That's a wrap

That's about it. Pretty much done. Leaf turned, another leaf exposed. Buckled and broke. Such is life, such is fate.
Give, don't take.
Love, don't hate.
Build, don't break.
It's all ok.

Later.

The way things are

In the turmoil that is Life, things go well, others go sour. I could use this time to bitch about the things that went sour today. As it so happens, however, life is made of checks and balances. Nothing ever gets too happy, and nothing ever gets too miserable. Unless you're unlucky.

I'm sitting here typing on an expensive machine. One that many do not have the luxury of using, let alone owning outright. Am I here to preach equality or a message of unity and peace on earth? No.

Fact is, things happen, other things don't. It's not hard to ascertain the predecessors to success, or to failure. What's difficult for them is to discipline oneself to be able to achieve either. It takes a lot to completely succeed. It also takes a lot to completely fail. Most of us are middle-of-the-roaders. We don't succeed completely, or fail completely. We're mostly just what's called 'Human'. Is this some self-righteous philosophizing on the futility of the human race or its efforts? No.

Somewhere in our lives, we will be confronted with Adversity. And when we are confronted, it will kick it's heels, and bury its razor-sharp talons in your very soul, ripping it from one end to the other without reflection, completely destroying everything you had previously understood to be sacred, holy, or even invisible. Adversity is the biggest deterrent to living freely. Is it the power to overcome Adversity that I'm writing about? No.

At some point, we will know what it feels like to be ignored. To be cast aside as refuse - if not less than - and told to mind our place as something beneath another's notice. The teller at the parking garage. The line-police telling you to get back in line. The state patrol making sure you don't get burned by coffee and accidentally careen into the other lane for two seconds, then breathalize you. Did any of those things happen today? No.

Periodically, we will know what it means to be lied to, to be deceived. It is the most unpleasant feeling, to discover another's truth which hurts by itself, and the disrespect is compounded by the liar's arrogance to think they can trick you, because you're gullible and actually trust them. Does this have anything to do with trust, or with betrayal? No.

What this has to do with is the understanding that Life is Life. It happens to everyone. It is nothing special to anyone, yet completely unique every time it happens. It is a result of breathing. Negativity is easy to concentrate on. Therefore, it is the focus of most discussion, as it is easy to identify anti's, regardless of what direction we're working towards. Either bitch about what goes wrong, or appreciate what goes right.
A diamond is cherished because of its rarity. So is tanzenite. Granite is not. Sedimentary is not. But were it not for the granite and sedimentary elements, there would not be marble. Were it not for pressure, there would not be diamonds. Were it not for water, there would be no drowning, but also no life. Is it about checks and balances? No.

It cannot be about anything. Otherwise, it will meet it's adversity. And some things are better being unopposed. That way they are more easily absorbed or ignored. If this thought were to stand for something, it would surely be wrong.

This will be quick, to the point, brief, and more concise than this sentence was, because I don't have much time left after it's written.

I am moving.

This is a very difficult move for me.
It is because I am leaving my family, who, for all their faults, I love immensely. I try to give away items or sell them, and I feel guilty and want to cry because they were so sweet to think of me to give me those things. Books, CDs, drawings, etc. The drawings I keep. Some of the books I do. But the ones I don't, it's hard, and hurts.
It hurts because I'm leaving a place I allowed myself to call 'home'. I've never called anywhere 'home', because I knew it was not someplace I could tolerate for more than a few years. Here: this is a home. The people treat others as they think they should, not how they think they can. They do not care much about rules, just do what they have to to get it done - but they'll follow them if they can, or if it's in the community's best interest. They are good people for the most part. Simple, hard working, intelligent, dedicated, and determined.
I am leaving my home. Our home. The one I made this for is not here. Will never be here. Will abandon me if I'm not there. Isn't talking to me anyway. I pissed her off. Don't know what I did that made her this angry, but it's something. From a woman who used to tell me to call her if I wanted to talk: she did - to the woman who can't stand me more than one day at a shot a week apart. I didn't change this much. I just became less self-centered. She made up for my shedding, but damn. I don't get it. Then she says it's out of guilt, but won't say for WHAT. So this is really worrying me.

I've given up my job/s. I've given up my standing, my headway, my networks, all my work. All for this move. And I'm not comforted or supported in it at all.

I waited until the end of the month to take a caravan with my family as a 'one last family road trip'. They left a day early, and told me the day before, as I'm trying to fulfill contracts and other professional obligations. Legally binding ones, at that. No, I'm told it's a day early, then treated like the instigator when I ask them to carry a vinyl record so it won't get heat damaged, because it means a lot to me.

I'm leaving my friends. But these guys will still be around, so I'm not that worried about them.

I'm tired.

I'm hurt.

I'm scared.

And I'm still doing it.

Because of love.

I hate love.

But I do love.

It's been a little while.

not everything in my life is as depressing or exhausting as my recent (if you could call them that) entries. Life has been, for the most part, equally good, and something of a trial, simultaneously. As it always is.

We have a show on Thursday. We haven't been able to practice but once so far. Playing to almost 1000, in a way (they walk around to different music spots...kinda like a big carnival). We went from being the first band signed, to being one of nine. Pretty awesome. There should be a lot of music and people having fun. Those are the best people to play to. worries me we haven't practiced any more than we have, but it should all be gravy. We're pretty good at what we do. We've even played a show that we only practiced twice for, and I learned a new art just four days before. About the same as now. We're pretty talented. just disconnected.

That's nearly forefront on my mind, second only to my relationship with my wife. But I bitch enough about that...so I'll let it pass, and focus on better things. That's what life is, right? Or some sort of rationalizing bullshit we like to call our existence? Yep. That's life.

I am realizing as time passes that I have an uncontrollable love for synthesizers and electronics that make music. It's becoming an obsession...I can easily see myself sacrificing food for these things. The Nord Wavesynth is an absolutely sexy piece of equipment that I would go absolutely nuts over...and if they have a midi-syncable tempo for the LFOs...hooooooooo, yes, it will be mine. The price is cheap, especially when you can do anything you want with it, AND it comes with a full Mellotron suite.... my babies will know the words Nord, Moog, Mellotron, Wurlitzer, Roland, Logic, Vocoders, Compressors, Sidechain, Limiters, Multipressors, bitcrusher, and reverb, as well as any math that goes along with it before they know Mama and Dada. I think my love for music started in the womb. I know my love for electronics has started this past year (in the analog and hardware sense, that is). And I'm only getting started. I'm leary of my bankroll as new equipment comes out. The Moog Etherwave is probably going to be the first of my technological trapses into the vast world of limitless possibilities. Affordable, sweet silky sound, it's in every track. I'll rewrite an old concept album I did in college called The Robinsons. It's kind of like Rock The Cradle, but with a guy, and he kills the parents to protect the baby because he thinks they're trying to kill it, and he's snapped its neck when they were taking a nap. So it's all limp the entire album, and the last song is very creepy sounding, where no note is solid until the last chorus, and it's a bunch of quarters dinging around on the strings, loosely harmonizing, and a very steady 'kick kick kick boom' percussion track as the cop cars are outside staging an entry. Dark shit. But the bendy sound of the Etherwave would be perfect for it. Also for intros to songs, or accompaniments to several pieces I've composed. num num num. Good to my ears.
After that, the Nord Electro 3 or the Wavesynth.

Something else I've kinda noticed this past week...no matter what walks of life, people tend to overdramaticize a situation that isn't what it seems, or has nothing to do with the actual issue. The event we're playing: it's been orchestrated and designed ground-up by a board for the city. I have attended one of these meetings. My schedule changed, and I have been unable to attend the others, because I'm passed out at 9AM now. I've tried to stay awake. It's like my body has a natural sleep cycle to it that is directly at odds with anything that needs to be done. Anyway. So, I went to the meeting, we agreed to build some spots, it was a very uniquely 'This town' approach, and a very attractive one at that. Fun, individual, genuine, inspired: all the things that make any event really fun, not just some tents and a couple of carnie rides with a funnel cake stand and this feeling of stagnance and boredom in the air. Something really great was and is going with this event. It's why I didn't raise a ruckus when other artists came in to perform by the droves. I ADVERTISED it to other artists. I like this community. Truly and deeply. They treat people like they want to be treated, which is rare when its sincere. I wanted to give something back before I left it. I figure, the more artists, the more diversity, the more universality, the more accessibility, the more entertained, the more retained, the better for everyone. Right? I've gotten a little bit of questioning by well-intending people I know, but it's an issue of community development and support, not personal glory. I was honored and humbled they asked us in the concept stages of the event to perform. It's like, "Hi, here's something you always wanted. Will you take it?" FUCK yeah! Bring everyone! It's gonna be a fucking PARTY. I'll even buy the drinks, right? Community. Friends without knowing them, simply based on the fact that you both live within the same ten miles they do without expectations of conformity. Sweet. Like the nostalgic 'Being An American' simply because we all lived in the same country that upheld its ideals.
Well, this event has recently, as in the last two days, developed a bitter taste to it at the committee level. The neighboring town, has adopted the same name, theme, and presentation as this current town's, based on the fact that the current town's advertising scheme used the neighboring town's businesses and media as an outlet. So they're capitalizing on the branding and name recognition that this event has generated. It may be important to note that the current town...we'll call it Town A...has local vendors set up, and visitors vouched to come from hundreds of miles away. This is not only an area, or community first, but a regional first. a big deal. (and I built their TV ads. :) ) It's not small doings. And now the neighboring town...we'll call it Town B...is taking all that branding and using it as their own. Same name, same everything. They're changing the one word 'Five' and making it a numeral. That's all the difference.
Town A is pissed. And understandably. They just ran all this legwork and got the wind taken out of them via a person who sat on the board to 'help' until this past week, when they say they don't have the time to dedicate to it anymore, because Town B, whom they're on board with, is having an event called the same thing, doing the same things, at the same time, with the same everything...but bigger. Because it's Town B. And they're bigger than Town A. And that's just the way it is.
So, what could have been a genuinely pleasant and awesome thing has now turned into a dog fight over legalities and just mutual fucking respect.
I omitted the names of the town just incase anyone googled them, btw. I still have to work with these people.
Mutual respect.
People will go all stupid with the details, as I'm included in the committee email list (since I attended once, my help was appreciated, so it was decided i was a member...see what I mean about honest and accepting?). They complain about the numeral, the phrasing, positioning, etc, which all has a part in the whole, but the whole is, very plainly, respect. Town B recognized Town A's willingness and openness, and exploited it. Very 80's business move. Very ruthless. Out of principal, I dislike them, now. Not the whole, but that particular board, I dislike. They send in a mole to a community 1/7th it's size because they're afraid they'll do something that inspires commerce?? What dicks. Mutual respect is absent. Town A gives respect just because they're alive. Town B denies respect because Town A isn't as big. Town A is just there to appease and fulfill Town B's needs whenever Town B decides it.
It should be mentioned, also, that there has been a very strong undercurrent of discontent between the two towns for months now...enough of one that there is a division emminent if things continue as they have these past two years. Tensions were raised over a city union contract, they were not quelled by the press getting partial because it's a 'good ol' boy' mentality for those people, swaying the minds of the more innocent, then the local Wal Mart moves from Town B to Town A, which frustrates Town B. Town A hasn't changed it's mentality at all. Town B has developed some petty jealousy. Both chamber of commerces are trying feverishly to strengthen the ties, and I even wanted to make commercials that stressed unity above division and personal stupid bullshit. Now, though, with Town A's response to Town B's action, as it is very high-school drama-ish (i.e. "Did anyone notice that these two people were omitted from the email list? does anyone here find that suspicious?" ) and not even catching the real issue, I'm content to watch them burn. Town B will create division. Town A will respond by boycotting. Town B will respond by instilling the mentality into their kids. Who used to be good friends will be divided by the proverbial tracks...in this case, the river. In the last year, I've seen Town A go from being referenced as the 'Town A' to being referenced as the 'Beggars of the valley'. Town B is earning the title of the elitist. As time progresses, the rift is growing deeper. There are some genuinely sweet people here, and they don't see it coming. There is a growing underground presence, and a growing judgemental mindframe. It saddens me. Maybe it will go away in about 5 to 10 years. It'll take about three years to quell it as far as it is now. Town B should do what Town A is doing, but call it a different name. Period. do something different. It's stupid to do the same thing.
Just like I wanted more bands to play than just us: I recognize stagnance in monotony. I think we're great, yeah, but it's a statistical fact: Not everyone will. Not everybody likes the Beatles. Not everybody likes The Rolling Stones. Not everybody likes classical, or rap, or Heavy metal. But if you have each corner playing a distinctly different sound, then you have that many more people stay at the event. Dont' do the same thing that the other place does. Then you'll just end up sounding like all the other knock-off bands in the 70s and 80s, and still play the same tune twenty years later. Be individual. Be different. A car is, most will agree, an object on four wheels capable of independent velocity controlled by a person in the 'driver seat'. The vehicle is universal. The model and make are what make it appealing to different people. some people want the BMW M5, some people want the Chevy Aveo. They're both cars. One's better to some, the other's better to others. Point is, Don't take a car that's obviously a BMW M5, buy one, take the BMW logo off of it, and put a Mercedes logo on in its place. The engine is still a BMW, the suspension, the frame, the interior...nothing's changed but the logo, and now they say it's worth more because they thought of it. Hah. Fucking idiots. How boring would an antique car show be if the only car that everyone had there was a black 1934 Ford Tudor? Yeah, they look cool, but put 30 black ones in a room...getting kinda dull.

