To be clear

        To be clear, not that it's contested anywhere by anyone, but in case of such an event.

 This is a place where I can freely write my thoughts in a stream-of-consciousness sort of way. Whatever I wish. "Verbal vomiting," if you will. Will what? I hate that phrase, if you will. What the fuck does that even mean? As such, if you will, at any rate, etc. Even etc, shit. 

       I have a list of these nonsensical sentence fillers and enders, but I care not to dig them out of my phone at the moment. In any case, (another one) I wanted to be clear every once in a while it will probably seem to the newcomer that I am a bit deranged or worse, full of myself with the rants and thoughts I type down here. I forget most of what I write. As quickly as I write my thoughts, I forget them. Well, perhaps not that quickly. I don't need any notions of early dementia lurking. 

       I don't know if this post accomplished anything. I hope so. Fuck it. Fuck you.

Sunglasses

      I was told over the weekend, douches wear their sunglasses in their collar. Is this true? If so, it's news to me. 

           I've been doing it quite frequently in the past 2 years as I have prescription sunglasses I switch out constantly, going inside to out, to in again. But I was not aware I might in fact be, a douche. 

          Who makes these decisions? In the same hour, I discovered the term, "lowkey." Not in the "It was kept low key." way, but in a, "I lowkey told you that!" way. It's one of these new term people are using and with that, I believe I've finally become conscious of the fact that I'm officially out of the loop on these things. 

         I claim non-douchery status. Well, pertaining to the glasses debacle/argument. I waive myself. I need them around for seeing purposes, not sun-blocking/UV purposes. 

       I may still be a douche though.

Daisy 2 years on

I wrote this post 2 years ago. I had been writing it prior to the event as I had anticipated the inevitable. When things like this happen, I manage to translate emotions directly into written word or music as pure as they get. Without snags, forethought or doubt. My best work comes out of things like this. Sheer emotion. In this case I got a song and some writing out of it. A song called "Face the Music" and this post. One of my best literary commentaries. So here's that from 2 years ago today July 9th, 2015:

When I was six, my cat Tucker had to be put down. I loved that cat. Or as much as a six year old could. Turns out he had some sort of cancer of the ears and it was either amputate his ears, and live ear-less, or put him down. Being that we were 6 and 4 at the time, my mother had no clue how to tell us he was going away. So she took care of it as we were away at our dad’s for the weekend. I was devastated when I came back. Today I can’t remember a thing that cat did for me, other than cause the trauma of having found out he was gone at six years old.

A year or so later, we got Daisy. Daisy is an interesting case. They supposedly picked her up off the side of the road and had to operate on her. She has a bone missing from her hip (although you wouldn’t know it) and her tail was mostly amputated as they assumed she might’ve gotten run over. Affectionately we call it her “nub”, she hates when we mess with it. She was the cat of the week at the MSPCA. This was 1999. I vividly remember walking in to the cat room, and she was there in a black, two level cage, she seemed to be the only cat actually playing with the fuzz balls hanging about and she would actually approach you and play with you through the cage. We immediately fell in love and took her home that same day. A year later, we got my dog. A man’s best friend is usually a dog. I love dogs, we get along pretty well. I’ve lived with them, had them. But I consider myself a cat person. My dog seemed to latch on to my sister. By her side when she came down the stairs in the morning, waited for her during the day, and slept on her bed at night. For me, that’s Daisy. I don’t remember why she loved me more, I suppose it was that I gave her the most attention. I hung out with her. She literally was my best friend. I was ostracized from a group in middle school, and I never really had more than one or two close friends in my life now or since. So during most of my afternoons and weekends when I was too young to drive, Daisy was my buddy. She refused to leave me alone.

She was born an outdoor cat. So a huge fear of ours was her escaping and never coming back, we also once lived a stone’s throw from the highway. We made extra precaution putting the dogs out or leaving to ensure she didn’t escape. I can’t recount how many times I hear “WATCH THE CAT!” when heading out the door, my mom freaking out as we slowly backed away out the sliver we opened to slip out. Well she got out all the time. Most times we’d spend the next hour chasing her around, but sometimes, she’d bolt into the woods. We thought the worst, being right near coyote’d woods and the highway. Did she know how to survive out there? Once she was out for 3 days. She always came back. Once she even fell out of a second story window. Her downfall is individually sliced cheese. She hears the wrapping being undone and walks over meowing from under the car or bush she was under. She owned the place. She messes with the dog and they wrestle. She sits in windows and screams at the birds, the only time she ever used to meow. Every day I’d come home she’d come running. When I got my first video camera, she was one of the first things I filmed…And filmed, and filmed, and filmed. She’s the chilliest cat.

