way.

So it's up to me. But it would be nice to know He's listening. 'Cause I am so through with screaming.

It's ok, it's ok! You don't have to run and hide away...

So yeah... it's ok, you know? Not much more to say than that... things are pretty good right now. Work has been busy-busy-busy. I haven't had much time to exercise lately. I haven't had any time for music lately... and I lack a little of desire in that regard.

All in all, though, I am ok. I am a work in progress, and right now, the progress is slow.

I worry about the same things as always... love, happiness, financial matters, music, where I'm going with my life, where the journey is heading. Yeah, I need a vacation. But things aren't that bad.

There was a time in my life when I faked myself into an era of positivity... which then begat it's own positivity. It was a spiritually motivated time, and though my heart was much more of a barren, rocky wasteland than I let on (oh, the emo imagery in that statement...), I acted like everything was all ok, and acted very positive.

A funny thing happened. I became more positive, and not fake-posi, but true-posi. Good vibes. Good times. Connections.

Yeah, I can look back and say there were some bad times, and that some people took advantage of my giving, caring spirit at the time. But I was truly happy, and less stressed.

And if I don't stop the stress level from rising in my life, it's going to kill me. No joke.

So... here's to fake-quasi-positivity, and the hope that it turns and returns into real positivity.

Familiar, yet, can't seem to place it...

Sometimes, I forget how much I like a certain song, or a certain band. I recently read an article about a band called Over The Rhine (on the Aquarian Drunkard music blog), just a short, fun little interview. And it of course reminded me how amazing floored I am by the work of this band, these two people, this husband and wife songwriting team. Lennon and McCartney are good. But so is Over The Rhine... and sometimes in my eyes, and more importantly my soul, equally good, or even better.

So... why haven't I listened to them in forever? Past relationships. What a waste. I can't listen to one of my favorite bands of all time because of an ex-girlfriend? Well... if you were there, you might understand that. I mean, we met on the band's message board, went to several shows, had little rituals wrapped around so many songs.

But... fuck it. If I'm going to do this singer/songwriter thing, I've got to get over my emotions... so I can dig into my emotions. Time to exploit this pain, dammit.

The journey continues on and on... I need to keep on strumming.

And listening to great music that inspires me.

And... stay away from girls.

I'm Still Alive

So... maybe I shouldn't be so callous... or shouldn't think of becoming more calloused. I mean, there are only so many punched one can take before it doesn't hurt anymore, before pain becomes all past tense, before your dreams die and you just do what you can to get by.

I don't want to just get by. But, then again, I don't want to deal with any more drama than I have to.

The thing is, when the dynamic is working, I have a truly wonderful group of friends. They definitely are a support system.

And... I am still hear. Maybe with a growing collection of scars, but still here, still standing, still fighting for some of the things I believe in.

I haven't given hope... just trying to redefine where it is aimed at.

I Can See For Miles and Miles

Ah, what a strange, dynamic world I live in. My ruminations on these things probably aren't worth much, but... I am nothing if not a writer. So, I'll tell you my b.s. opinions and you'll tell me yours, and together we'll drink 7-7s into the sunset. Or something like that.

So, I brought in my "burnt CD wallet" (a CD wallet containing only burnt CDs) from my home/car into work a week or so ago. This gives us a myriad of listening options at work, and those who know me know I can make one helluva mix tape, so there's some really good stuff on disc being played in my office.

The problem - more than I remembered, a vast majority of discs in the collection are mixes I either made for a particular ex-girlfriend, or are mixes made to reflect my mood at the time our relationship began to fail and spiraled down into the depressing, hurtful, and sometimes hateful thing it became.

So my artist's tears drip down in my heart as the blood machine works, and yes, yes I am so sick. But Marah still makes me smile wistfully, Blue Merle makes me think of the Columbus Zoo and driving around Ohio, and Over The Rhine still makes my heart flutter. Through it all, so much music is the soundtrack to my life, it'd take a hundred discs a year to explain it all.

Gatsby's American Dream say it well: thinking that I can make this right, in fact I know I've got to make this right... I'm done fucking around with the guilt engine.

Or the D.B.T.'s, who mean it when they say "This Highway's Mean" - because sometimes it is. Sometimes we can't be "Bothered." Sometimes the glass is only "1/2 Full." Sometimes life leaves you "High and Dry" - - and you wonder if you'll ever feel the way those songs make you remember feeling.