Long rant for nothing. I hate seeing people exploited. I often feel so strongly exploited myself. I guess that's why I leap to the defensive with it. there's nothing wrong with wanting to trust, and being the bigger person for it and acting on what you think is the right thing to do, as opposed to the safe thing to do. It creates a lot of wounds, yeah, but it allows a more peaceful sleep. Not deeper, just more peaceful.

I'm in a political mood, I guess. I google NIN for ticket tours, and find that they're in some heat with Apple about an approval process for an app update that contains 'offensive material'. Which is funny, because #1: it's a code update, not an interface update. The app's been approved with content as is, and has no content discrepancy in its original form. It's when they try to make it not-buggy and have a code modification it's refused as having objectionable content. And #2: it's music that they're objecting to. he compares them to Wal Mart, which, of itself, turns me on, because I hate WalMart's holier than thou mentality. Oh, we don't like having uncensored music in our store, we're not selling it. So everything you get there has the fucking shit cut out of it, or they don't sell it. Ha. Like kids give a shit. All they hear is the 'szchwip' of the word or the silence in the track...they know what's going on. Trust me: in your absence, you parents, they make up much worse stuff than is actually said. Kids aren't dumb. Parents are.
I don't agree with censorship. I was brought up in two very distinct and contradicting ways. One way was very liberal, balls to the wall, don't give a fuck and say what you want way. The other was very conservative. Both were from one day to the next very different. One day it was conservative. The next day it was liberal. The following day Liberal will get you into trouble. Confusion runs rampant. A sense of disconnectedness and lack of place or worth seriously infects you. It wasn't ok yesterday, it's encouraged today, and it's not ok again.... They tell me I'm selfish and stupid for not understanding what they're saying...ok, so there must be something wrong with me. i'm not getting this at all. They must be right. So, as for double standards, I am a walking talking schizophrenic, but I hate people who have the same trait. Enter WalMart.
We don't sell cds with cursewords int hem because they promote sex and violence. But we'll sell you the guns and the condoms and lube. We'll even sell the bullets.
And his example, which I am very fond of:
We don't like profanity. We won't condone it.
But here's Scarface for 9.99 right behind you. Just around the bend is the boxset of GTA 1&2 with expansions for 19.99. Oh, and the Godfather Blu-ray is here for 79.99. And American Psycho. And blah blah. You get it.
But no profane music. Oh, no.
Stupid fucking parents.
And these 'morals' and 'ethics' which are very subjective to begin with, are then placed upon the masses because certain excentric minorities of those that ascribe to the faiths or practices some associate themselves with being a part of the group of will scream and kick their feet and whine and bitch and moan about a freedom of choice, that should not be allowd to be chosen. So. Music answered it. They sacrifice the art they've created to be more marketable. That's on the musicians that did that. I dont' feel sorry for them. My albums won't ever hit WalMart, if there's any profanity in them or not. I dont' agree with their principals.
Apple has iTunes, which has all the NIN albums on it. Starfuckers Inc EP being one, to mention. So the objectionable content being a song that is streamed for free that contains one word one time in it is pretty fucking ludicrous...especially since it was approved. And the app, incidentally, specifically targets people wanting to attend their concert, and connect with other iPhone users who want to connect to those at the concerts who either weren't able to go, or are curious how it's going. Obvious NIN fans. They've heard the shit before. They know that some of the songs have profanity in them. Boo, Apple. The issue here is their duplicity. I agree with that. Genuinely. I would post this on HIS blog, not just mine, but I can't without being overshadowed by another issue. The 'fans'. Not the real ones, but the 'fairweather' self-pitying fans.
What upsets me from the fans is that they make this huge deal out of everything Trent says based on a couple of sentences, and completely derail the whole issue in a whirlwind of chaotic partisanship on something they don't even take the time to understand. They see a word 'left' and they scream 'RIGHT!' and never give thought to why they're screaming it. No wonder he wants to take a break for a very long time. I wouldn't blame him if he took a break forever. I would love my fans for their support, but christ, I'd have to wonder at my creation as it has attracted such idiots. Some people listen to the music because it's good music. Some because it's good lyrics. Some for both. And some because everyone else does. And the last of the four are the ones that I like the least. Useless parrots of someone else's mind. The kinds of people you can talk into doing anything because all they say is 'yeah, i know, right?'
A lot of his music early on was very introspective and self-absorbed. Fair enough. Mine was too. Still is. All art is. It's the ARTISTS PERSPECTIVE that they convey, not someone else's. The world through THEIr eyes, THEIR ears, THEIR words. The expression can be universally accessible via several key topics, phrases, progressions, etc. How many times have you heard Pacha Bell's Cannon redone? Too many times to count. CFG has its place. The church banned augmented fourths as it was the 'Devils Progression'. OK. Cool. There is a mentality, that I find very disturbing, that feeds off this, and assimilates it into their own. It is the hardcore, do anything fans, I've noticed, that i've grown a distaste for for any celebrity / musician / artist. They're the ones that make it their live's ambition to absorb every inflection, to experience every emotion, that make some grandios thing out of something that is simple and pure. John Lennon was a visionary? Yes. A tragedy? Yes. Great music? Most of it. Are you him? Do you share all his ideals? Did you do what he did? Then why make it seem like he's the Dhali Lama? Why defend him? He was a man. Straight and simple. he spoke to many, yes, but he was still a man.
Oh, and Marilyn Manson. And The Doors. And The Rolling Stones. And David Bowie, in his younger days...you're not them. Stop pretending you're vindicated to share all their views and opinions simply because you've listened to all their records. It's like swearing you are exactly like Rush because you've listened to Moving Pictures, and understand their hurt and joy and journey through life. Or you're 100% sympatico with Heart because you know the words to Barracuda. Or The Cure because you've listened to Pornography, Disintegration, and Bloodflowers fifty times. Or Britney Spears because you hear her sing about this or that. They're here, they say what they think, or what they think will sell, and that's IT. No speaking to YOU, unless they dedicate a song to you. You can identify it, yeah, but it's not YOURS. And neither are the artists. They're working a hard job, leave them alone. OK? Unless they're in front of the paparazzi. Then let them have it. ;)

done ranting, comiserating, enjoying...I guess I'm just a negative guy, and a sucker for a cause. One day I'll get over it, maybe. I'll quit bitching eventually. I'll run out of things to bitch about.

On the upshot, I got a really good idea for a song just now. :)

Proven case

Just spoke with my mom about the logistics of moving. What gets stored where, how things go which place or are in transit, manpower, availability, etc etc. My sister is in a bit of heat for doing what she thinks is right, because it involves money. Same as me. My family has this constant fear of no money.

They say that she is never very clear on what she's doing. That she's ambiguous and evasive, intentionally misleading and subversive. She asks why. I answer honestly: Because half the time, it's well received, and the other half of the time, it's used to judge a situation or a motive and used against us. She doesn't say because she doesn't want the potential confrontation. She'd rather fight a battle she has the upper hand in because only SHE knows the truth, whereas you and dad have the fact manipulation down to an art if she just gives it to you. She's not stupid.
Mom got pissed. (See what talking in Blogs does? It makes me confident. Then I say shit I shouldn't. But it's the truth. The Truth will set you free. right? heh).
She goes off on how if that were really the case, then we wouldn't be able to trust them, and we should be able to trust them, because they're our parents. That's true. We should. But half the time it's a teddy bear, and the other half of the time it's a knife with the point at our throats.
Well, being able to trust her family was not a luxury she had as a child, nor one that dad had either. And they went through their whole lives not trusting anybody, even us. Trust works both ways. You give, you get. They always gave us about a half-and-half chance of screwing them over. So we gave them the same. I see this now. This is a revelation.
I've treated everyone I've interacted with the same way. I've done as I've been raised. I don't trust anyone because everyone's screwed me over. Well now I think I screwed myself over for a lot of them. That's why I get so anxious with my wife. I have to trust her. There's no option. She doesn't trust me at all. Maybe that's because I never really trusted her. And I don't mean in the 'sleeping with other guys' sense. I mean with my heart. I've given, but always been afraid to give that last little bit, so that it becomes an effort. I'm holding onto the last strand for myself so I can still have a piece of me, and giving her the rest. So what I'm giving her is stretched out and useless by the time she gets it. I panic when I have to just give it all, and swing very hard. Like yesterday. (Wow. Yesterday was a clusterfuck of just wrongness on my part.) I've thought the trust thing with us was the other way around until this afternoon. I thought it was a matter of self-preservation. It's not. Self is self. No two ways around it. Giving of the self means you just trust them. And I do trust her logically, and in all practicality. I mean, if it came down to my life, yeah, I can see that being an issue, but I don't want her to do anything to save mine. I embrace death. I seek it. It makes me feel alive. I appreciate it. I will meet it one day. It's not self-preservation. It's self-denial. I am what I am regardless of who holds my heart. My essence is mine. My soul is mine. I give them window and access. It's been poked a few times, but it only hurts because I still keep the wounds fresh by constantly revisiting the past. So it's my fault. Not hers. I'm the one afraid to be myself. She is to, but that's on her personal side. I let this effect both of us. Truth is, we're both kinda messed up. But when we're together, we're so perfect. It's so envigorating. I love every moment. Even when we argue. No kidding. I get excited when she rebukes what I'm saying, tells me why, and gives her perspective. I honestly find that fun, to a degree, minus the yelling voices. It excites me. I've never been angry with her for more than an hour. Even through these last 6 months. Sad, frustrated, confused: yes. Angry? Not yet. No, not self-defense or preservation - self denial.
I'm the same way with almost everybody. Give with the reservation that I may need it back. THAT has a lot to do with why I feel so intimidated, I bet. And why I'm so afraid to just DO. I conquer my fears every time, but still, there's something that makes me squirm and question. This move to Orlando with my wife: I'm excited. I still am. I remember the way things felt, the way we were when we were there. How everything made her smile and get excited. Now everyone's all "Jobs, Avery, Jobs." yeah. I know. Jobs. Economy's down. Yep. For high-end jobs. For extremely low-end jobs. For middle-end jobs. I know it. People are firing and laying off left and right. And hiring for less. And it's taking less and less to live. So...I'm worried? Sorta. Not really. Things always work out. You can make it through anything if you work at it hard enough. I know this well enough by now.

