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| And will you tell all your friends that you've got your gun to my head? |
| 04.28.04 (1:48 am) [edit] |
Hello.
I'm in a rather estatic mood at the moment. I've just written a beautiful acoustic cover of Taking Back Sunday's [i]The Ballad of San Vilanueva[/i], which has SO much beauty and potential in the lyrics, but lacks in production.
I will record a little version for the fun of it and maybe put it on a collection of cover songs. Maybe I'll title the album [u]I Wish I Could Write[/u], or [u]Songs About You (that weren't witten by me)[/u]. Who knows?
Since we're on the topic of music, I will be rewriting most of the songs I've written to be more of a band ensemble instead of one man with an acoustic guitar. For this endevor, I will be enlisting the aid of some very good musicians... Sindey will end up playing / writing most of the guitar parts, as he is an ungodly musician. A man I call "Billiam" will play the drums, since I can't carry a rhythm to save my life, and Leezard will most likely be kidnapped and forced to play the bass guitar into the microphone.
The reason I chose the Leezard (as opposed to just writing and playing the bass guitar myself) would be due to the fact that Leezard has an amazing ability to effectively add sounds to give you an awesome sense of ambience. It really is rediculous how creative he is. In honesty, we'll end up writing the bass parts together, him playing something insane, and me writing something that is horribly simple, yet sounds fitting. Then he'll look at me and say "Holy crap! That's awesome, yet so easy."
Yeah. That's pretty much how our whole relationship is.
--Avarice
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| beneath the dust and blood and sweat |
| 04.27.04 (5:33 pm) [edit] |
I know I'm a touch early on the post today, but that's just how it is. My father made me take a break from working on my new automobile, which was probably best. I don't have a lot of time before I have to head up north, but a heat stroke probably isn't going to speed things along either.
I smell like grease, which is odd for me, as I haven't smelled like anything nearly automotive in the past six years, but it's okay. It's actually kind of a testosterone boost. I feel like I'm validating my own manhood without looking like the idiots who race each other at street lights. Not that I need to validate myself, but I do have a nice sense of satisfaction.
I like being proud of myself.
--Avarice
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| Breathing deeply, walking backwards |
| 04.27.04 (1:40 am) [edit] |
There are certain times when a certain thing will change a day that is presumably uplifting to horrible in what can feel like a lifetime, but is just a millisecond.
But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the opposite.
There are also moments and actions that can turn a mediocure, tiring day into one that makes you happy you were around, just to experience that brief timeframe.
I just had one. By "just" I mean "two hours ago".
There are some things in this life that make everything better if you take the time to take them in. For example, the resonating sound of dual acoustics echoing off the lake in front and the forest behind you; the familiar feel of your oldest friend; or telephone calls just to say "Hi. I miss you."
To much do we (we, including myself at times) let the drama and negitivity of our lives cloud us. Today was full of negitivity, but it also had those moments that are making me smile as I write this: catching up with my oldest and undoubtedly truest friend; closing my eyes tight to the laughter of my brother's hearty laugh as he fishtailed the car; and looking at my cell phone and instantly recognizing my favorite name on the caller ID.
These are a few of my favorite things.
These are why I still smile.
These are why I still get up in the morning.
--Avarice
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| Everything You've Ever Wanted Can Be Found Under the Moonlight, Beside A Lake, With an Acoustic Guit |
| 04.25.04 (10:21 pm) [edit] |
I just spent an hour freezing next to a lake playing guitar with the Leezard. We're both a bit rusty, him from not playing for the last two years, and me from not playing with anyone else for the last two years, but we squeeked by.
Ovation, I applaud you. You make a nice sounding guitar.
The air was thick with energy and other small bugs as the leezard and I serenaded memories of the people we know and love. At least I was. Leezard might have been playing to the deer that was hiding behind the trees.
It was kind of a magical moment.
I wish you could have experienced it with me.
--Avarice
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| Something Special |
| 04.25.04 (1:44 am) [edit] |
It's amazing how quickly a felling can change. I'd like to write all about this topic, but I feel like I've been complaining a little too much. [i]Me[/i], I say, [i]stop it[/i].
I suppose complaining isn't the right word. "I should be less open about situations that bother me," is a much better painting of point. You should not have to come here and read my problems, and to be honest, if I didn't like the reviews I've gotten from friends and accociates, I wouldn't post here at all. I normally keep things in, letting my writer's brain and sense of realism build the worst possible scenario, take said scenario and write about it, either in hidden documents that are found later and deleted, or in lyrics, poetry or some other form of rhymed and metered structure. You shouldn't have to hear about this.