Some days, when the girl you like won't call, and you wonder if she ever will, you really do with you'd be done fucking around with the guilt engine. 'Cause that fucker runs overtime, all the time, until the wheels come loose and you're dead. All the rhetoric in the world can't save your ass when the big hand comes to take us all away.

And whether or not God is up there and listening at all (and like Billy Corgan, I really wonder if he is), that doesn't matter to me right now. What I want is to feel the way I want to feel, and someone else holds that key, and she won't open the lock. I wander around in my existential conundrum, but wandering and wondering gets us nowhere. Cliffs surround, walls close in.

Change comes slowly, quickly, never and not at all and all at once.

It just doesn't add up. And that's why math is dead to me now.

Behind Blue Eyes

No one knows what its like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what its like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

But my dreams
They arent as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
Thats never free

No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They arent as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
Thats never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what its like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

... out, out, out! Damn you Pete Townshend, get out of my head!

My Brain... via "Baba O'Riley"

Out here in the fields - you know, I grew up on a small ranch. Small town kid. A classmate of mine died just yesterday... and everyone from my high school crawls out of the woodworks. It always took a tragedy to make us all see eye to eye.

I fight for my meals - I've been pretty damn lucky so far, and haven't had to do this too much. That said, I am way too damned broke, and it ain't getting any better.

I get my back into my living - you can say that again. Jobs kill me, I think. I start out loving it, then end up hating it when stress takes control. There is no escape. I used to think the bible was silly, what with all it's toil and hard work stuff... now, not so sure.

I don't need to fight - but I always do. Now, I just wish I had something worth fighting for.

To prove I'm right - yet, unfortunately, the thing I want to fight for, I can't. The things I want to do, I don't have the fortitude or the guts to do. I am, to say the least, shallow on the inside.

I don't need to be forgiven - God and I have been having this argument. Damn him, he always wins...

Don't cry, don't raise your eye - I don't cry much anyway, not anymore. I gave it up after shedding far too many tears for two or so women. I should've learned the first time.

It's only teenage wasteland - damn right it is. Angst, envy, lack of patience, anger and hate, misplaced love, broken hearts, tortured artist soul... all here for the world to see.

Sally, take my hand - still looking for a Sally...

We'll travel south crossland - I'd love a vacation. I need a vacation.

Put out the fire, don't look past my shoulder - ah, but I never, never want the fire to go out. I stoke that bitch all night long... and still, she burns me.

The exodus is here - I've been waiting a long time. A long time.

The happy ones are near - thank God for great friends and wonderful family.

Let's get together, before we get much older - but no, we're all becoming damaged goods. We all got baggage now. It makes life interesting, for sure. But we ARE getting older, and yet things remain the same. Still waiting on that exodus.

Teenage Wasteland! It's only teenage wasteland - yes, it all comes back to this... hope, love, faith... disappointment? Again?

We're all wasted! - well, I'm not. Maybe I should be. Never was my thing.


I'll stick with the Teenage Wasteland part, thank you very much.

I don't need to be forgiven!!!

This month... brought to you by The Who.

Out here in the fields
I fight for my meals
I get my back into my living
I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven

Don't cry
Don't raise your eye
It's only teenage wasteland

Sally ,take my hand
Travel south crossland
Put out the fire
Don't look past my shoulder
The exodus is here
The happy ones are near
Let's get together
Before we get much older

Teenage wasteland
It's only teenage wasteland
Teenage wasteland
Oh, oh
Teenage wasteland
They're all wasted!

all my rivals will see what i have in store

So the cycle begins... again.

It struck me that the last time I played the guitar like that... was in another, similar situation. A similar feeling - a nexus of time and confusion and wondering what's next. I asked God if he understood. I don't think he does sometimes.

I also wonder... is it ok to come back in the good times, and to shy away in the bad? Why does that happen? I don't want to pray, or be faithful, just when I want something.

But there it was, again, last night (and... again this morning)... that wonderful something. Those moments when melodies drip from fingertips, where terse lyrics bleed into verses and chorus. And sometimes a middle 8.

I look at my friends and their lives... I see their successes and failures. I still think each one of us has a purpose.

I wonder when I will stop running from mine.

So simple, to pick it up and just play. Maybe not so simple to write something meaningful... but it is amazing how when you forget about it, it reminds you in the most special of ways. Like just before bed on a Tuesday night.

A detuned string and a disenchanted lullaby. A broken heart and an unchained melody.

Somedays, it's all there is to live for. That is always enough.

And though I wrestle with him daily - God and his mischieveous plans for my life - and can still thank him for the gift of song.