I realize most of what she does, most cats do. She has her own character though. She would never cower under a bed if someone new came in, or the dog. She would walk right up and see what you’re all about. But she’s not overbearing either like some cats. She’s massively friendly, only using claws if you deserved it. Her claws are razor fucking sharp, becoming so by sharpening them on every 2x4 and door molding she can find (mainly in the basement thank god), although she hates scratching poles for some reason. Another favorite pastime of mine would be putting nickels and quarters on the table and watch her slowly wipe them off the table, as she watches them fall off in evil amazement. I feed her ice cream off my finger in secret, the only true thing she loved (I guess the dairy). She was never a huge burden, she did more good than any other animal we’ve ever had. Writing this she seems like every bit a cat as any other non-satanic spawned feline.

But the difference was that I grew up with her. I got her when I was 7. I’m 23 now. That’s 16 LOOOONNNG years. That’s your childhood. I shared my childhood with Daisy. I had her, and she had me. She loved lying next to me in bed and it was like a security blanket most nights, feeling her walk in during the dead of night to sleep. Next to ME! I had a lot of experiences with this cat. She was there even when I didn’t know it. The smiles, the laughs, the cries, the angry parts and happy moments. I entered High School and left college with Daisy. I carry her up stairs because she gives me a look when I’d go up and down so often. She was my princess. Still is.

Daisy’s unique. She’s a calico. Her fur is all kinds of shades and colors. She has one “finger” on her paw that’s colored yellow. She’s beautiful. She goes to bite, and when she does, she puts your hand in between your teeth, and begins to lick you, as if she can’t really come to terms with hurting you. In 2010, I moved off to college. Leaving her for the first time. I didn’t miss my parents, or my room, or my sister (bleh) or even my dog. I missed my Daisy. She missed me too. She moped around, actually depressed. Every time I came home she’d perk up and act like she was mad and ignore me, then cave in and visit me. When we were a lot younger, I promised her I’d move out, take her with me, and I’d let her run around outside in the woods somewhere as free as she pleased. Very frequently I promised her this and thought about it to myself. Every year in fact, It’s the only thing I know she ever really wanted that I knew of. I moved out of school, into my apartment, thinking about it occasionally. Then I moved again and again, each time not really being able to take her given my situation. I regret I never got to fulfill that wish. Now in recent months, she’s gained a bad rash that’s worsening, her hips fail her, she hobbles up steps she once sprinted, her whiskers are falling out, even quite recently as I type this, she can no longer make it to her litter box. But worst of all, in a matter of weeks a month or two ago, she’s completely lost her vision. She’s 100% blind and only seems to see shadows. She moves by noise. It’s gut wrenching. The other day, she fell down the stairs. I wasn’t there, but others were. She’s now in a lot of pain it seems. The dogs have an aversion to her, which is worrying. She once loved the outdoors, but now she’s afraid of it. And it truly pains me to say today, at around 7pm. I held my beautiful calico, my love, my playmate, my sleeping pal, my lonely buddy, my “get the hell off the keyboard for the 20th time this hour”cat, my film study, my actress, my thoughts, my childhood friend. I held my Daisy for the last time as she quickly passed away to the great 2x4 cherry wood stained scratching post in the sky. Where instead of trees, there’s wood planks, plastic chocolate syrup caps to chase around, mice, moths, and spiders, little dogs to be dominated and cheese and ice cream to eat and lick.

She’s in a place where she is in the best shape of her life, watching the birds, running and playing, looking at whatever she wants with those gigantic, gorgeous yellow eyes of hers, getting her neck scratched when she wants it falling onto you as she succumbs to what must be the greatest feeling ever, jumping onto counters and laying on every single possible spot of sun she can find. I believe she’s wherever Skippy’s been these past 3 years and whatever she wants she has. I’m sad to say I’ll never get over her, because she wasn’t just a cat to me. She was my best friend.