Whatever. I really don't want to post about now.
The original subject was "Feeling Special". I'm not any longer, but let me tell you about Oregon, which is much better than the alternative at this moment.
The first feeling I felt when getting off the plane in Medford, Oregon was death. It is true. The cold is literally staggering. My body went into shock coming off the plane (that was colder than Hawaii when I boarded it). It felt like my entire torso was condensing. I was in awe, as I fought to control my body, the same kind of awe you get when a 40 pound python wraps itself around you, crushing you slowly as it opens its mouth, ready to eat you whole as you look up and think [i]Wow, that's big![/i]
On top of the frostiness, there's also the rain, which is an evil entity in itself. The very first drop I felt happened to land on that spot of the head where all your hair swirls, leaving the very center unprotected. To give some of you who don't live anywhere near this area an idea of the sensation, let me use this simile: the rain feels like someone is driving death nails made of ice into your body. The very first drop sent the shiver that's reserved for haunted houses and heart attacks down through my entire body. I'm also under the assumption (though I can't confirm this yet) that a part of my soul died at that time. Wow. It was also a unique feeling.
But Oregon isn't all bad. One thing that I have now that I'd forgotten entirely in Hawaii is stars. Real ones. Not that "let's go to a planetarium" or "I think that's a star, out there in the distance!" No, the stars here shine with a vengence. It's like they all shine a good strong portion of their light to this one state, and the rest of the world can suffer.
Also, I've hooked back up with two of my good friends who know how to bring a smile to my face, regardless and make me write titles to posts like "Feeling Special". Leezard (who's name I cleverly changed to hide his true identity... yes, that was a joke), who's changed so much from when I last actually spent time with him (two years does that to a person) and Nenni (those of you who know me well know who I'm talking about) who actually hasn't changed nearly at all. I've seen little more than these people, my brothers and my father, which is fine by me... southern oregon went downhill fast, it seems. This area is the place I will recall the next time I do a "You're better than this" rant.
Also in somewhat interesting news, I moved into my new house today. Am I there now? What a silly question! No, of course not. I'm back in southern Oregon (I chose a nice place on the otherside of the state)... in Leezard's room, actually, getting ready to fail at being a man, and prove that I know embarassingly little about automobiles. Those of you who want a couple of pics, let me know, and I'll be kind enough to send some to you.
That went better than I expected.
--Avarice
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| "Life Vest Under You're Seat" |
| 04.21.04 (12:51 am) [edit] |
[writer's note: I wrote this just after the last post on the plane to Los Angeles. after thinking it over, I decided to post it, though this thoughtline is dead.]
I've spent all night trying to figure out how to describe to you what I'm feeling. It took a couple of hours and a plane ride, but I've figured it out. It feels like drowning. These feelings of disappointment and unimportance fill my chest, like water would the lungs, making it hard to breathe. At first, the change is small and shallow, but as I find myself trying to fill my body, I realize that every lungful is only inviting in more of the suffocating substance; so I panic, and gasp even more. It's just like drowning.
She asked me if I was angry. By what right can I be? I have no claim to her. She was doing what was making her happy (I hope this was the case, at least), and that's all I've wanted for her. Her happiness is paramount. Mine is sacrificial, lain on her alter, waiting for her dagger to strike. I am not regretful of this.
No, I wasn't angry. I couldn't be angry at her. But I can be disappointed. I can be hurt. I can feel passed over and unimportant. Of course, I'm sure that's just me being selfish again. I take solice in the thought I'm simply over reacting.
The cowboy had smiled wannly at me. I did my best to return it, but I couldn't hide the fact that nothing was how I wanted. He asked if I had any last requests, and I nearly choked. [i]I'm not going to see you again[/i], I thought. He clapped me on the shoulder and leaned close. "I know. I'm sorry," he said.
My voice felt hollow, as if they were coming from the depths of the abyss to stand in for the betrayal of my own vocal chords. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't that important."
I've said that a hundred times tonight. Everytime, his reply echos in my head like the beating of a war drum.
"Yes it does, bro. Yes it does."
--Avarice
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| Libras |
| 04.18.04 (4:42 pm) [edit] |
I'm leaving you, Hawaii. Say goodbye.
it's difficult not to feel a little bit
disappointed and passed over
I'm a selfish person. I wanted people to come and see me go. I wanted to feel like I would be missed and that I was loved. I feel like I'm a child. I haven't seen the person that I'm going to miss the most in the last two days, and I understand. She's busy. She's got a life. It doesn't revolve around me. That doesn't stop this accursed feeling of rejection.
No one is doing anything wrong, I tell myself. I need to tell myself a little more. Maybe I'm just going to miss this place. I don't know.
