It is our faith - and with those who do not share it we shall not argue - that the majority of so-called whites in this country are neither deeply nor consciously committed to white supremacy; like most human beings in most times and places, they would do the right thing if it were convenient. As did their counterparts before the Civil War, most go along with a system that disturbs them, because the consequences of challenging it are terrifying. They close their eyes to what is happening around them, because it is easier not to know.
i signed on with intentions of making a solid post instead of cryptic nibbles into the moments of my life i find interesting. but i dunno if that's going to happen.
here's my day:
no boss at work tonight. should be an interesting time. makes me feel better about working on the night of the week that a bunch of my actual friends end up hanging out, not at a stupid party or rockshow. maybe i'll even have a chance to slip out for a beer with them.
working on a project that may or may not work out as well as i am hoping.
reading some books
playing gears of war, and holy shit is that game intense. i really enjoy that my friends have sweet videogames and that they let me borrow them from time to time.
getting excited for a weekend of dads, drinks, dinners, drugz, and damsels in little to no distress. that alliteration was unnecessary and incredibly forced.
welp, gonna go poop now and put on some workin man's clothing.
so many works to work and books to read. got a good weekend ahead. wish i could go see the larry arms and a cute pr. i guess making moneys and not spending moneys isn't the worst second choice. tomorrow i think i'll take a bath and work on my halloween costume. right now i think i'll poop.
i wish i didn't feel like i didn't want people over whenever people are over. oh man, that's just self-pitying bullshit. but i met the high life delivery guy today, and that mostly made my week. he was a sweetheart.
Today i had great plans of progress and production that were foiled again. This time though, they were halted in order to stop at thrift stores for fishbowls and buy a copy of Predator at WalMart for 5 bucks, a preemptive strike at tonight's what-to-do question. After getting home, i started a bath, my first bath in a long time, in order to gain quality alone time with books, cigarettes and a warmth that seems to have prematurely left the weather spectrum lately. It was a little hot at first, but all good baths are, and after settling in, I felt quite alright. I read a couple chapters of a book and decided to close my eyes for a minute, quickly falling asleep. Half sleep in a bath is a funny thing, your head resting on unforgiving porcelain, body sliding deeper into the water, every minute movement echoed audibly in splashes. Whatever though, it was nice to nap in the water. And when i finally fully woke up (after a couple false starts) I still laid and laid still for a few more minutes watching my morning (or maybe evening?) wood bounce to the beat of my pulse. Bodies are weird things aren't they? It felt like a fitting end to one's leisure time in the bathroom, but as I got up, I realized I had forgotten to actually clean myself, so a shower was necessary. I pulled the plug and turned on the shower head at the same time, and the flow raced against the drain during the entire length of the shower, finally catching up and draining the bathwater when I finished my shower. That's when I realized I didn't have a boner anymore and it felt like things were done in the bathroom for the time being.
The whole process started a little more than two hours ago, and ended five minutes ago. Stay tuned.
today i finally found Bookends on vinyl. i made a bunch in tips (enough to contribute to a limousine ride to and from blink 182) and found out i didn't have to work the 14 hour day i thought i did. it got scaled back to a good ol fashioned 9 hours which is much more tolerable given the fact that the boss bought us all a bunch of pizza. gonna go read now. just thought i should let the internet know what happened to me today.
Angry boy who wishes to be lazy. All but refuses to look for job. Rejected from blood plasma donation center. Worried about ramifications of counting on said center for extra income. Does not wish to lose all weekends to pizza delivery. "Will apply tomorrow" quickly becomes personal mantra. "Will eat burrito" quickly becomes bi-daily habit. Pending food stamps would come in handy. Possible openings as line cook could provide much needed employment experience. Can seriously make a good burrito. Already tired of the same drinks in the same yard turning everyday into the same day. Frustrated with the vast difference in scale of distances on a map as compared to distances in reality. Will now watch Major League 2 and drink Diet Mountain Dew.
Asking price-One bottle of Andre Extra Dry and a little bit of orange juice, OBO.
here we go. goodbye friends for a small amount of time. goodbye lover for a longer stretch. goodbye comforts and disabling security. goodbye stressless immobility. goodbye doormats and clean carpets. goodbye dog.
hello vigilance and continuous reminders of what is what, what is right, what is worthwhile, what is less empty, what is happiness.
it seems like every time i try to post, i have to poo.
Tom Gill and I verbally sparred last night. Apathy vs. strategic hope. Nothingness vs. all-encompassingness. Foxnews vs. Cnn. And neither of us particularly chose a side. He is one of the most revitalizing forces on the planet, and he has sweet mutton chops to boot.
I just downloaded the blue album after listening to eric n friends cover the whole record last week. I'm about 10 or 12 years too late, but we'll see how it goes.
gotta poo, listening to the cubs, trying to have a normal day. you know how these things go.
it's wednesday right? i need some sort of physical activity today, but the goddamn rain won't stop. i've realized recently that i use language that would indicate a high level of faith in a monotheistic deity and the deity's ability to literally damn the weather to hell.
never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves never join a pack of wolves.