I’m enormously saddened, I know she’s in a better place now, where she can see and run again. But most of all, she still has that 2 inch long nubby tail she swishes around when she’s saying “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Well then

Another month of not posting, another month, meaning another month of not paying for a website! Ah the freedom.

     I'll touch on a few things and try to nutshell so I'm not stretching into multiple posts.

       We are back in the stone age. After a month I re-associated myself with social media and opened my accounts back up, to my distress. I was doing very well. I thought I was well, so I'm not sure why I did it, but I figured I was missing out on some events and things, and came back on. It was for the best in some respects. Exit Academy has shifted into 3rd gear in June and we had a packed month. A lot of younger bands dig what we're doing. I dig most of them. They let us know what we're doing is alright. But in the past 2 weeks, I feel I've been transported back into 2007 because all these people want to friend me because they talked to me or saw us once or twice. At first it was a kind sentiment. Now it's overwhelming. 

         I feel when this happens I have some obligation to present myself some sort of way. But online I would like to do 1. Nothing. or 2. Fall apart publicly letting everyone know. Which isn't something an acquaintance 5, 6 or 10 years my junior needs to see. But more so, on a selfish level,  I met you once, you are an acquaintance. I don't need you clogging up my feed with things I don't care about. It's not that I don't enjoy their company or care, but it stresses me out. I don't have the need for 500 friends online. It's more cumbersome than anything. I use it as a tool to keep in touch with people. I try not to live on it. 

        I speak to 3 people on a semi-regular basis in my life. I think about 4 and love 5. One or two of them wish not to speak to me. See where this goes? But now, as these folks find it a requirement to friend me, every person in each group, I'm in a predicament. If I don't, I'm a dick. If I do, I now need to wade through all their crap to get to what I want. I realize I can make it so I don't see as much, but now I need to work on filtering my own output so I don't offend or frighten them, ruining their made up image of me. I suppose it boils down to my mid-twenties, simplifying mentality that I don't feel the need to keep in vague-touch with someone I've seen twice for 10 minutes. 

       Fuck it, I'm stretching into multiple posts...

Oh boy

I can't understand people right now. It amazes me and I somehow have to shake my head at people. I know it's wr huh uong. But vtries too hard. it's amazing how everybody tries so hard and long at their career and MUST be something and live, breath and well, mainly advertise. I suppose that's the part that bothers me.

  alright I get it, you want nothing more than to be THIS. tell the world, validate yourself by telling the world. Tell the world you're going to be the best and tell the world that's what you're going to do. Try so Fucking hard alllll the time. Or come off that way to everybody.

       It baffles me how EVERYBODY has something they're trying to BE so hard and it encompasses their life with no breaks or so they want or seem. Careers, dreams, goals. Good. Good for you. Do that thing. Do nothing else. Don't enjoy life or take a walk. You're all too busy to go out and people watch or go explore anything or sit and write about your day on a bench or learn saxophone or actually stop, and notice you're alive, stop and take notice in the mundane tasks you take for granted. Everybody's so busy with themselves all the time. You'll all work so hard so long you'll wake up and you'll have your midlife crisis. The worst of it though is that most of it is spent jerking off! Telling, showing, seeming you're so fucking busy. It's a rite of passage, a fucking pastime, par for the course, a socially accepted practice to get pat on the back for, keep busy, stay busy. 

    take a fucking break. You're all doing and trying too fucking much. Trying to BE somebody.

 .       Me? Yea I used to want, try, think and do. I head dreams and gojals. But I can only sit here stunned in amazement at everybody who is trying around me. Because right now I'm doing all I can to keep my head above water and eyes opening. Too much has happened and too much has changed and too much has been taken and too many dreams dashed and plans scrapped and visions torn. Life has beaten me and continues to beat so fiercely that I can't even fathom waking up tomorrow to face the day, let alone fathom chasing something like fucking hopes and dreams. 

     I don't get it. 