She sounded so defeated. Again, I had nothing that I could say.
That's getting to be a constant.
--Avarice
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| Lie to me. |
| 04.17.04 (5:37 pm) [edit] |
The worst feeling in the world is caring about someone so deeply and knowing that nothing you can say or do will make them feel better. It's like being in the middle of the ocean in a row boat without oars; you feel completely helpless.
I wanted so badly to say [u]anything[/u], but instead, I sat silent as I thought that was what I was supposed to do. Perhaps it was.
I don't really know.
--Avarice
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| Pool Cues and Sugar Cubes |
| 04.17.04 (3:27 am) [edit] |
I just realized that motherfucker is not censored. Humor.
My fingers hurt from playing guitar all night. It's like "open mic night" here, only there's no mic, no one invited me, and I doubt anyone is listening. It's like going to school to find out that there are no assignments... oddly liberating. That's fine by me. That means I can sing about whatever I feel like.
To my friends who actually read this but never reply (and even the one that feels the need to defend herself over nothing), I'll be trying to update as much as possible, but I won't be as frequent... maybe once a day, if we're all lucky... well, if I'm lucky. I don't know how you all feel about reading this. At any rate, I'll try and write you all once a day, but my computer is going ahead of me to Oregon... where I'll stay a couple of months recording with the greatest guitarist in the world, and sharing a house with an old friend.
Excited? Yes, but I'm so going to miss playing songs for no one.
--Avarice
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| "If You See Kay, Tell Her I Miss Her" - Zorak |
| 04.17.04 (1:55 am) [edit] |
I just found out that the ####-word is censored. That takes a lot of the passion out of the work, if you ask me. Of course you didn't.
Tonight is an odd night. I threw myself into an awkward situation, and expected to just wade through it like it was a kiddie pool. It's hypocritical of me, really. All this time, I've been telling Shadow to just stay away from positions that will turn predictably bad, and here I am doing it myself.
"Think about it," I often say. "God gave you the ability to analyze for this reason; to keep yourself out of trouble." But [i]I[/i] must be exempt, right? That must be it. Bah. I do some really stupid stuff sometimes. I don't know what I was thinking.
No, that's a lie. I know exactly what I was thinking.
I need some time to think. Hopefully, I'll continue this thoughtline later.
--Avarice
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| The singer of Placebo, I am not. |
| 04.16.04 (4:58 am) [edit] |
I think I've finally come to realize why women will not attempt to have relationships with me. At first, I thought I was inflicted with the "brother disorder", that disease that is common among the dork / geek population (to which I claim association) which inflicts the victim with a vapor that is completely odorless, but causes most females to form an attachment that is not uncommon between a brother and a sister, hense making it incredibly unlikely that a serious relationship could ever take place, until the female ages 30, or the male hits puberty, drops his friends and stops playing video games... whichever happens last.
No, that's not the case, as Shadow has told me periodically that I'm very attractive (unless she tells her brother that he looks hot from time to time... blame the spring, girl). No, women seem to think that I'm a card-carrying member of GLADD. Okay, maybe that's going too far, but I've just been informed that a female friend of mine thinks that I'm gay.
Read on. Below is an AIM conversation I JUST had. We were talking about music, and my view ofthe current state of America's youth, and old music that's being forgotten by today's "Use and Dispose" society. The names have been changed to protect me. She'd beat me up. Think I'm lying.
grlsnotghey: my mother was a Dolly Parton-Loretta Lynn - Patsy Cline kinda gal.... every saturday morning, that's what I woke up to.... either that or her throwing open my bedroom door bellowing "Oh Lord Won't Ya Buy Me a Mercedes Benz"
grlsnotghey: and if you could name that one I might fall in love
avarice_4u: Joplin
grlsnotghey: :shock:
avarice_4u: that one was easy
grlsnotghey: suprisingly, I've never met a guy who could give me that answer
avarice_4u: whaaaaaaaat
avarice_4u: don't give me that
grlsnotghey: blasphemy, I know
grlsnotghey: so what's your favorite song?