Mom also said she's not helping and not hurting the situation. She likes my wife, she wishes things were going better for her, but whatever I decide and whatever she decides mom's staying out of. Forever. My life now. She's done with it. Interact with her if I want to.
Such a loving family. These were best friends once, mind you. Ones I killed. Ones that took back what they'd given. It wasn't free. It was on lease. OK. I'm done trying to be friends, then. You're just my mom, and my dad, and I don't owe you, and you don't owe me. We're even, we both breathe air, same as you, same as me, and that's where you want it, so that's where it is. I could have made it a lot farther without your inner-turmoils anyway.

"Question: If Control's control is absolute, why does Control need to control?"
"Answer: Control needs Time."
"Question: Is Control controlled by its need to control?"
"Answer: Yes."
"Question: Why does Control need humans, as you call them?"
"Death needs Time like a junkie needs Junk."
"Question: Then what does Death need time for?"
"Answer: Death needs time for what it kills to grow in."

So, for what it is, as Time houses my existence, I can use time to control my future, or end time to avoid being controlled. As Death will inevitably greet me, I might as well spend time that I have doing what I think is best or 'correct'. Therefore, I do what I do. I leave here. I heal my wife. i love her. That is what's 'correct'. That is what's 'right'. It's an emotional choice, but also a logical one. She is my wife. And I love her. And it's my choice. Therefore, i choose. sometimes you have to pick a path and walk it, regardless. Depressing state of things aside, pressures will arise and fall just as waters with the tide. It is the way of things. The way must not be confused for the goal or destination. It is merely the path to get there. We all have our own destinations.

This just happened. Just now. My sister, the one who was being sweet that I defended, just demanded that I sign over my car to her, on grounds both of money and of some unspeakable she wouldn't go into specifics on. She enjoyed being a bitch, because she knew she could get away with it. Because she felt vindicated. justified. She was, in all honesty. I tried to help. I tried to make it better. But I hurt it. And I am punished by way of being stripped of my car. A car is a small price to pay. I now understand that my family and I can never be friends. Ever. Ever.
Ever.
I can want it more than anything in the world. But it won't matter. Just like I said, there's always that one thing that cannot be cured or answered or prevented. That one thing. Never. I killed it. They know I'm trying to start over. They enjoy twisting the blade.

They can have it. I'm going. As soon as I can get out of this responsibilities. I'm gone. I don't care. I'm leaving. I'll sell everything I have to. Everything I can. Everything. I have a 1979 Ford Courier. I have a few hundred dollars. I can't live in the same continent as them. They hate me, and I can't bear it. I've hated myself for so long, and now knowing that they hate me too, and it's pure and just waiting to be used...I can't do it.

Take everyone I've known that's died, put it all in one moment, and that is about as much loss as I feel right now. I am damned. I am gone.

I want to die. Truly. I don't like life. My wife doesn't like me. My family hates me. I chased everyone else off. Good. I die alone. Good.

survival can have someone else who's got a better chance and heart. May the next one use my breath better.

In Peace,

I love you, Andrea. I'm coming. If you love me still, open the door. If not, I'll wait 10 minutes, knocking every 5. After that, I'll take it that you don't, or think it'd be best if I went on my way.
I'm not healing from this one. I've just got to accept it. Time will maybe smooth it out? Or maybe, hopefully, I'll just meet Death, finally. Be done with this life.

Let flown to the winds of anonymity

Things are stupid.
I am stupid.
There is a level of stupidness in all of us.
I have about three times my intended portion.

She is sweet. She is confused, she is lost, but she is sweet.

Every time I go through my family shit, I take it out on someone. I can't take it out on family, she doesn't talk to me anymore, so I just kill all ties. I try to kill it with everyone. I try to destroy all my relationships last night. My three friends didn't get it, and therefore didn't take me seriously. Instead, one asked me how I was, and the other two just told me to quit being an asshole. I can take that advice. That's fine.

But I don't stop with them. I smell blood. I don't really realize what I'm doing. I'm beast-mode. Going for a kill. Not THE kill, but any kill. Anything to put it into perspective.

I always do that. I need to quit. Now. I may have honestly hurt someone. I may have confused the freaking hell out of them. I may have just provided laughter. I doubt that, though. I feel I hurt them to some degree. I may never know it. I hope I do learn what it did. I love this person more than anything ever. I love her so much. I owe her so much. And for me to say the things I did, is horrible of me. For me to put her into a position of extremes, only two weeks after she's held up at gunpoint by some crazy bitch on a mission to get caught, is absolutely horrible. I am so sorry. I don't know if 'sorry' begins to describe my concern, or remorse for what I've done. I know what it is. I know what it means. I know what the consequences could be if she decides to follow through with them.

I have gotten better at managing it. But not really. I just go from punching things to sniping at people. I move from one poison to another. Before I'd hurt myself, mostly just physically. Now, I hurt others, mostly emotionally. I am a horrible person.

And I've the gumption to say that I'm an entertainer. That I'm someone who wants to make people dance. Someone who wants to make them smile, laugh, feel good about life. Probably because I want to hide, cry, and feel like life has no place for me. I want to keep them from feeling what I feel. The irony of a comedian is that we say 'fuck you' when we deeply care about our audience. We want to see them happy. It's not like we do it just for the ego massage-we do it for the audience. Ever wonder what makes a great comedian great? Honesty. Vulnerability. The ability to lay themselves - their core essence - in your hands, to some degree, and convince you that they, themselves, are the irony. That they, themselves, are the tragedy. They ARE the prat fall. They ARE the juxtaposition of misunderstandings and literal interpretations of abstract metaphors. That is their being. They are that disconnected.
"And you know the shit's good when you look at your hand, which is on fire, and think, 'What a lovely shade of blue...'"

I am disconnected. I have all the dysfunction of a great comedian. But I have no timing. I can tell great timing from a mile away, but I have none myself. And it doesn't matter. I don't want to make anyone laugh. I don't want to make anyone dance. I just want to finish my job, and go to her arms. I may have closed them forever. I pray not.
If I can't have her arms, I want to drift away into obscurity. I don't want to see my parents again. I don't want to see my sisters. Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Anyone. I just want to hide forever. I always wanted to. I just never did. I forced myself to interact, thinking it would get better. And it honestly does for a time. Then they start going through their own bullshit, and I'm not strong enough to differentiate anymore. I'm worn down. I'm worn out. I'm going to snap. I'm already snapping. I've had people make no sense at all this past week. I hear the words they say. I know what they say is coherent. I don't even know if what they're saying is what I'm hearing. It only happened twice. Here's what they said. But I cannot find meaning in it. "The beer is on the aisle with the shoes on it." (when asked if there was a curfew to buy beer on Sundays) "It might be if its colder than my brain normally should be." (when asked where the pound cake was). I'm scared. Couple this with a history of chronic blackouts and already once-in the hospital for a-fib, I don't know what to think. My families have alzheimers and clinical dementia in their genetics. What if it's hitting me at a younger age? One of my aunts at 40 had to go to the bathroom in the living room. Not the bathroom, the living room anywhere she was. Sneak in and take a dump right on the middle of the rug or floor. If their brains are colder than it should normally be when the cake is no where in the answer, then what am I going to be like when I'm 40?

I think that's part of the reason I did what I did yesterday, too. I don't want anyone to have to deal with me. Ever. Not when I'm half-sane, and sure-as-hell not when I'm insane. That's been weighing on my mind a lot. Yeah, it's funny. Yeah, it was kinda cool and trippy. But no. It freaks me out too. I don't want to be like my great uncle and randomly go violent.

I love her. I love her with all my heart. Beyond expression. I don't want to hurt her. I think that's about all I have to offer her.
I am sorry beyond words. I don't know if she should take me back, I'm so fucked up. I want her to, because I love her, and I want to see her smile again. I feel so at peace in her arms. I should not have listened to my family again. I should not have listened to my enemies that threatened us. I was so afraid they'd gotten to her when she was held up. I didn't shit for 4 days. Normally, I have a very regular bowel. I felt like I was going to throw up I am so worried about her. I love her. Christ I love her.

I have to hurt someone. It's an inevitability. I need to hurt my family, and tell them that it's too much too long, too deep too hard. They fucked me raw, and I don't have any more energy to sustain their intents. I need to let them go. I need to move on. I need to go away. That's who needs the axe. They're so subversive. And they're great at deception. They are sweet people, but they are so fucking defensive it's a part of breathing in. I can't live like that. I'm not a mean guy. I never wanted to hurt them. It hurts to be treated as the enemy when you're just trying to be a friend. It hurts to be shot at over and over again when you don't have a gun. I won't disrespect other references' horror and victims of those horrors, but it's like those weigh on those who watch their senseless acts of violence and aftermath, and wonder why anyone could do that? It's like that. But every day.

I'm going to go try to call her now. Maybe she'll answer. Maybe we still have a chance. Or maybe I blew it out of the water. It's best for her if I did, I think. It's best for US if I didn't. I'm so mixed up. I used to call her insane. I think she's actually the more sane one. Flighty, selfish, and unreliable, but sane. I'm all those, and insane. And when she's herself, every bit of woman any man could ask for. I love her so much. I hate myself so much. I hate me. I love her.

I'm sorry.

Exposition and selfish relativism That you shouldn't care about.