"Don't try." - Bukowski

june 17th 2017 - a me day

I had a me day today. I hate saying that shit as it's pretentious as fuck, but I have not had one proper in months. I checked if I needed my recently acquired check for anything pressing, I do, but no certain deadlines before the next one. so i went out with a mission. 

          First to transfer one of my storage units to a larger one in the same building. I had a closet of a unit (5x10) and it was jam packed and impossible to get to anything. A bike, Bed parts, boxes up the yahoo, and miscellaneous blankets and coats strewn about without proper homes. It was a pain and a mess. It still is! BUT, Phase 1 was transferring to a bigger one, which I spent the first 3 hours out doing today. The two units are quite literally 30 or so feet from each other thank god. So I spent about 100 trips going back and forth. Unfortunately, now it's simply a lateral mess instead of a vertical one. Phase 2 is getting it organized and moving my BIGGER 10x10 unit (or 10x20?) in Nashua to this one. Once I properly organize what is currently in it, it should hold it all. The one in Nashua contains the big items. Dressers, tables, chairs etc. Big fucking pain. My life though. Although when it's all said and done, which is preferably this week as the new bill cycle starts and I ain't paying another fucking month of it, I will be saving myself over $100 a month. Woopie...

                 After I got tired of that and tossed everything in there with no rhyme or reason, I needed more shelving, so I figured I'd get myself an oil change and a tire balancing (WAY overdue it's embarrassing) at the same time. NTB near Home Depot was booked all day, however Jack Black (our nickname for him) from good 'ol Daddy's Junky Music works there! I nearly called him out on it and mentioned how the other guy works at Merchants. Small world I suppose. That guy was kind of a prick as I recall. I texted Mr. Ryan H. and we had a good laugh over it. Hopefully we're hanging this week.

           Home Depot was a wash for shelves. Nothing black, and they wanted $40 for one. Fuck that. I drove up Main street and Realized I was in need of food so I recalled this Bagel place in town that was recommended to me. I missed it 3 times but eventually mosey'd on it and ordered "Bruno's Best" it has Roast Beef, onions, Tomato and some fantastical sauce I can't recall. I had it on a Artizan bread? I forget what bread exactly. When she asked I asked what she recommended. She suggested a few and another regular patron suggested the one I picked. I wolfed it down quicker than they made it and I was pretty content. I dug it. 

          Somewhere in this mix I went to the Salvation Army on Main st, I can't recall timelines nor does it matter to anyone on the planet but here I am trying to remember, perhaps out of sheer defiance to logic of things truly important. Perhaps only to see if I can actually recall, testing myself as it were if you will if anything etc etc. Anyway, picked up a pair of sweet gig pants and a pair of tan work ones for...work and all that. Then I went to the Nashua Library, and got my very first ever (since kindergarten) library card. Yes. My first. I wandered around confused and overwhelmed at what the heck or where the heck. I did however, by myself, find what I originally came there for. The new Alex Chilton bio. I snagged it and then wandered around for my own personal bonus material. Everything after that wasfrosting on top for me. I stumbled my way into the media room (Nashua has a media ROOM for their audio books, CD's and DVDs. Ooo) and I found a Ralph Steadman audio book, the Modern Lovers' album, Ray Lamontagne's "Trouble" from 2004 and a Pete Townshend 2 disc gold set of his own selects from his solo career. I am a big fan of Lamontagne's work at least the little I've heard first on the radio listening to 88.9 (WERS) from his newer release in '08? I beleive. I can't recall the track but it's killer. Then I took myself in the midst of all this to Haywood's. For the last 1.5 years now being in and around Nashua, there's been this local hangout ice cream joint. It looks, feels and IS a classic date spot. No one's ever taken me up or given me the opportunity to ask them to go. SO I said fuck it and took myself. It was great. The "Polar Caps" flavor I picked was shit. But that's what I get from straying from fan favorites. Cookie dough is my thang.