avarice_4u: Running Up That Hill by Placebo
avarice_4u: it's really amazing
avarice_4u: but i think that it may be in part because it's spring and i wish to have sex to it
avarice_4u: :oops:
grlsnotghey: lmao
grlsnotghey: now there's a good, honest answer
avarice_4u: it's really that type of song, i guess. it pulls me to think about that scenario
grlsnotghey: hmmm *goes off in search of the lyrics*
avarice_4u: just the beat and the subversive vocals and everything
avarice_4u: well, the lyrics aren't about sex at all
grlsnotghey: ahh ok
grlsnotghey: they have a song called Evil Dildo? :shock:
avarice_4u: yes. i'm under the impression that the singer swings like that
avarice_4u: he did a duet with David Bowe... who is like that
avarice_4u: and they have another song called My Sweet Prince
grlsnotghey: and one called Scared of Girls
avarice_4u: i really like that song
avarice_4u: not that i'm scared of girls
avarice_4u: both
grlsnotghey: ah ok
grlsnotghey: ya know
grlsnotghey: I have to say
grlsnotghey: you're deep for a guy
avarice_4u: lies
avarice_4u: it's all a cover
avarice_4u: all guys are evil
avarice_4u: every last one
grlsnotghey: you make me curious
(Here, I quoted a good portion of Shadow's man bashing post)
avarice_4u: curious of what?
avarice_4u: no, i'm not gay. really
avarice_4u: really.
grlsnotghey: that's what I was curious about
avarice_4u: OH MY GOD
avarice_4u: the world has just ended
grlsnotghey: lol and now I'm going to get shot at, right?
avarice_4u: i was there, it was wonderful. you missed it. fire death and chaos.
And the really hilarious part about this whole little fiasco was that I was going to use this very same convo to show Shadow that there are guys who are deep and are just overall great people (oh my god, I hear the gay jokes starting already), but now I understand. She thinks guys like me are gay.
Okay, listen. I may be a very reflective person. I'm intelligent and funny and loyal, and at times, I can be sexy (or so I hear), but I am not gay. Really. I mean it.
Oh man, I cannot believe I even had to write that.
I'm going to go drown myself.
See you all tomorrow,
--Avarice
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| Mornings Afternoon |
| 04.15.04 (9:54 pm) [edit] |
Well, my appearent heart attack has passed. That makes me smile a bit.
I spent most of last night writing my post and putting touches on my demo audio cd. It's by no means finished in my eyes, but it will have to be released to certain people, and in turn, other people will get it because I don't want them to feel left out. I don't want people to think that I'm in someway pushing this like an eager child with a half-assed drawing. It's more like I'm a student handing in a half-complete exam because something is better than nothing.
I wrote a complete song and had it recorded in about ten minutes. And I like it. That's kind of an odd feeling, let me say. I actually feel like a real musician or something. Then I got to play with distortion effects and such on my vocals and... hotness ensued. It was my first agressive song (but not in anyway teen angsty, dammit) in like four years. I'm quite proud.
I really wish I could stay here. I fell in love with everything in the last three weeks. To everyone I know and love and to Hawaii, itself, I will miss you.
Really. I will.
--Avarice
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| It's in his eyes. |
| 04.15.04 (2:52 am) [edit] |
My chest hurts like someone lacerated my chest and incerted the hottest coal in hell. I thought maybe I was having a stroke, but upon inspection, I still maintain full motor and thinking skills. I fancied that perhaps I'd had my first heart attack (the burger I had for dinner could give an elephant a case of the cardiac arrest), but this has lasted longer than I have expected one to go. Maybe I'm just having dozens of heart attacks.
One thing I have little to no respect for (besides child molesters, rapists, and clowns who need monkeys to be funny) would have to be someone who doesn't honor the commitment of marrage.
Oh, here I go again. I have the feeling this one's going to get me in trouble.
To me, marrage is [i]the[/i] most sacred union ever. Even more so than that "civil union" (sorry, if you want to get married, you have to follow the rules). Why, you ask? Because it is when two people become one. Hense the term "union". I understand when things are just outside of your control, and the mate you've chosen has just completely fucked up the whole world and she's a bitch and she's cheating and whatever. I really do, and honestly, I sympathize... to an extent. Does this, in some magical way, null your marrage?
The answer is no (at least in my book, but I'm finding out that I'm more and more wrong everyday). I was brought to believe that marrage was a form of contract. You were bound, motherfucker. The words went a little something like so:
[i]Do you, John Smith, take this woman for your wedded wife and will you love and cherish her, for richer and poorer, through sickness and in health, till death do you part?[/i]
Do you remember saying "I do"? Because the state does. You are recognizably married. Nevermind the fact that she's a sucky wife. My mother was a sucky wife. My father loves her none the less. [i]"Till death do you part." [/i]What makes you exempt? Because she's far away?
I wish someone would tell me the answer to this question, because honestly broken my faith in damned near everything that man has accomplished. There's no such thing as love and trust, it's just a facade, fairy tales for the children to listen to as they sleep. God aside, where the fuck has loyalty gone?