Dear Michael Jackson, You totally stole Farrah Fawcett's tragic death spotlight. Also, that dude from PBS and Ed McMahon. Your unadulterated need for attention is not appreciated and will not go unnoticed.
Imma go listen to Thriller now and give up on this stupid topical post.
Losing your shit in silence in dark in nowhere in florida is a hell of an experience. It fills a notebook up real quickly and leaves you with sleeplessness in a sweaty van and a kind of hangover the next morning. Attempts at optimism are necessary.
The past week has been wild if nothing else. Drunk on the beach by noon central time in Savannah to bump into friends from central illinois was certainly interesting.
a night in philadelphia with a good friend to discuss the finer points of feelings.
a boner story in dc that rivals the majority of the boner stories i've been involved in.
north carolina handed us one of the more ridiculous gatherings of people i've been involved in, propositions galore with the added bonus of Four Loko, an interesting 24oz combination of caffeine, sugar and 11% alcohol.
a burnt skin now keeps me feeling uncomfortable but alive, and the lack of knowledge regarding sleeping arrangements or evening plans makes me want to read more books instead of giving a shit.
I plan on sweating and conversing for the next few days.
Gonna leave this town at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and i feel pretty great to leave my good ol' home-self behind for a bit. Ocean swimming, a bunch of new friends and a couple old friends will be therapeutic to say the least. Thinking about these shows we're playing, I realized most of them are at radical or at least progressive thinking locations, and that makes sense. You know, it's the type of kids we all hang out with. But upon further self-inspection, I realized that none of my songs are inherently political in any sense, and if one is to even attempt to look for politics in the songs, the shit is few and far between. So I hope all the anarchopunx on the east coast like songs about heartache, pubic hairs, alcohol, twin peaks and heartache.
sick as fuck. tried to go to bed early last night, but was somehow sucked into the movie cider house rules. i felt stupid for laying around a 1 am watching a pretty silly movie. i generally hate period pieces and love stories, but i found myself stuck in my basement with snot running down my face, a brutal headache and a bowl of ice cream. wtf am i doing with my life. i stopped watching it 20 minutes before the end when i realized i didn't care how it ended.
There's this strange sense of total loss of any grip i had on myself. I look around during the day and feel like i'm missing something, completely slipping past moments and objects and getting crosseyed in the process. Like the things I used to comprehend are stealing their meaning from me, and I'm letting it happen. It's hard to describe, but all I feel is lost and angry so i swear more. and i smoke more. and I just ate a bunch of pizza about it. and now I'm going to drive to normal, il to sing about it.
I'm going to get too drunk tonight. then i'm going to go swimming. then i'm going to kiss kyle holmer on the lips. maybe tongue. i'm going to hang out with my sister's friends, and we'll talk about the few things we have in common, like knowing my mom is totally sweet. then i'm going to go swimming again. maybe naked. then i'm going to make a fool of myself and wake up embarrassed. my life is predictable in this town, but i am still excited about it.
vacation time to the max. Lakehouse+too many beers+inappropriate adults+bacon for breakfast+more beers and a boat+diapers. That made for a good friday and a little bit of saturday.
excited to hang out all night at the kitchen on saturday. smoked hash. watched mikey puke. passed out before midnight. felt lame when i woke up in the morning.
drive with muffler dragging. drive while treads rip off of tire. drive 80 mph swerving from shoulder to shoulder of a highway and spill mountain dew and freak out the cars behind and think death is imminent. manage to gain control of car and successfully change a tire.
different lakehouse+too many beers+inappropriate adults+bar+mischief+endless requests for tracks off of Thriller+sick dance moves+cigarettes with adult women+cigarettes with creepy men who want nick's balls+100 stolen beers+a wig+adult women spilling long islands and apologizing profusely+latelatelate night golf carts to meet up with all of the people we just met+dankweeds+converge. now what the fuck are we supposed to do with a trunk full of stolen beer?
Yesterday Kyle gave me a bouquet of flowers. I took it with me to the city. Rohan gave his to the liquor store owner. I carried mine everywhere we went with the intentions of brightening a lonely person's day. After a long night and a lack of stereotypically depressed girls at the bar, we left, standing outside, making plans. A girl came up and asked for a cigarette, and I must have done something rude or standoffish as I handed her one, because she said, "seems like you are sad about a girl." She became my late night, drunken psychologist and I let it all out on this stranger. She demanded details and more details and gave stern advice like an angry talk show host. We talked for about fifteen minutes, and then Ross called her a bitch. I got sort of upset with him, but then I gave the girl those flowers and said goodbye. I hope it made her happy.
Yesterday was hellish besides sweet friends. Today will be just as bad if I can't find sympathy and get out of working. I got no sleep and a throat full of dust and I'm just about ready to strangle anyone who gets in the way of me reading Ernest Hemingway for fun today after a brutal nap.
also, cancel bills, find out how much we owe utility companies, find out how much we owe the landlord, and try my best to get the money to pay them without blowing out nine thousand brains.