        I then went on a great journey searching the likes of the Christmas Tree shop, Marshalls, The Paper store, and Walgreens to find these plastic cups that copy the style of a coffee cup or fountain cup you get at a fast food joint. They're reusable. And they come in black. Perfect for my incognito shifties. But they eluded me everywhere I searched. I was originally told the XMAS tree shop. Being in there surrounded by hordes of middle-aged women looking to spend yet MORE money on junk. I affectionately call it the junk store. I circled it twice; dodging ladies and their children left an right. The occasional couple in the mix where the boyfriend or husband clearly not happy. 4 stores, nothing. Walgreens did but in blue and pink. Also in a jumbo size. Silly Americans. I nearly got pink because well, if you go there, you go all out. I decided against it and bought the blue with some Arnie and was on my way. The bouncing around wasn't all in vein though. Aside from settling on a shitty substitute, at Marshalls I got a $10 beard trimmer, and my favorite cologne on clearance. Bam. 

                 Ah, I started the day off prior to the storage with a coffee and the last double chocolate muffin at Cumbies, and also ended it in the 11th hour of closing time by picking up my 4th or 5th bottle of Cruzan. Then I went back to my room to do one of my favorite things. It's quite the pastime for me nowadays I've realized. No, it's not drinking. It's taking home all the media, video or music I have acquired, and syncing it to my beloved zune, getting ready for the week ahead of listening to all the new shit I put on it at work. And in my case, sifting through shit that's already on it I don't listen to in order to make room for the new shit. Coming to terms etc. And I haven't had a drop today. So there. 

Internet presence

I think I have figured out over the last month how I want my presence on social media to be. I have gone from the initial break from it as very hard, bad withdrawl-like, to being completely content with it, to becoming clear on how I need to use it. I hope so anyway. So I think I will be back.

         In a capacity where I know I do not have to rely on it as much as I had, and I will use it to direct people here. It is a necessary evil these days though. Perhaps I'm relapsing on my convictions and I will fall back into it. But I think I did it because I was falling apart in other ways where these places were only feeding those things. I needed to at the time, and now I'm a bit over it and I might be able to stand it all again. Few have noticed my departure and fewer it matters to. Perhaps I needed a break. I see it as a reevaluation of what I need it for, what to use it for and how. How it's going to help me and not hurt. I know we're talking about social media but most days it's my only connection and those connections sometimes hurt more than help. It's a crutch and a drug if you let it and I was falling down a deep dark hole emotionally from other outside forces and being exposed to it and having it shoved down my throat and into my eyeballs every day was doing the most damage. I had to remove myself and get into a better place.

               Things haven't gotten better physically or situation wise but I've once again, learned to adapt. It's like an amputation. You learn to live with that part missing again. You learn to live in your car, you learn to not shower all the time, you learn you can't go places you used to go or eat what you want all the time. You learn to drink to get through the night until the day where you can forget it at work and dread going home where you must face your problems again, so you drown them and let it fast-forward until you can do something about them or accept you can't change the past but figure out a concrete way to fix it. 

         It's also like moving to a place you don't belong at first and don't want to be. You hate it for a time, some instances a long time. But time heals as much as it can. I always despised that phrase as it's not healing, there's still something missing and immense scars are left in most cases, but you learn to live with the scars. So perhaps scarring is the term? But it's like moving, it takes a long time. You don't ever feel at home, but you get used to it, because you are someone who can persevere. You are a fighter. Each time it's harder and takes another chunk of your fucking leg or chest or head, but it scars up and it looks fucked up, but you're alive, and you're here. You had a place to sleep you are familiar with, it certainly isn't home, but familiar. 

        And that's all you can ask for I guess.

Turns out

The Chris Bell book isn't coming out this month. "Winter 2017" what the fuck. It's all I had to look forward to be sane about. That and the Magnolia show later this month. The podcast is coming. i can't in good conscience call it a podcast. I'll have to come up with another word. It's only me bitching into a microphone. The first few are shite and no post-able, but it's getting there. I'm working my way to the present as I've got a backlog now. 

             I have to force myself to finish this short story now. It's so hard. As I began it with an inspiration in mind, and now that's changed. i read it now and I think it's cheesy. I'm not sure if it's me or perhaps I have seen the truth in it's gestation. Who knows. But I promised myself I would post the first part this month. This week I think. I want a solid 10 pages done before I release it. It's a horror. the first part is all set-up though. So it's dumb. I guess I should to see if I can. Who knows why, I have to find a why though. The why has disappeared. So I need a new one. 