I tried my best tonight. I really did. My tongue was bleeding when I got home, a twenty minute ride that I, for once in my life, did not speak my mind. I let it go. Every word he said sounded like an invitation to attack.
I'm sorry.
I wish it was Sunday.
--Avarice
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| Maybe I should focus. |
| 04.15.04 (12:09 am) [edit] |
That last one was odd. Sorry. I got off on a tangent. Okay, I got off on a couple of tangents. I do that. I blame ADD.
The reason I started that post was because of another blogger, Nightshadow, and her post about men, and how she has problems tolerating them. Most men may not be up front about their actions, Shadow, but you should evaluate each before commiting them to that endless cleche. Yes, most guys suck. I'm really sorry. Some of us hate the fact that the others are giving us that care, us that want nothing more than to find that someone and care for them day and night, asking for a little companionship in return, us that want to be more, a really bad name.
The deck is stacked against us, and we know it. Our voice is not heard, because the chaste are ostrisized for not wanting to be a part of that crowd. Am I, in some way, less of a man because I don't want to see the bed in flames everytime I shake the hand of a woman? Do I disgrace myself when I fall for someone, because I see her and no one else? Am I a horrible person, because I would do everything for her and could not even fathom the thought of hurting her?
I guess so. The norm is nothing but one night stands and leech like relationships of gold diggers and sex mongers. Can sex really mean so much?
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a- or non-sexual in anyway. It IS SPRING, PEOPLE, but I can hold down my gutteral urges to grab the nearest female caveman style and drag her to my room. I think it's called civilized... but I could be wrong. It could also be called prude, I guess, depending on which side of the fence you want to stand on.
I read a great quote today, in USAToday. It was Sunday's (yeah, I'm just now getting around to reading Sunday's paper), and the article was talking about how the alphabet channels can survive this television slump it's in, but I think it fits here: "[i]Just because it's old-fashioned doesn't mean it's wrong[/i]".
I am more than sick of what passes as normal these days. I'd rather not be normal anyway.
--Avarice
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| Girls and the Mafia |
| 04.14.04 (6:22 pm) [edit] |
I would demand an explaination, but let's face it: their explainations are just designed to trick and tease. You can feel the lie attacking your soul as it escapes their lips, yet you still shrug it off as rain and do your best to believe them. And all the while you're thinking [i]it's not what you think. breathe, damn you, breathe[/i].
What they do is break your bones as they hold you in the grasp that crushes your vital organs and compresses the other, not-so-vital ones, all the while asking baited questions that they a) know the answers to, or b) are expecting you to fall in to place like piece to a puzzle.
"What answers do you want?" I often ask, having danced this tango before (mind you, i don't know how to tango). My question is honest, direct and clean of any hooks or barbs or any crazy sharp painful objects to catch you and tug you in by the cheek, leaving you at the mercy of my darkest, most sadistic desires.
I am direct. I am forward. I am shy, yet logical. I think. I predict the outcomes of my actions. I choose which ones are best, but I am not manipulative. I do not place friends where pawns would be, but rather stand there myself. I do not view myself as king, and if I did, I would stand as the king of hearts, dying for love. I am not a martyr, but a soldier, willing to go to the grave for what he believes in. And I will not give up.
It amazes me how quickly people give up. To stop trying. What is tomorrow for, if you quit today? They'll get back up someday, I'm sure. I'm not in anyway saying that they're prematurely voting themselves off our mortal island, but they could be missing the best thing that ever came in to their lives.
Go ahead. Give up. I'm tired of trying to motivate you otherwise. You, who has the potential to be so much more. You, who secretly hopes that you die because of what some asshat lover did to you. You, who diludes your life with a drink because you cannot tolerate yourself. You, who think that God's in some way cursed you to a sheltered life of servitude. You, who'd rather sleep your life away. You. I'm tired of you, America. I'm tired of hoping that this generation was somehow salvagable, when they can hardly see past their last sex buddy or their next drink.
Outside this computer is an amazing world with millions of colors and creatures and people. Some colors may hurt my eyes, some creatures may bite or sting, and some people may break my heart, but I'll still be out there, counting every shade of green, because I refuse to die without experiencing them.
My life is in no way what I wanted 5 years ago. But it is salvagable. I still find myself smiling for no good reason. I still find myself laughing at sleeping girls and being awed by waterfalls. It really hasn't lost it's grandeur yet.
The universe is horribly large, with thousands of galaxies and millions of planets and stars. Nothing that happens on this little world will ever change that, not a scorned lover or angry friend or that ass**** who works at the gas station who acted like I did something wrong when he didn't give me correct change.
I still smiled and said "Thank you."
--Avarice
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