I don't get it at all. I do everything I can to be chipper and upbeat to people I care about. Everyone's intent on being self-centered and down in it. No body's really down in it. That's the thing. They just want to feel sorry for themselves.

I'm told that there's no way that my family can retire by the time they want to. So? I feel bad for you, but you do have exorbitant luxuries you'll sacrifice yourself to maintain. You can go without several things I can think of, but still refuse to acknowledge your ability to change your present and future resides in DOING, not in the 'wishing' or 'worrying'. You've always tried to teach us that you've got to keep DOING things...sometimes the action is the inaction, or absence of action, and the determination of that path. Sometimes it means intently refraining. So don't go golfing 3-4x per week. So sell the boat. You've only come into that stuff in the last 10-12 years anyway. There were 40 without it. you can do without it again. It was a good 10-12 years. Get over it. Can't take it with you, anyway.

Also, don't refer to my sisters' praise of you, my father, as buttering up their meal-ticket through college. Don't insult their sincerity so. You will alienate yourself if you keep doing that. I already despise that continued perception you boast, and am no longer interested in any interaction with you as long as you maintain that mentality. My sisters love you. They're not placating or condescending to you. If you had told them you walked on air, they'd believe it to this day. It's fucking horrible for you to crush their feelings like that. She had to choke back tears, you asshole. You didn't see it because you're too self-indulgent and self-righteous in your pity cause that you thought you were being clever. It was mean, and you were wrong.
Side note - Shut the fuck up with the mean shit, everybody. Deal. Quit cutting others down.
Back to it: I love my sisters. Don't fuck with them. Even if you are my dad. It reminds me of all the times you pulled the same shit with me. And I still hate you for it. I gave you everything I had, but I was just doing it for money in your eyes. YOU NEVER DID THAT UNTIL YOU MADE MONEY. you think you always made it: NO YOU DIDNT. I remember not being able to afford tires for your car. I remember cold blankets. I remember an apartment the size of my one bedroom that the 4 of us lived in. I remember these things. I remember cups being buckets, warm water being heated on the stove. I remember the Chevette with the yellow showing from the cushions through the torn seats, unable to make it up hills. I remember pawpaw trying to give you money. I remember your start. I loved you anyway, BEFORE you had the fucking money. I remember you being fun, having fun, loving us, playing, being very gentle and strong. My sisters loved you before they knew what money was. I loved you for loving them. We were all best friends.
you pulled that shit with me, and I thought, "OK, bad day." for a year. Then it didn't stop. I realized mom was getting worse. You were getting worse. My sisters were turning into you two. Mom physically assaulting me because she hates me because she sees you in me, you bitching at me because I'm just like my fucking mother, then yelling at mom, then beating the dog, and the reason? Money. "Can't afford this, can't do that, gotta have it, fuck it, fuck you." And Avery'd get it because I was a financial burden. I got a job when I was 16. Didn't use any of your money. Paid my insurance, my food, my everything. Well, there was college. From MY mutual fund. From MY childhood. OK. I paid for that. "You need a new car." OK. I'm spending about $200-300 on starters per month as is, I can rock a car for that per month. So you cosign. I see a girl. We hit it off. I am paying for college. I want to make sure I make good grades. I study. I go to the library almost every night, from 7 until 12/1/2AM sometimes. "You're not studying. you're doing god knows what." No, you're wrong. I was fucking studying. We both were. BUT, now I realize it's never going to change. If it's money, and I fix that, now it's something else. Then it'll be something else when that's over. Want to know why I was so quiet? Because you fucking yelled all the time. If I stated an opinion (i.e. "I want to be a lawyer, I think." "Why the hell would you want to do that?!" "Because I like psychology, and perspectives, and the idea of justice." "TWIST the FUCKING knife in my back, son. Jesus FUCKING christ, a lawyer. Shit.") OR, it'd be something about a new chip design that allowed 256 mb of ram or 512 in the same space as it used to be 128 mb max and how I thought that was impressive, the only thing you heard was I wanted a computer all of a sudden, and I had no concept of money, or something like that. If I mentioned the guitar not feeling natural, they heard that I wanted them to buy me a new one - all I was saying was my fingers were clumsy that day. If I went and got a rail, I was fussed at for spending any money at all. I competed in street comps. Spent money for that, too. $5-$10 entry fees were fun to lose, because at least I was there. Never told them, never caught shit for it.
Anyway, whatever my opinion, it'd always turn out to be the wrong one, and either I was just like my mother for saying that, or I was being assinine and selfish. But, my sisters could do no wrong. I was ok with it as long as they weren't the targets. I knew that deep inside somewhere they loved me. Mom'd punch me, or start wailing on my chest. Kicking me. Maybe you just forgot since you had all this shit when you were young, but you'd remember us someday, and it'd be great because I'd forgive you, and everything would be excellent, and we'd all be best friends again.
Then my sisters started accusing me of being just like mom.
And they started accusing me of being just like Dad.
And we started getting into some very nasty fights.
I started channeling my aggression towards them.
I love my sisters.
mom wailing on me, yelling at my sisters, dad yelling at everyone, mom yelling at him, everyone breaking shit, throwing shit around, poor bonnie getting thrown up against the tree anytime dad had no other outlet, then pissing in the floor whenever he'd come around, then getting walloped on the head by a strong fist every time she did...
Guns enter the house. Wrecked home enters wrecked home with automatic weapons. What happens? Are things dealt with logically and rationally? No. Everyone is screamed at, forced into the car, and taken somewhere illogical. As if the guns will hop up and start randomly firing at everyone. They'd never seen guns before, I don't think. what the holy fuck? We finally disassembled them in pieces around the lake, pieces miles apart. barrel here, pin there, hammer here, gave the bullets away.
Now it's my fault for not listening to my mother scream incoherently at us and making a scene.
I didn't make the scene. She was crying her eyes out when she was screaming.
She was kicking my shins, trying to make me do what she demanded.
She was shoving my sisters into the car by their heads as they were crying.
Only she and I knew about the guns.
My sisters didn't know. They were confused as hell.
Screaming, yelling, forcing, kicking.
I couldn't do it.
no more.
I left. Why? Obvious to me. Is it obvious to anyone else?
I'm called every day, being bitched out, how could I do that to them, blah blah. It lasts two weeks. When I ask about how people are doing, I'm told everyone's fine, if I ever really cared.
I'm told that in my absence, they've gotten a brand new TV, a new PS2, a new whatever. So many new things. Things they'd told me for years I was stupid to save up and get. I'd come and visit them early on Saturdays and make them breakfast for a month or so. Well, I was still just trying to get money out of them. Being nice to gain. it had nothing to do with that, but that's what they wanted to believe. My girlfriend moves in. We were doing well, things were going good. I knew I loved being around her, I knew I loved her, and I knew she was very supportive to me through all of this, even at the cost of befriending my family. She alienated herself from them to support me. She even started alienating herself from her own family a bit, not listening to negative advice being given, a very innocent soul, in all honesty. Aware of the world, but it never seemed to touch her, if that makes any sense. Anyway, a truly awesome woman.
Well, my family couldn't stand it. What was bad before became horrid. My family went ape-shit. I was going to hell. I was Satan incarnate. The preacher at their church, a genuinely sweet man, came and tried to speak with us about religion, and the 'right' way to do things. We'd been fucking like rabbits after about a month of the "you're not studying" accusations. We still were studying until 1 or 2, but then we were fucking like crazy until about 4AM. We'd been living together for a few weeks. We're about as right as we can be, I thought. I took everything my family had as standards, motives, goals, meanings, worthy endeavors and said So, fuck it, it's my life. I can do whatever and be whatever I want, since I can't be what you want. You're wrong in most anything you've accused me of. It's time to see what's really true.
So I did what I did. i told the preacher that I was Wiccan. He didn't know what that meant. We're eating CiCi's Pizza (a truely delicious pizza still, to this day for some odd reason), and he's trying to grasp what Wicca is. We come to the middle ground that it's pantheism, but I don't very adequately convey that I don't necessarily believe that every element or property has a god's name associated with it, that I agree and ascribe to it mostly as a philosophy, and not so much as a theology . so he thinks I worship Greek mythology. No. so I hug trees? Closer. He says that there are paths for every individual, and what may seem as a straying now may just be a path closer to the truth. This is coming from a man who's put in the highest recommendation possible for me to attend Sewanee, be a member of the clergy, and who would speak with me about the different aspects of a sermon he'd written, and ask my opinion of...not like he was seeking wisdom, but he genuinely enjoyed talking with me, and I him. he was a very sweet man. And he didn't say 'closer to god' or 'jesus'. He said 'closer to the truth.' That was the last time I saw him. I wish him all the best in this life and the next. He's one terriffic guy. Everyone should meet him. You'll know when you do.
Continuing on: I haven't seen my family in a couple months. my mom won't let my sisters come over, even though she's in town every day. She dad won't talk to me. I call my grandparents: same thing. Mawmaw and pawpaw would talk with me, as would Jackie and Brenda, but only briefly, and 'hows the weather'. I started to realize what alienation was. I didn't see what I had in a loving woman. I saw what I had sacrificed. I saw the absence I had created for myself. I realized my place. I was expendable. All our best friends. All my best friends. They now hated me. And I hated them. we were no longer family. We were enemies. I stop calling. A few weeks go by. I get a call from my mom. I don't answer. We stop talking. I believed all the shit they'd told me.
It's a very occassional once-per-month-or-two two minute conversation that always ends with "Can my sisters come see me?" "No." "Why?" "Because of your lifestyle." "Ok, bye." *click* I couldn't believe their ignorance. I started getting frustrated. One of their friends forever has lived with this chick for years, hasn't married her, and you don't judge HIM, but, somehow, I'm setting a bad example for my sisters?! I didn't choose this because he did it. I chose it because I thought it was the right thing to do. The whole 'next step' thing. You know?
I still have the car. At somepoint in all the heated arguings, I was told that they wouldn't have a bad-credit risk with me and that car, since they didn't trust me to make a payment. This was preceded by me forgetting to go by an atm on my way to visit them to pay them for the whatever I had to pay them for. I went to the atm, got the money, when I got back, there was paperwork and a forced pen. OK, cool. Fuck it. Made a few grand to the side after I gave them $25000. They get their money. They make payroll for this month. They're happy. Next month they'll have to take from my sisters. Fuck it.
We're on about our life, my girlfriend and I. It was great sometimes, horrid other times. And it was all about where I'd see myself. I should have gone to a therapist. I should have talked about it. Not that I want her back - and I don't mean that she was at all anything to get rid of - but she's about to have a kid now with her husband whom she loves more than any of us know the meaning of the word, and is truly happy. Told you, one hell of a woman. :) No, but I would have saved her a lot of shit. She stuck with me two years through some of the most tumultuous emotional baggage you've ever seen. I wasn't my mom or my dad by any stretch of the imagination, but I was conflicted. What if I was just the stupid teenager? What I f I was wrong? What if? What if everything I knew was incorrect? Did I make the right decision? Those questions ate me alive. I started flashbacks to getting the shit beat out of me, being chased in dark woods, awkward moments that I blacked out in (and still don't remember), vivid memories. Terror. Hell. Very disjointed. Very disconnected. I'd play video games and watch movies just to give linearity to my thought processes. Otherwise, I'd literally start crying without knowing why, or start shaking. I would go 4 or 5 days sometimes with no sleep. Reality had no effect. I was immune, completely gone. I was stronger than this. I was a warrior. Warriors don't do that. What the fuck, asshole?! Get it together.
All of our love gone.
Get it TOGETHER.
We were dead.
GET IT TOGETHER, FUCKFACE.
They said it was my fault.
DUDE!
Maybe it was.
TOGETHER!
Maybe I did it.
GET IT TOGETHER ASSHOLE! NOW.
I killed us.
I killed our friendships.
I killed us being best friends.
I did it.
Somehow, I was in Savannah, now. I was excited to be here. It was a place to start over. Cleave from the grip of the piedmont, go to the coast, get the fuck away. Give us an honest chance, me and my fiancee. Got odd jobs. Ran two at once. Kept it moving for a little bit.