               Talks about laying his head on a fucking train track here. Whoa... 

Exit Academy at Shuffle Fest June 9th, 2017

Started the day off going to work. I had originally called out as it was supposed to be an all day affair, but we weren't meeting up until 12:30 so I figured I'd make some money showing up for a bit. It was fitting. Started the day off digging a grave, and then setting up a funeral for another one. Then left. Got back, showered and changed and left for Matt's. Promptly stopped at Subway for a shifty and got to Andover. I had already packed my stuff up the night before. Loading the car is always a treat for me. I appreciate that Craig happens to have a suitable vehicle. I miss my van dearly, but never thought about station wagons. In most bands i find myself in, they allow me to take on the task of packing it tetris-style and do my own thing as they bring stuff to me. I guess they'd rather lift than deal with how the fuck to fit it all in. Which I love doing, it's an odd satisfaction for me. It's one of those instances I have to really problem solve and think in a situation you wouldn't think was too complicated. Emptying out and cleaning the trunk a bit, Craig found a 6 pack of Bud Light lime's and we found a majority of a 12 pack of Arnold Palmers. Which I utilized later. The spare tire area yielded quite a bit of room and you could actually fit a 6 pack of bottles standing up down there. I was smitten. (pleased, what a douchey word huh?) Mind you, all of this I was pretty drunk for, not totally gone, or as much as I would have liked, but it's always a feat when drunk, let alone sober. We left around 2 in the Craig-mobile and were on our way.

        I had stopped to grab stuff in my car right before we left about three times so on our way backing out the driveway, I realized I only had my sunglasses on and not my regular spectacles. He asked if he should stop so I could grab them, but I said screw it, as we weren't staying the night and it'd be sunny most of the time we were there, which was a bad choice, but I was intoxicated at this point.

          We stopped up in Salem, NH at the music workshop so Matt could get strings. He bought 12's and the lady suggested he was going to snap them pretty quickly unless he was tuning down. Craig and I stayed in the car, but I'm guessing he rolled his eyes on the inside and told her to sell him the fucking strings so he could be on his way without judgement. This isn't his first rodeo with 12's friends. 

The ride was not as enjoyable as previous trips. I think because I was not as drunk as the last trip. I had eaten something so perhaps that had something to do with it. My pre-show clothes do not have pockets, so my wallet, keys, phone are in a purse, which was wet. Because it smelled literally like shit. My trunk had something in it and it apparently fermented in the warmer weather these past few weeks. About a week ago i raided it, washed all the clothes that smelled, but not the purse. I sprayed it down with household cleaner at Matt's moments before leaving, so it smelled OK, but most likely didn't get rid of the root cause, and made everything damp. 

                 I also did not bring a charger so I knew my phone wouldn't be in my hands most of the night other than to check it. Fine by me as I had no one to talk to, and there was no service whatsoever for miles in Bath, NH. it was roughly a 2 hour drive give or take. Craig drives the speed limit and we were in uncharted territory. His Taurus wagon's display is broken so no clock, and only a CD player. Sandwiched in the back seat behind him, with a lot of missy-matchies and years of homeless crap under my feet it was not the most pleasant ride being there that long. Craig has an interesting take on his climate controls. 

        Now keep in mind reader, I write this solely out of documentation, not out of malice or disdain. Just as an archive only an observation of how I feel, felt at the time. I love these guys dearly. There are much worse problems in the world. 

     Craig's Climate Control: The temperature controls are either at 11 for heat, or -11 for cold. When it gets too hot or cold, he turns the whole thing off. Leaving you to freeze, or worse, suffocate until he turns it back on on a whim. Haha. There is no in between. Which I can somehow, twistedly appreciate because that is EXACTLY who Craig is. we've even talked about it regarding music and his personality. But I don't know if he knows it creeps into all aspects of his every day life. At first, the A/C wasn't even on, it was only the fan, I as all but dying in the backseat with the windows barely cracked, sandwiched and pinned between my bass drum case and the door with my feet up in the air, barreling up rt 93 being mid 80's out with only warm air blowing at us. The way back was worse, we were sore and tired and all the rest and it was mid-50's out as it had gotten quite cold, and he had the heat on full bore. I was suffering from congestion/allergies all day (cruel timing) and I needed air desperately, but it was HEAT HEAT HEAT for 20 minutes, then nothing at all...then HEAT HEAT HEAT, then nothing. HEAT HEAT HEAT, nothing. etc. I wanted to die. Never a dull moment. 