Roamed around a bar last night, drinking high life and free drinks from the bartender. Hung out with astronaut girl that I vaguely remembered. Talked about NASA. Got myself in trouble from breaking and entering a few times to find beers after the liquor stores were closed. A boy walked into his apartment while I was standing, giggling like a maniac with a three foot bong in my hand. Maybe we're friends now.
never thought thoroughly discussing vaginas would be either unfunny or unsexy until today. I feel like a gynecologist or sigmund freud or an awkward sex ed teacher. I just want to go listen to the cubs and lay down and let v-holes be what they used to be.
I gotta poop, but there are only two sheets left, and that is most certainly not enough.
So I'm holding it until class.
Today must be productive. Overproductive even. I will forge an interview with my grandmother and talk about the great depression in a way that will make my teacher think, "oh, this essay isn't anything but ordinary," and then stamp a B- on it so I can move on to bigger and better things and get all this shit out of my brain.
Roh, I beat Half Life 2 yesterday. I feel accomplished.
Locational stability can and will not turn into psychological stagnation. It will become a rebuilding phase of largely lonely proportions, friend fueled vigor, and an endless quest for something that feels ok. Hopefully it will also afford time to appreciate and indulge in the finer things in life. Namely travel, music, and dissent.
Preparation for real instead of the bullshit I've been fed for the past 22 years.
A poetic versing of how I would like to feel helps in convincing me that it is good to feel this way. For your health.
The Cubs won in fine fashion, and I made my way to the place where all the cool kids hung out. I talked to Roxanne for a while, and probably came across as a young weirdo. But she's used to hanging out with young weirdos. She made at least one. I think we had some nice talks about Bruce and beers and the F word.
I also talked to some girl that is an aspiring astronaut. I've never met anyone that planned on doing something like that, but I suppose it's just as romanticized as playing rock and roll or changing the world with books.
I fell down and my sheets are bloody this morning. Not in any sexual conquistador manner. I mean my knees are scabbed over and looking gross. I probably looked like a doofus when I was walking home with Austin during our soft and stoic talks.
I don't know what I'm attempting to do with this post. I just woke up in a blur and now I'm going to eat breakfast.
I just realized that my second celebrity crush is Janeane Garofalo.
So now I'm wikipedia--ing her instead of beginning either of the two presentations I have to give tomorrow. This is going to be a very difficult month of forcing myself to give a fuck about things that seem much less important than anything else in the world. I'm gonna go poop now.
Today my blood was tested for anemia and diagnosed with Raynaud's disease. It's not as ominous as it sounds, and mostly means that my fingers and toes get colder than they should. This normally happens when the temperature is, in fact, cold. Or when there's lots of stress involved.
I was told to get fill my body with the ginko biloba, and i think i could boogie with that.
drunk friends in my house and i just got April fooled with a bucket of warm water on my socks, and it warmed up my toes real good.
Now drunk friends are playing a Woody Guthrie song that convinced my dad that Woody Guthrie wasn't an activist and made me laugh right in his face. I felt awkward about it, but sometimes that guy is a dummy.
PS. The positive correlation between more people sharing a fridge and the speed of your personal stock of food disappearing is as astounding as it is frustrating. Godfuckingdamnit my almond butter is gone.
How come my incense smells like a mixture between old underwear and something not as bad as old underwear?
Rowdy weekend, nearly nude, rock and roll, highlife and wine, a sister, a father, good friends from this town and other towns.
I just got my Tupac cigarette case in the mail and I feel cooler than I should
Coffee will become my new drug of choice in the coming weeks, as I won't have time or energy for booze or much else, and I will have lots of time to load up on stimulants, sleep less than I should, and read a lot of things.
With coffee comes more cigarettes, and at least I have this tiny light at the end of every half hour tunnel where I get to use my new Tupac case.
Today was too nice to stay inside. It was also too uninspired to do anything interesting.
So we pooled ideas, some irrational, some stupid. We played with a tire for a half hour. Then we played with some sticks and some rocks. Then we nailed boards to a tree and built a ladder to the roof to lay back and absorb every ray of sun that big ball of fire could spit at us.
Now we're gonna make burgers and punk rockers are going to take over the town.
I have two online away message/status update/blog traditions that i cannot help.
on the fourth of july, i always find myself posting lyrics from Baby I'm an Anarchist and when i get a new tattoo, Trio always finds its way onto the internet.
I forgot how much certain parts of the body hurt when a weird blade is slicing up the skin in every direction, and learned of new parts that hurt even worse: the nipple's surrounding area, the middle of the fucking chest, and anywhere near an armpit. I am a crumpled up ball of exhausted, excited, and completely sick of waiting for things.
Now it's time for beers with Corey.
PS. One more Blink cover down. Two more to go. Even when I'm unproductive at this house all alone, I am still productive. The lonely home also allows me to listen to the music i've made without feeling self-absorbed or pretentious. Gregg Demarke made a really fucking wonderful recording of our shitty songs, and i wish we would have done something with his hard work instead of letting it sit on a total of eight or nine computers.
that'd be a pretty cool sentence if one had never heard of the town.
There is a dead thing named Vince in my room and it's making me feel like a quitter. Oh well, he lead a pretty long life. Maybe I'll put him on someone's windshield and they won't get a kick out of it.
fuck, there is no substitute for a good recording.