got told by my job advisor that i was a stupid teenager who'd broken his family heart, and didn't have a shred of moral fiber in his body, and should just go join whatever cult and kill myself because I was lost to the world. She was just pissed because she was diagnosed with some incurable cancer. I didn't see that until years later, even though she told me that in her apology on company letterhead with the watermark. I shreded the letter. All I heard was everything I'd feared being put into one breath. It must be true.
I do a show I don't remember. Apparently I was good in it. People still comment to me on it. I remember getting punched in the face during it to get me to shut the hell up.
GET IT TOGETHER.
couldn't. What a whiney little pussy I was. what a whiney pussy I am.
Everything comes to a head. I don't know what's going on. We fuck one night, the next night it's over. Not 'get ready because it's done' over but, 'gone tomorrow and changing locks' over. I remember vague discussions. I cry. I wail. I can't stand it. It hurts. This was the new beginning. I knew I fucked it up, but I wanted to prove I was sincere. Nope. OK. I call my dad, my best friend, crying to him that it was over, that I'd fucked it all up. He comes down next day with a truck and we pack shit up and move out. I want to live here, still, to sell everything. he wants me to get my head back on straight, and come back home and live with them. OK. I'm lost. Might as well give it another shot, right?
I throw what I can in my car, and go to drive back home, to make good on the family I'd destroyed.
I get there, and I'm bitched out for spending money. I was a wreck. Stuff like: She was so awful to me, how could I have ever loved her? Why was I so consistently stupid? Because someone tells me they love me, hugs me, does what she did, I'm a sucker for a lie. I'm so fucking gullible. I make them sick that they raised someone so stupid.
She calls.
She tells me she's sorry, and she knows I was trying. She got stressed and snapped, and maybe we could make it work.
My show opens in a week. i didn't make it to rehearsal that night because I was with my family. Im a lead role. THE lead role.
Two positives and a negative that's breaking my heart. I go back. i dont' take anything but what's left in my car. I go tell them this is what i'm doing. They tell me i'm thinking with my dick, not my head. I am crying, because this hurts, Because I do love her, because I don't think of her as a fuck at all, i think of her as a soulmate. I try to choke back tears, I kiss my dad on the cheek, and tell him to have a nice life. What we used to be can be no longer. sorry I let you down.
I never told them they were the ones being stupid. I never said, "No, YOURE the moron." I wasn't abrasive. Such things are just petty, and put you right back on the level they're at.
I get back, I'm there for a week, and it's over again. My show opened. I was removed from the relationship again. Same as before: Out by tomorrow.
I still have the show to perform.
I have no money.
I have nowhere to live.
I'm not going home. Not to that.
I live in my car.
I perform the show, showering in the dressing room. Once that's over, I sneak in to take showers. Someone catches on, and locks the doors. Next it's truck stops. I dont' have a commercial license, which is required to visit a truckstop shower. OK. Sneak by. Gotta get a job. I get a job. I have no residence. I used a guy that I spent a few nights sleeping in his dorm while he worked at the SUB for his address. We became good friends, smoking Djarum cigs he was gracious to lend and talking about System of A down albums, and music in general. He was about in the same place as me. We vibed well. He became incredibly intellectual, and ended up teaching english in Singapore, and still lives in Asia, I believe. Great guy. I owe him a lot.
Then it was roommates, and people he knew. Great couple. We got along perfectly. Spent every dime I'd saved working and put in on a deposit for tus an apartment. That's all they asked of me. The deposit. no monthly rent. No utilities. They were so sweet. I loved playing games and music with him, and talking about these raves she used to go to. It was fantastic. We got along great.
In comes one woman, out goes another for a few months. Us three all enjoying ourselves incredibly. Killians and games / tv at night with him, working or riding around town listening to techno / trance with her during the day. They tried to get me to go clubbing a few times, but I just wanted to write music. Then they'd tell me that it sucked, or that it was good, and it was awesome. he was the best critic of music. He was so blatant. "Good idea, but it sounds like you just shit everywhere. If you're going to shit, at least put it in a nice pile." Then he'd tell me what he meant. He was so fun. Seriously. He'd say that, but he'd do it in such a dry fashion, it was perfect comedic timing. He was cool. He ended up going overseas. he was in the army. I met a woman. She was timid and shy, but so fun and awesome. I loved her within a week, believe it or not. No warming up, just got the feeling one night when we were walking around outside. I saw her smile when I looked at her, and she sent this wave of comradery and comfort over me, and a desire to know her better, and of knowing that I'd do anything and everything I could forever to get her to smile like that again. She comes and visits me when there's no heat. No TV. When there's no reason to be there. We'd lay and cuddle wherever and talk about random things. Sleep. nothing sexual. Except the make-out sessions. Those were sexual. But they never ended up in sex. Just making out. It was fun just to kiss her. he's coming back into town. His TOD is finally over. But when he came back, he was not the guy that left. He was aggressive, accusatory, and directly confronted me that I slept with his wife. They were my brother and sister. Every time she and I were together after that, it was an excuse to be alone with her. I was reminded of my family, and how I was always trying to do this or that by my actions. I left them, too. They had to keep my TV, because it was practically theirs anyway. OK. Fine. Another one bites the dust. I wish them both well.
I go find a place I can afford on what money I make, now. I find one. She still comes over. It's awesome. She tells me things. I listen. She tells me she doesn't know what to do. I tell her that's fine. She tells me she wants to do something. I tell her to do it. She tells me she wants to have something. I tell her it's unnecessary, then buy it for her to surprise her. She tells me I don't understand alienation. I tell her I do. She tells me I don't understand family. i tell her I do. She tells me I don't get it because I don't speak with them. She never asked why. it was just that simple in her mind: you don't speak with them, you don't get it. Hm. Maybe something to that.
I called mom.
Answered begrudgingly.
Talked piddle talk. But it was cool. Maybe if they knew I was back on track, or something, it'd be good. They help me move into my next place. They visit. They enjoy being there. It's nice.
We talk for about a week before they start accusing me again. They want me to go back to college. I'm worn out. Finish up. I don't want to. It's a burden, and unnecessary. Besides, 43% of college graduates won't have a college graduate job by the time I graduate. Why spend the money? Because it's something I'll have accomplished, they say. I go, I graduate, I have to scrape by with only $5 for the entire month to eat off of more than a couple of times. Her family helps me out and feeds me. I'm told I don't handle money well, and her family is just enablers for my lifestyle. Well, they are enablers, but they weren't to me. They were honestly trying to help me out because their daughter loved me so much. shit. I pay bills. There's not a lot left over when your AC bill is $215. they don't hear that. I show them the statements. Whatever, that's just one month, what about all the other months? Well, I actually eat those months. They say I'm drinking, or smoking it all away. Fuck 'em. whatever. It's my money, anyhow. I'll not spend what I don't have however I damn well please. I graduate. I'm engaged again. I get a good job pulling about 50k. One of the top sales-persons in the REGION. I'm set.
I'm bored.
Years later.
Who loved me so much and would do anything for me doesn't know where to start. I'm living in the Northwest, she's still in GA. She was coming out, but she got too scared, missed her chance, and then life started beating her up. Family went stupid, brothers gone crazy, she starts blaming everyone else for her feelings because that's what everyone around her does. It's all about her entertainment and her enjoyment of things only, without consideration or recognition of anyone else's feelings or positions. When told repeatedly 'this hurts', her response was it was her life, and she should be free to do whatever she wants without it hurting anyone. sorry, hon, you don't tell me how I react to things, or anyone else, for that matter. It's not a "I want to do it and you're ok with that." I tell her this. So she quits talking to me. For 5 months. Now 6. She asks me if I've ever fucked up so bad that I don't know where to start? If I know what that's like? No. I've been kicked out of my family, my home, my home with my ex, had no job, lived in my car for a while, almost got killed a couple times definitely, maybe three, ran a rap studio, got the ever living pants stole off of me, friends killed for the dumbest shit, others riding on baby's mama putting him in the hospital, my other family through her doesn't talk to me and can't stand me because I'm straight forward with them, I lost my job again, I had an entire community that I've screwed because I couldn't do what everyone demanded, what was too much wasn't enough, and do I know what feeling lost feels like, and not know where to begin? Wrecks. I call. No answer. Got a good little concussion. No response. I could have died, you fucking idiot. Didn't matter to you at all. Wouldn't talk. Your fucking pride has killed us. You don't know where to start, but you don't just start anywhere. you don't start at all. you sit still and wait for it to hit you on the head, or place itself in front of you. Things don't work that way, hon. I've gone through, in 8 years, more than what most people go through in 30. OK? I've had my life directly threatened, I've had friends shot dead for a necklace, others who don't remember my name because they got so fucked up in a wreck trying to keep oncoming traffic safe where many could have died, have had the family that you accuse me of not being close to at all stab eachother in the back repeatedly, and say it's because they love each other. Have had my extended family stab my grandparents repeatedly. Have had my heart now ripped out by you, and you want to tell me you don't know where to start? You used to smile with me. Now, when we talk, you just shut off and don't speak with me for months. Then you tell me in an email that if you were leaving me, I'd know it. I thought not speaking with someone for months was a sign? Or maybe going away and never coming back was a sign? Or maybe not ever telling me what you're doing is a sign? Or maybe taking off your rings? Or maybe telling me that it was your life, and I don't have a part of it, and shouldn't want to share in any of it because I don't want that, because you don't want that, because that's what you want things to be like was a FUCKING sign? Maybe it was telling me how I was supposed to take things? How I'm supposed to talk to you? What I'm supposed to say? How I'm supposed to feel? What about a letter to your delusional husband about how much you hate me? Those aren't SIGNS?! You tell me you don't want to be controlling, but if I say ONE thing out of line, you don't talk to me for months. What's worse is that what you bitch about that you want me to say, I said earlier in that conversation, but you never heard it. You just complain that I don't or didn't say it.
Now you're held up at gunpoint. Your life is brought into question, same as mine, only mine was as a threat, and yours was as a bartering chip as she cleaned out your store and wallet. Wait...you had a job?! I didn't know. You don't tell me anything, you hide the rest, and then get offended that I don't trust you. Get real. What happens now that you've gone to see your concerts? What happens now that you've stayed there for two years when you were supposed to be here? Ever think that if you were here, you wouldn't have been held up? You might not have seen those concerts, but is that really worth the next two years of jumpiness every time you see someone take their hands out of their pockets quickly? Or move fast behind your head? Was that worth it? It'd better be, because that was your price. You set aside your husband, your relationship for your own personal fulfillment, put yourself in the position, and the situation happened there. She would have come throught that store whether you were there or not. But because you won't get here, you were the one working there to try to make $50. Now you tell me you don't know where to start? Are you fucking serious?
The woman who smiled I havent seen for half a year. The woman who smiled smiles at other things now. The woman who I would do anything to see smile like that again, somehow anything I do just makes her hate me. it's over. There is no coming back without you doing. You've got to see this. You don't want a relationship. you want a friend that glorifies yourself, not someone who tells you 'dude, you're fucking up' or 'I love you' because they mean it. You want them to tell you that they love you because they find you amusing, or they think you're great, and that's it.
No, I don't understand caring for family. No, I don't understand being destitute. no, I don't understand what it's like to have no where to go. No, I don't know what it's like to lose a loved one. No, I don't understand what it's like to have to just move on. No, I don't get the fact that it's all what you make of life, not what life makes of you. I don't get it at all. That's why I'm running a TV station. That's why I had the job I did. That's why I got the job I have now. That's why I spent all my money and time trying to get us together. You just want to rip it apart because you don't know what else to do. That's fine with anything else. This is me. You're not ripping me apart. I've given everything I had to you. You're taking the gifts and the ribbons and you're tearing and stretching and smashing and stomping. I've cried about that long enough. I'm taking them back. I'll just give them to someone else. someone will like them. Maybe they won't. At least I won't have to endure you destroying it.