            We have a ritual that every toll we hit we fuck with the attendants. Fuck them, they deserve it as far as I'm concerned. From what I hear it's a cushy job and you need to know a guy who knows a guy etc etc to get in there. I mean, you collect money for shit sake... Anyway, our band theme song is Sugar Sugar and we have it blasting via CD on repeat while we pay them. The way up was ok, they were probably a bit disgusted or confused as we now have another ritual of putting up signs in the windows. Our second gig in May when I was VERY inebriated I found them, and began crawling all over the empty trunk area and backseat taping them to the windows so people on the highway would read them. Things like "WHY LIVE?" and "WHAT DO THE PLANTS MEAN?" and "I KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE DEAD" and "I'VE NEVER LOVED ANYONE." and so on. Those were on my side of the car, and the toll, so he probably saw those. I can't recall anything too daring at that toll on the way there. We definitely turned some heads all the way up though, physically seeing people word out what is written is a treat. 

            Also in Craig's black hole of a back seat are orphaned CDs I mine out from the wreckage and as they are not labelled, I toss them up and it's quite a treat seeing what's on them. We laughed all the way up talking about all kinds of things. I was going to mention a few here, but I forget honestly! We arrived in Bath and there were handmade signs up the road to where we needed to go. The GPS on Craig's iPhone took us to a house with a long driveway, which he correctly stopped before asking if we should see, or keep going, I suggested we keep going and intuition on all parts won again as that was NOT the right place. We drove past, backed up, and arrived at a small farm. Small in comparison to most farms in the country I suppose. Big for me. There was quite a lot of property for sure. There were acres and acres for the parking alone. Someone had set up stakes and rope to coordinate parking areas and we pulled in. A very cool looking stage was there off in the distance along with tents, RVs, trailers etc selling all sorts of goodies. 

             We parked, got out as a band was playing, and walked to the entrance tent where the guys selling tickets etc were smoking pot and handing out wristlets. I call those show bracelets wristlets, fuck it. But in this instance, instead of checking ID's, or asking much, we merely mentioned who we were, and they handed us the wristlets to put on ourselves. Class act. We did so and walked over to the stage. We urinated in one of the many port-a-potty's and we were able to drive the car around to the back of the stage to load out to set up behind stage for whenever we went on. 

      We met with some characters there. one of which was a guy Brian Canty. What an enthusiastic character. Perhaps that isn't the right word. He greeted us almost immediately after seeing us; followed by the rest of the Lipstick Boys. Right off the bat I apologized to Tom, their drummer for never giving him back his now destroyed and dismantled hi-hat stand I borrowed about 3 years ago. He told me not to worry about it and I told him the short history of the stand's end. We spoke about cymbals, he told me whatever I needed I could borrow. What a nice guy Tom is. Not too familiar with them these last few years but I'm sure we'll be bumping into each other more in the near future. 

        We saw a few acts and found out our set time and we set up our gear backstage. During/prior to this we went back to the swag-wag (not sure what we're calling Craig's car yet) and I promptly mixed the rest of my Cruzan in a can of Arnie. I drank some to make room for the rum, it was the perfect mix. I never cease to amaze myself when it comes to intuitively mixing the perfect ratios for consumption. Then we busted into the bud light limes. I had 3. One for now, one for now, one for stage. Also water, but more beer. 

          We got into our battledress and amped ourselves up backstage. We took some pictures then loaded on. Walking around, we got stares, as we usually do. This was only my 4th time in it. Matt and Craig were well-versed in this already. After the first time it got easier for me. I knew and now know where my head needs to be in order to get to that place so I'm not so self conscious about it. Mostly alcohol fueled. It's funny as some people are appalled or confused, and others are taken aback, but have a "hell yea" attitude about it. Either way you can't let your guard down. You have to own it. if you don't or they find a crack or weakness, they will prey on you. I have an aggressive feeling when it comes to this. My caveman comes out when it comes to the defense of myself and friends who are getting picked on and I will promptly shove my fist through the stomach of anyone picking on us. This situation in particular, as too many nowadays are beaten up for their appearance. Cross dressers, folks in transition, or people who simply want  to wear feminine clothing. So for me personally I take offense. Don't do that! 

         Our set went well. Video was taken, pictures, and quite a crowd. I did however blow my load too early. Adrenaline and of course the events leading up to the day may have contributed. It happens this way more than not. I got up at 5:45 to work, worked almost half a day, then got ready for a show, drove, prepped my brain for a show, in 80+ degree weather, then had to PLAY a show. perhaps it was because we were outside, i'm not sure, but I was exhausted before the climax of the set (for me) which is a song we play where I'm playing a beat on the hi-hat almost exclusively and it is very taxing. Depending how I feel during and after this song, determines how well I am for the rest of the set. i was quite exhausted before we even started it, so I knew I was in trouble. I think we played a bit faster, which is expected, but I could not pull off the fills I wanted to. I missed things. Both of my crash cymbals were trashed, cracked and beat to death where they made little sound. My right crash in particular, so I had to adjust so not to play it outright through most of the set other than for emphasis. These things are detrimental during a set as muscle memory comes into play when adrenaline is all that's getting you through. I like to put on a show. Yes, we ARE putting one on as a group, but personally, I like to not simply play for the song, but play to the crowd as much as possible. I am in the back mind you, I need to fight for my share of people's limited eyeball time during each song. I play as if I'm looking for all of it. 

                 We nailed every part of our set aside from a recent song implementation where the transitions needed to be perfect, they were there, but not as polished as they will be in future. No major fuck ups though. No sticks lost, no strings broken, no parts botched. I was only disappointed I wasn't on my A-game. My head was, my body was not. I'm not the 18 year old I used to be.  During the set, I re-pulled a muscle in my left shoulder/neck on stage. I had pulled it earlier in the week on Monday or Tuesday and it took me all week to heal it. So naturally I felt it hard somewhere in the set and I wanted to die the rest of the night. It's taken me all weekend to recover. It ain't like it used to be.

           We loaded out and I lied on the thick farm grass for a moment. People came up to us telling us how amazing of a show we put on, still in battledress. We sat around cooling for a while, and watched the following acts. When the Lipstick boys played, it began to rain, we rushed off to load our gear back up before it got too wet. Rainbows galore. We noticed the Lipstick Boys taking some hints from Craig and Matt. Shirts with sharpie on them, Brian wearing a dress, much like Craig, complete with a dead ringer of a smiley face on his knee, the same as Craig on his bald head. He was flattered, I roll my eyes at that stuff. Be original. I mean shit, borrowing ideas is one thing, but straight up ripping off at the same gig no less, that is very much a "come on man." moment. Brian means well, but he is very much an untrained puppy dog that aged. He was very flattering with his words afterwards. He means well. He got a bit intoxicated as the night moved. Child cannot handle his liquor. 

              We scraped together some bucks for 3 quesadillas (I did not bring cash) and we ate them in Craig's car. They were delicious. I was famished at that point and out of booze. As we began, Matt had a stash of Geny's in his bag. Crafty bastard. It got dark and the bugs came out. We said our goodbyes and were on our way. Getting a bit lost through Bath, NH and then making our way onto the highway, in and out of consciousness myself, listening to the conversation going on in the front seat. we arrived at Matt's in what seemed like 10 hours and then loaded out some gear, and got into my car and passed the fuck out.  Overall, a successful day's work. 

Hometown

It's odd. I always end up meeting new people who grew up in the same town as I did later in life in completely different places. 

the dark and things I said i'd never be

"i can't start to count the things, i said i'd never be. I became them all the night, you quit counting on me." - my favorite molina line of all time. i will never be good enough. also for a line that good.

        have me, have it all. take it, i don't fucking need any. thing. any. more. message me. i'll meet you so you can send your fist through my face. bring a knife. whoever you are.

i ain't scared of you. 

leave the city

"it broke my heart to leave the city, i mean it broke what wasn't broken in there already." 

         Jason doesn't save me, he let's me know it's ok to do whatever it is you have to do.