Mom: Shut up.
Dad: Shut the fuck up.
Sisters: Sorry. Get ready.
Wife: Listen to yourself. You've become a walking contradiction of yourself. Why not listen to someone else?
Self: Go away.
Reader: Purge your memory.

Note To The Reader

Hi,

After skimming over my previous blogs, I found one big hole in my writings that I have failed to, and think might be necessary to explain.

I have three brains.

This may come as something of a shock to you. Well, I assure you, it's the truth. I will have one train of logic, and it will be moving along just grandly, then my other brain will click on, and will take one tangent, leaving the other two on the original. Then the next fork in the tracks, my third brain will opt to venture THAT unknown, taking a completely different tack than my other two, and none of them know how to read the signs on the tracks. So, one is going to Chicago, the other Phoenix, and the other finally discovered that it is actually a plane, not a train, and is taking the first available airspace to fly to London. They often never see each other again. I am perfectly grounded in the Existential.
I have the observational/analytical brain, the introspective/intellectual brain, and the curious/creative brain. None ever stop. All respond to stimulus simultaneously. All have very loud voices, and over power each other frequently. Ergo, my writings will probably seem to be disjointed ramblings without a point. Well, they are. Except, they do have a point, but only I know the tracks, so only I get them; which makes the 'self-expression' thing a terrible failure, if it's never expressed - it takes someone understanding what you're saying in order for it to be communication. Otherwise, it's just stupid ramblings. See? Exactly like that.

So, I stupidly ramble great things. Or greatly stupid things. Either is accurate.

I am seriously starting to question my sanity, now. At least I understand what I mean.
If you ever are wondering exactly what I mean, ask me. I'll tell you exactly how I understand it.
I love complicated simplicity.

btw, I write music. My artist name is Mode Of Being. Check out my links.

www.myspace.com/modeofbeing
www.ilike.com/artist/mode+of+being
www.garageband.com/modeofbeing
www.soundclick.com/modeofbeing
www.twitter.com/modeofbeing

Also on Facebook
And I'm a dj on Blip.fm

and I'm done explaining myself and selfishly whoring myself and talking about things that don't matter. just figured I'd let you know something that might make a difference, so you didn't think I was an idiot. Hopefully this blog removes all doubt.

Yes, that was intentional. I LOVE plays on words. :)

- Avery

Well, the ball's set in motion. Dreams, HO! Rock 'n Roll Cat

There it starts. Notice is set in to the apartments. I'm out at the end of May / beginning of June. I'm relocating somewhere different. To a place where they just laid off 1200 people at the place I applied for a new job. Exciting. Hotel rooms and odd jobs ensue, I predict. But, I'll be with my wife again, and I'm excited as all hell for that. I've practically went crazy these last couple of months. I do things I never thought I would, and say stuff I don't mean, and try things that I shouldn't. Self-destructive patterns of behavior that I need to just get rid of forever. Smoking, excessive drinking, occasional violence, some other recreational explorations into alternative perspectives. I'm keeping my blood clean from now on. I'll drink a couple beers a day, have a good cigar once per year (my birthday), and other than that, screw the rest of it. It just hurts people. That's all it's good for. Which isn't anything good. I'm too old to keep doing stupid stuff.

I'm very against anyone being anything definite by their own proclamations and suspicions. "I'm a loving person." "I'm a rebellious person." "I'm a this or that." Self identification based on self-analysis is about as selfish and subjective as you can get. I've always believed that you are what other people make of you, not what you say you are. you can think you're jesus, but if no one likes your piety, then you're just a pain in the ass, regardless of how you see yourself. The Spirit is an interesting topic for me. I don't think of it so much as an inspiration in oneself via some unexplained source, but, rather, the inspiration you give to others via your actions. Immortality is not living forever in your physical body you possess currently, but is living on in the hearts and minds of others. This kind of thing. I am also a fan of both sides of the fence, and I practice what I preach. So:

I'm a rock 'n' roller. I am a party guy. I love interacting with people. I love making people laugh. I love making them dance. I love being the 'cool guy'. I am the cool guy by nature. I'm also the weird geeky guy at the same time. I have that nerdy intrigue about me. I make friends easily. I earn respect quickly. I love people very easily. I enjoy having fun more than anything. In my heart and my day to day, it's like I'm constantly stoned, and the world is a great place. I like honesty. I like acting like a fool. Anything that pushes limits or perceptions that is done by choice (not being forced into). I'm a very "Yes, that's exactly what I think, too." kinda guy, and genuinely mean it. I enjoy philosophy, even though I think it's all bullshit and pointless. I enjoy the little things and trinkets of knowledge that don't matter. I desperately want to have a broader perspective and knowledge, so I can create really interesting art. My mind always smiles. I didn't used to think in words, but in pictures, audio, and sequences. I think I think in words now, sometimes. I like the 60s mentality, and the sense of unity and justifiability in the division of how things were (yes, I know that's contradictive. My point is, if you were on one side or the other, you were with people who supported you and what you believed in through and through. That is inspirational). I believe in the Beatles Let It Be and Abbey Road. I believe in Led Zepplin. I believe in Cream, Rush, Dave Matthews Band. I don't believe in Pink Floyd, but I find their music absolutely GENIUS. Same thing for the Rolling Stones. Give me a rock'n'roll group, and I'm down. Bruce Springsteen, Jimmy Buffet (I know, not real rock, but shut up. He's pretty bad-assed), The Cars, The Cure, New Order (again, Bad-assed), Bad Religion, both songs the Ramones composed and rehashed over and over again, ZZTop, Billy Joel, Tori Amos, David Byrne, Rage Against The Machine, good god, so many influences in my life. Allow me to explain.

I used to - and still do - think in pictures and sounds, sorta. So music is a very powerful form of communication for me. I used to do that constantly: try to find a way to express an idea via a picture, drawing, or music. I wrote some weird shit. I mean, some weird shit. I got all my fulfillment out of things through music, though. I'd listen to a happy song, and things would quite literally smell different. Clean, fresh, whole, satisfying. I'd listen to an aggressive song in that mood, and the air would tense up, as would I. If I were tense, and listened to some heavy metal, for some reason my mind identified it as being sympatico, and I'd mellow out so well. I could keep track and a consistent mood by what I listened to. Voices would do that. I pick up very keenly on tenseness in voices, or inflections. I often find myself listening to the quality and inflections of the voice more than the actual words. I can't tell you anything of what that person just said, but I can tell you what they meant. If something's bothering them, I can tell, and I ask. Sometimes they don't even know what's bothering them, and when I ask, it becomes another level of confusion or frustration layered on top of what they had in their heads just before, and I feel really bad for compounding it, when I'm trying to help. But, time moves on, it's a fact, and this time is meant to be enjoyed. Music is better than a drug for me. It is my entire justification for existence.

how do I make it better? I want to be a performer. I want to be an entertainer. I want to make people dance, to make them sing, to give them escape, as other artists gave me the same. I loved them for that, and I want to be like that, too. lol At 26, I've finally found out what I want to do when I grow up.
how do I give people escape? Do I talk about my life? Do I talk about someone else's? It seems almost all music on the radio today has a 'I feel like' 'i am like' 'i wish it' 'i want this' feel to it. Brings to mind "I, Me, Mine", and I'm not sure if that's the way to go. I think it's good, but I don't know if it's the best. Concept albums lose me sometime, and lose others, too. I can sing about good things. That's part of what I loved about the Beatles, was their sense of storytelling with the music and lyrics combined. "She's Leaving Home" is one of the most beautiful songs ever written. Across The Universe. One is about someone else in another situation. The other is about the person writing the poem, but in an objective sense. The Police did that, too. Regatta Del Blanc Vs Syncronicity, two of the best albums of all time, almost direct contradictions of eachother. "Poor me" Vs "That's what you think.", respectively. How do I give people something to cling to?

1. It has to be Universal. If they don't understand it, they won't feel connected to it, and it won't lift them out of their situation, or enhance it.
2. It has to give them something they lack. Lonely people listen to love songs, or 'nobody loves me' music. Political people listen to very driven political type stuff. It's something they crave in that moment, a need that is filled. Sad people listen to sad music if they want empathy, or happy music if they want distraction. So an album needs diversity, and it has to hit different emotional ranges. Hope, happiness, love, hate, sadness, anger, complacence, maybe an introspective track, maybe a track that's completely abstract (like a Tori Amos Little Earthquakes) for those who like mystery, and crave something superfluous to routine, or anything outside of the ordinary. Sometimes people just like music, without words. One of those, too. There's an album.
3. It has to be memorable. I can beat on a tin can all day, screaming "Harsh minds create harsh lives." over and over and over again. It's a shiny can, perfect for symbolizing reflection, it's a cylinder, for the 'full circle' idea, it's a stick, which indicates aggression / phallic superiority, it's a person screaming, which shows violence, and it's just two things going, which is very raw and basic, without refinement, which is the embodiment of being harsh. It's a harsh song about being harsh. Brilliant, right? But who's going to sing along to that? Who's going to feel any connection? That's where George Harrisson and John Lennon lost it when they departed from the Beatles. They were more interested in sharing THEIR minds, as opposed to entertaining the masses (which is what they started out doing), and so consequently become more boring to listen to. "Try Some, Buy Some" is a great track, but the whole album is almost a chore to listen to, it's so preachy.
New music is becoming rare. It's time to make something good. The Cars took and built upon a generation. Same thing for Soundgarden. Same thing for Alice In Chains, same thing for David Bowie. He's built upon 2 generations.

I used to be excited for things. Now everything's a chore, or an effort. So I'm leaving. Again. I don't know if I'll ever have a home. And I don't really care. I love the chase, the pursuit. I love the ability to try and find it. I love how things always manage to work themselves out. I have given myself and others the most dire of situations, and they have turned out ok. A couple of knicks or bruises, but all in all, knowledge of a limit that you didn't have before, and the removal of the ones before it. Life can be a great thing.
Even when I was living in my car, or hopping from room to room with different people, or travelling the south-east with movers and being paid under the table for it - I always went to sleep at night, and I always woke up the next morning. I loved what I did, because nothing really mattered. It was easy to be enthusiastic, because things were always different. Not anymore. Now it's just expectations piled on expectations, always compounded by lack of time or communication or both. Grr. It's important to maintain perspective, and I'm starting...no, I've lost it.
I want to tell people things. Justifiably, they don't want to listen often. They get bored with what I tell them. I think I'm slightly retarded. I think something's a great revelation, and most everybody is, "Yeah, dude, no shit." Which means it's not very revelation-ey at all. So, I'm just stupid, I guess. It's ok. I just feel stupid. But I don't think I'm really being stupid, I think I'm just slower than most everybody. I pick up on things very quickly, and other things are very hard to make my mind comprehend.

So, whee, let's rock this shit. You only live once, that we know of for a fact, and I've lived my life so far to best accomodate those I respect, on fear that if I don't, then they'll no longer respect me, and take away our interactions. One of those fears has been realized with someone I love very dearly, and it's BECAUSE I did what I thought was the best thing for everyone involved, so that method is a failure.
Note to self: Trying To Please Everyone
- FAILURE. IMPOSSIBLE.

Let's make this life something fun. Adventure doesn't come to anyone. You seek and find adventure on your own. I'm going to find it. Wanna come?

Something for anyone

Hi.

You may know me. You probably don't. I am about as impersonal as you can get. A stream of electrons flipping switches an inconscionable number of times to display myself as words on your screen, an image in the corner, and an ego based on your own perceptions. I am miles away, or right next door. I am your friend, or I am your enemy, or I am neither. I exist, but only as a predetermined shape and format before you, made more commercially available and publicly accessible to lend value to a product to drive commerce via advertising. My font is predetermined. My size is predetermined. My position is predetermined. My words, however, are not. These are what allows me to communicate with you a semblance of my thought processes, for those that I can express. For those that I cannot via traditional literary communication, visit my music sites for explorations into other pathos that I haven't found a way to describe as of yet.

I will warn you outright, for those who have virgin eyes. I will say fuck (oh no!!). I will say damn. I will say shit, Christ, jesus, goddamnit, cunt, pussy, bitch, dick, cock, pimp, ho, weed, dirty sanchez, ass, porn, blowjobs, handjobs, piss, murder, slaughter, rape, genocide, patricide, pesticide, and, context aside, all beside fratricide, so best hide eyes. I'm not sure why I use such language, other than I always have, and enjoy making what few people left that can squirm in their now-moistened underwear. :) Squirm, you Squirmers. Also, in all honesty, it may be because it helps weed out my interactions with people who are intolerant or narrowminded and insecure, as they will often cling to an ideal or 'moral' as a means for some form of center, which really only justifies their condemnation of whomever does not do things the way they are told is the 'right way'. It keeps the sheep from drowning out the shepherd, in other words.

I will say many things. I will rant. I will rave. I will scream. I will bark. I only bite when pain is involved. I will never bite as long as it just involves me receiving pain. I will bite if someone I care about is receiving the pain. So don't bitchslap my friends, or my loved ones. You can be Jesus and hurting the person I care about, and you will have just made me your enemy. The contradiction is that I will resort to stinging you a little if I think it will help shock you out of a mindset or misconception. I know what I know is right. It comes from personal experience, and observations of others experiences I don't want to repeat, and from listening to my elders and what they recommend and went through. There are a number of ways to go through life. I want to make it as far as possible with as few of road-snares as possible.

Recently, I've been made aware of how impossible this is. I am beginning to understand the phrase that keeps creeping up, "It's your life." I've done a lot in my life. Some things I can't talk about, and will haunt me to my grave. Some things that I'm very proud of that no one else could have done. Mostly, though, it's a lot of mundane nonsenses just for the sake of perpetuating society's place, obedient to Plato and his responsibility perception. And it's true. I live here. I accept to choose my place to live, and I choose to accept here for now. I drive the speed limit, knowing that I am not a dangerous driver, but there are those that are that the law is in place to regulate. I help support that, just by living here. I don't carry a weapon without a permit for the same reason. Most of us aren't dangerous, and just want to live out our lives in peace. But there is always that 2-5% that wants to do the world justice back. Hence the laws. Most of what we do merely conforms to laws set in place by our predecessors, both of this country and of others, as the global society has slowly progressed. I don't want to shake the world. I don't want to change lives. I want to live. I want to love. I want to move forward. I don't like looking back. I like figuring out how things went sour, where they hit the bump, so I can read the river better downstream. Sometimes boulders are submersed. Sometimes they are jutting out. Sometimes the way the riverbed is shaped dictates the currents, and can either take you straight into a cliff wall, or can let you ease around chicanes effortlessly.

I like the river-rafting analogy I've stumbled upon. I'm going to keep with this.

For the past four years, my life has been a fog. It has been one white-water rush to another to another to another to another, and they've all started to blend together. I have memories of things I've forgotten to tell those closest to me. I have things I remember that I forget that I tell, and repeat myself over and over again, apparently verbatim, because people start nodding their head at the first sentence of my recollections. lol I won't divulge in those this blog, but I will say that there is a lot that I forgot I did. Nothing really bad, nothing really horrible, but still, it has shaped what I do to some degree, and it is difficult to know why I respond to this particular instance emotionally instead of logically, when I have no frame of reference to be emotional about it. Then there are the most vivid images and tangible memories that I could ever hope for; some bad, most great. I enjoy reliving the great ones, even if it's alone sometimes.
Me and my river-buddy are going down river. Her boat getts moored on a boulder on the first rapid as I catch a slipstream, trying to shoot the narrow. Risky, but a mostly straight shot. Tuck and lean. As I'm being rushed downstream, I glance a submerged rock and am tipped over at the first rapid. My kayak is over me, and I'm trying to use the current to my favor and do a paddless roll to reestablish center. It's not until after the second set of rapids that I'm successful, and I'm exhausted from the effort. I don't have a paddle anymore, but I'm ok. Now I have to use my hands. I want to get out of the boat, and portage around the next set of rapids. But it's a canyon with enclosing vertical walls on both sides. I'm stuck. I can't go upstream; current's too fast. Downstream faster means death. So I slow as best I can, looking to maybe breach on a partially submerged rock for a spell.
i find one at the top of the next series of rapids, and keep the boat steady. This rapid will probably destroy what I have left, and if so, i don't have a boat, and I'm stuck swimming class 5 rapids. That's not an option. Not in these frigid waters, and not with the water levels where they are. Where the hell is my river buddy? Did she make it down?
As I sit and wait, trying to figure out where to aim to where I have the best chance to survive, here she comes. She's a little shaken, no worse for the wear, it appears, though. I ask her for help, and she tentatively says ok. She just sits to the side of me, moored on the same rock, staring at the rapids below. We can't go back. We can't go up and out, unless we scale 90 degree walls. We can't stay here because we don't have enough food. We have to move forward. This is the toss. How to both make it down. She doesn't have another paddle. I don't have another way. This could kill me, but I've got to do it. I tell her i love her, and think about telling her that if I don't make it out, name a city after me, hell, I dunno, just to make her laugh. I don't say that. I just say 'I love you. Watch me down. Learn the current. Make it through.' Then, i look at it, zone out, and say 'fuck it' and saddle into the current. It's quick, it's crazy, I get airborne once, flipped upside down once, roll back over, and somehow make it through. My head is bleeding, but I'm not sure from what. This water is cold, i've already hit my head on fifty things so far, and we're only three sets of rapids down. I find a rock, and hand-paddle myself onto it and wait. And wait. And Wait. And I start to worry. An hour later she comes down, dry, not submersed. Ran it perfectly.
It's mild currents for the next mile or so now. We go along the river, don't talk about what kept her. I ask repeatedly, and she just gets frustrated with my questions, but won't answer them, keeping everything to herself. Eventually, this will pose a huge problem. I continue rolls to stop the bleeding of my head.
We're to the 4th set, now. She is loosened up a bit, or at least acts like it. She's goofing around and laughing again. There is a rapid coming up that has two paths, very near. One on the left, one on the right. The left is deep, mild, and relatively clear. The right is shallower, looks faster, and doesn't bend around the wall, but goes straight forward. I'm exhausted. I'm taking the left route. She feels adventurous again. She takes the right route.
the current is wide on my side of the river, and I am able to float freely without fear of collision. My head isn't bleeding anymore. I turn my boat around and look back to see how she's doing. She's dragging bottom. The river's high enough, those are not normal rapids. They're normally a small shoals to beach and rest on. Now, they're separated from the rest of the stream by a partition in the water where the river normally runs on the other side of. Small snag after small snag, she gets frustrated. "Stupid rock. Stupid rock. Stupid rock. Stupid rock. Stupid rock. Stupid rock." I find it somewhat funny in a compassionate way, and shout "Having a difficult time of it!?" She replies, "Shut UP!" jokingly. I laugh. She eventually gets through them. She complains, "I don't like the way they look."
"Why's that?"
"Because they're stupid. that's why."
"That's not a very valid reason." I laugh back.
"Well, that's why. They're stupid."
"Why are they stupid?"
"Because." she smiles playfully.
"no, why? why are the rocks stupid?" I play back.
"Because they kept my boat from going like it should!" Genuine frustration starts to creep into her face. I decide to try and console her.
"No, they were just being rocks."
"But they didn't have to be so difficult." now she's veritably frustrated again.
"They weren't doing anything other than what they always do. You chose to take that path. It wasn't their fault. Don't be mad at them. Just avoid them in the future. You know what that kind of water looks like, now."
"Yeah, I know...."
We continue on. More rapids. more snares. There were two rapids where she did take the faster current early on, and enjoyed it, and relaxed, and because she got it right that way and had fun, she'd go right back to the rocks on the next few sets of rapids. More shoals. More slow goings. Eventually she just got stuck on getting stuck. I'm getting good at reading the currents to navigate, and can almost do it on the fly without studying the river. She keeps taking shallow paths just to prove she can do it her way. I try to tell her where the current is, so I don't have to wait for her and freeze keeping upright with my hand-paddles. Exhaustion is starting to set in for me, my shoulders are starting to cramp, and I'm not anywhere near a resting point yet. She's still cussing out the rapids and the rocks. It's no longer playful. She gets through them finally.
"You know," I tell her, "if they looked a certain way, and handled a certain way three and four times before, they're going to be the same thing the next time you see them, too."
"Shut up." she's not playful now.
"Look, I'm not trying to keep you from doing what you want to do. But what you're doing isn't moving forward. You're still stuck on the fact that it didn't work once. Why keep trying to prove that it's going to work this next time?"
"Because it's what I want to do!" pissed
"Why do you want to keep doing the same damn thing?!" confused
"Because I want to! It's MY life. I'M running this river. I can do it how I want to."
"Yeah, but you're not the only one who's on this team. I don't have a paddle. I'm cold. My body's shaking. I'm cramping, and we're only half way down. We could be 3/4 the way by now."
"Shut up."
"Look, I'm sorry about your rapids, but just give the damn things up. It's hurting me. Literally. Just give the fucking things up. OK?"
"Shut UP!"
"No. Listen: Get your head to quit talking, stop being so fucking proud and stubborn, and just LISTEN. IT. Won't. Work. Like. This. You think you can do it? you're right. You CAN do it. BUT. It takes longer and more effort than you want it to, and will every single fucking time. Give me one-hundred shoals, and they will snag you every time. It's a 100% success ratio you're betting against, hoping there's a one-or-two-tenth percent that's overlooked. It's not. Boat with 2-4 inches of water WILL GET CAUGHT. It's not worth this pain for you to prove something wrong that can't be proven wrong right now. You're sacrificing ME to prove yourself superior on something that doesn't even matter! Get me a paddle and a wetsuit that's not torn up, and I'll be happy to run them with you. but for right now, help me out, ok?"
She just stares at the nose of her boat, angry, and reluctant. A little further down the river, as she starts to loosen up a bit after a long time of silence, I try to console her.
"We just need another inch or two of water, and you'd be able to rock those shoals."
"I know! Stupid water! Stupid rocks! Why doesn't anything go like I want it?!"
Next set of rapids with shoals, same thing. She takes the shoals, determined to prove them wrong. My head is bleeding again, and I'm starting to feel dizzy. I tell her I need to just get out of here, or I will not be able to recover. She doesn't respond, and just keeps cussing out the damn shoals, pushing with her paddle. I ask her if she hears me.
"I'll be right there!"
"I need to leave now. i don't think I can do this much longer."
"I said I'll be right there!"
"Can you breach the barrier now, and just come on?"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Because I can't!"
"I don't know how much I've got left to give! Will you just give up the shoals already? Let's GO! Before I DROWN!"
"SHUT UP!"
OK. She hears me, but she chooses not to listen. Not my problem. I'll apologize on the other end of the river, if I'm alive, and if she ever gets there. My fingers and hands are numb. My skin is pastey and veiney. I feel very sick. I also feel very dizzy and high. I've got to make sure I survive first. She's not in any real danger. She's going to keep taking Grandma rapids until she gets to the bottom, frustrated and spent. Make sure I live. that's priority. i don't really know why, but it is. Survivalism at its worst.
I rip down the next few rapids. My dizziness is starting to affect my depth perception, and sense of timing. I start smashing into rocks again, fighting to keep my wits about me. At some point, I think I'm actually swimming inverted moving forward. disorientation is the only thing I recognize. Water and air are the same to me now. I'm struggling to keep my fear from getting the best of me.
The walls are slanting back, now. Trees become visible again. Finally a beach shows up. I aim and let my boat crash into the beach, and I flop out, arms limp and hands numb. I notice that I can only know what they're doing by looking at them. I have no sense of placement. I have no feeling in my arms, either. I have a good sized gash on my forearm from the crash and rocks, but don't feel anything at all.
There is a fire-pit left from previous campers, and a box of matches there. I nearly cry with hope. I find some brush, pile it up, and light the fire. I take off my cold wetsuit, and sit by the fire, warming myself, desperately trying to think of ways to stop the bleeding. My wetsuit is torn, and useless anyway. I tear it apart, and make a bandage for my arm and for my head. My arm starts to get slightly sore. Good. Still dizzy as hell, but good. I check my pulse, and I can't tell what my heartbeat is. I look down at my chest to see it beat and count. It looks like something's inside my chest stamping and kicking rapidly to get out. Good. Possible stroke, but good. Not from excessive bloodloss, just exhaustion. Lay down. Relax. Sleep. Rest. The fire is nice and warm. I put a log or two on it, and thank the merciness of the previous campers to leave these matches. What freak luck.
I am woken hours later to her sitting with a cover over her shoulders, face staring at the fire, angry, brooding, out of it. I am reminded my pack was lost in the first rapid. I am also reminded I have on nothing. This fire is awesome.
"You left me."
I sit up surprised. My head is pissed at me, and so is my body. I put another couple of logs and stoke the flames a bit.
"I had to. I couldn't keep that up. What was I supposed to do?"
"I told you I was coming."
"You weren't coming. You were fighting."
"I should have told you not to go."
"No, you should have come when you could."
"But. You. Left. Me."
"No. I. Didn't."
"You took off down that river without looking back. I watched you go down that river, and I couldn't take it. You left me! You left me there all by myself. What was I supposed to do?"
"Look. I told you what was happening. I told you how I was. I told you the situation. I told you what needed to happen. You told me to shut up, and you were coming. I believed you because I had no other choice. I couldn't test you. I shouldn't have to test you. You're supposed to help me down this river, and I you. It's not a 'I get to make it down grandma shoals because I want to' trip. It can be if it's not emergent, but right now, it's kinda crucial I get out of here. I have no wet suit, these waters are 45 degrees and below, I have no paddle, and I have no way out but down to the end. Want to help a bit, instead of bitching about how I didn't wait for you to get to the end of those shoals? Hours later?"
"I just sat there. I couldn't believe you left me."
"For the love of fucking christ, I didn't leave YOU! I left a bad situation! I left to HEAL! I was just about DEAD. And if I'M dead, you've got a better chance of it, too. You were just gonna take Grandma rapids down all day, anyway. You can't drown in those if you tried. I wasn't leaving you! I left because I had to!"
"But you still left!"
"FINE! I LEFT YOU! FUCK IT! I REALLY WILL LEAVE, IF THAT WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT, SINCE YOU WANT TO SO FUCKING BADLY! GET OVER YOURSELF!! SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!"
"You're right. I need to do this right. Wait right here."
She gets up, takes her covers, walks to her boat, packs it up. I ask her to let me have her covers. She screams at me that I'm trying to keep her from doing what she wants. Fine, keep the fucking covers. She gets in, and paddles off, and doesn't look back. Frustrated and exhausted, I sleep for another couple of hours to rest and regain strength. She makes it down the shoals the way she wants to, without me there. She left the campsite so that she could do what she wanted how she wanted without my input or need. She wasn't coming back. She never wanted to. She went into shoals that were shallower than before, almost like they planned to be that way. Mother Nature has a way of being subversive that way. Is it because I yelled at her? No. All I told her was what she was teling me back. I spent a good hour trying to convince her it wasn't what she was saying it was. I need help, still, but now there's NO shot in hell of getting it. Stupid fucking shoals. Even I'M starting to hate them, now. Or maybe it's the ego that refuses to be tamed so far. I've really got to be careful now. I don't have anyone backing me up. If I tip, or if I submerge, I'm practically dead. Keep it stoney, man. Keep it fresh. Don't do dumb.
Can't walk. Too steep, too far. Weeks that way, not days. Do better by river. Do or die.
Fuck it.



that is a metaphorical representation of the past 4 years according to the Gospel of Avery. Rough and bumpy? Smooth and flowing? What do I prefer? I do enjoy an adrenaline rush, but just because the water's white doesn't mean it's rapid. Just because the water's smooth doesn't mean it's slow. Every rapid has its own idiosyncracies, and its on consistencies it keeps.
If you go fast all the time, you lose track of what Slow means. The same holds true in the reverse, and the thrill of the contrast is lost. So, to that, balance is necessary. She's learned balance, but refuses to let me see it. I'm seeking for a place to slow down. she is robbed at gunpoint, and only calls me the day after, after she's called and talked with everyone else, and says she does that because I'm her husband. She says she's going to call at a certain time yesterday. Well, it's two days later, no call. Again. I have a show 3 days offset from a David Cook show. i'm playing the city. He's playing a venue. If i had $100, I'd put it on her ditching her 'husbands' show and going to his. She already ditched our anniversary and my other show for him. And she takes her rings off at his shows, now. I'm still trying to absorb that one. And she's still telling me to shut up. It's just another rock in the shoal. It's part of the path she's chosen. It's not the circumstance that's to blame, it's the path. She won't see this, though. The 'Us' is a separate issue, however. This is about me right now. Because I'm selfish, and stupid, just like many other bloggers out there. i wish it weren't so hard to separate her from me. Again, separate complaints. Don't get me wrong. i love her. I dont' think she remembers me now, though.
I am done here. I have, in 1.5 years, worked about 3.2 years worth of labor at 1000 hours per year AVG. The last 7 weeks have been 100hr+ weeks. I am salary, so it doesn't count, but it's insane. I have given my left nut for this job, all because I believed in the vision of it. I'm a sucker for a cause. So shoot me. Go read your letter from the kid in Tanzania you decided to sponsor through that TV ad if you don't like it.
I want to slow down. Actually, I want to stop. I truly want to end it all, but not forever. Just a couple of years. I am broken. I am frayed. I am fragile. I am naked. I am cold. I am raw. I am bleeding still. I am piecework.
i am exhausted.
this week: 92 hours walking into Saturday night. It's an 8 hours shift, this time. And I still have editing to do. This has been composed while rendering video out. Shitting you, right? Nope. what do I do?

In my heart of hearts, I want to skip this country, go to Jamaica, or the Bahamas, or British Virgin Islands, find a job as a paper boy or as a cook or grocery store attendant, work 6-8 hours per day from morning to noon, then go chill on the beach for the rest of the day. No TV, no PS3, no laptop, no cell phone, no computer games, nothing but rum, beer, beach, enough to pay the rent, enough left over to eat, and my baby. THAT is perfect harmony to me. Hell, it'd be perfect if we had a sailboat, 25-28 feet, and just cruise from island to island and get a job at each one for a period of time until we decided we were done. Thunderstorms again. Rain showers. Ocean hum. Warm breezes. Think she'd go? Doubt it. Has to have civilization. Keep up on her shows. go to her concerts. She wants where she lives to have constant concerts all the time. I just want to stop and rest for a year or two. I'm so very tired.

So there it is. now tell me how 'It's your life' is supposed to help me live that dream? Old people are odd. But, they are why I am who I am today. literally. Snares, rocks, shoals will come up. Either get stuck in them, or take the path around them. sometimes you get stuck in them without meaning to. Then it's important to get through them.

Do with Love and Kindness to anyone you meet. Thanks for reading.

regards,

Avery