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| Last one, honest. |
| 02.12.05 (12:37 am) [edit] |
I'd bow or curtsey, but I doubt anyone's still here.
I've shared thousands of feelings, hopes, inspirations, songs, and events that have shaped me as a person ever since Night got me into this damned thing, some ten months ago. Since then, a few readers and friends grew with me, watching me mature from a young marine to a bitter, disenfranchised twenty-something. Yeah, it happens.
I've talked about life, love, social drama, politics, religion, music, art, America. I'm sure there's more. Point is, I no longer feel qualified to give my personal point of view on these topics on these matters. Not that I dont love to write, trust, I'll continue to write privately and dole my words out to friends and family, and not that I don't love the community that I've met, solely because of the blog.
It's because, finally, at twenty-two, I'm seeing what the world is really about. I don't really want to share this morsel of info. It's one of those things that you'll have to come into on your own good merit.
To be perfectly honest, I really hope that when you see what the world is about, it's nothing like how I see it. I pray to God, Himself, that you see a happy place where your dreams are a plausible, tangible thing. I pray that each and every other person out there finds his or her niche. I pray that you find happiness. In some ways, I need you to find happiness.
It truely has been my pleasure, writing post after post, hoping to see what you had to say, and in someways, I will miss this type of interaction, but it doesn't seem real anymore. The reasons we do our day to day things just don't seem legitimate. Perhaps I've stumbled in to extentialism. Maybe what I see is what is truely going on. Either way, know that I hope that you, Reader, don't end up where I am now: a broken depressed sod who can't see a good way out.
To everybody who read this, I'll miss you.
As always,
--Avarice
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| Crosses and dollar signs. |
| 02.07.05 (9:08 am) [edit] |
What I meant to say was: Good Superbowl, everyone. I had a great time. I suppose the earlier post was a great deal too random and slightly premature. Sorry. I was hella fucking drunk. I needed to vent, and no one was on. I suppose it could have been worse.
I could have posted the Paul McCarteny halftime show and looped it.
I find that we ask the questions that we want to answer. Not so much as to get the answer, unless, of course, it's critical to you. I mean, in a social circumstance, when talking to people you barely know or what have you, for the most part, we ask the questions we want them to ask. We're dying for a "and you?"
We're dying anyway. Keep that in mind. It will be on the quiz.
This doesn't apply to everyone. Just the honest ones. This is the modern "me" "greatest" generation. We are the completely self absorbed, self absorbing, self defeating rulers of the country we're running in to the ground in the name of the dollar, yen, pound, sex, whatever your currency. You are not allowed to love your country without being a religious prick. Patriotism is anti-patriotism. We, the needy, selfish creature that we are, have done this. We, the same people who named a stationwagon after a condom after a gun. We, the makers of porn and smut and snuff. We, the divided species.
Yes. I came to this conclusion at the club. Watching thirty-six year old nobodies, going nowhere. Looking for a cigarette and a blowjob. The American dream. Conversations, completely meaningless, pointless, and obtrusive. Waiting for the two magic words.
"And you?"
--Avarice
[i]Avarice is a nationally syndicated hack that hates his mother.[/i]
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| I can breathe fresh air. |
| 02.06.05 (10:02 pm) [edit] |
God, so many times it feels like life is a series of memories that is being played out while I try my damnedest to narrate. Fuck you. I spelled it wrong. Trust me, tonight, you'll prolly find a lot of errors. This is me, too drunk to type properly and too fucked up to care.
The bar was bumping. Granted, it wasn't always like this. 15 minutes ago, you couldn't tell it would have a spurge of young lust. Haute. Trust me. It was. God damn. You should have seen this girl. Fuck. Christina was the hawtest I've ever seen her. She even got the haute joke. If I could just get her to get over him... nevermind... she just went to dance with a 35 year old asshat with no direction.
This is me, completely rejected.
We left. We talked about a lot of things. God, I would love this girl so much. She has no fucking clue. This would be it for me. The only reason I need. Really. But she's too fucked up on some asshole who doesn't care. She knows this. I know this. I'm rubbing her feet the whole time. I'm her puppet. A week ago, I expected her to kill me. Now, I'm letting her crack my neck.
This is me, perfectly waiting.
Superbowl Sunday. God dammit, time travels with her. The drinks. The many drinks. Got Patriots. Good making it look like you weren't supposed to win. Good vodka and redbull's. Jesus. I didn't even need asprin to get me drunk. I didn't need asprin to get me fucked up.
This is me, hopeless to this girl.
This is me, passed over.
This is me, willing to be what she wants.
This is me, not good enough.
This is me, never good enough.
This is me.
This is me
--Avarice
[i]Fire is a good contraceptive.[/i]
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| The effects of asprin on alcohol |
| 02.02.05 (12:37 am) [edit] |
Breakdown, thy name is Avarice.
There's something to be said about the comforts that liquor can bring between my remedial spaces between happiness. Also, it's worth noting the fullest potential that can be obtained when you mix with asprin. Yes, the blood thinner.
Kids, do not take pills or drink alcohol. These are bad for you and are a sign that you're about to crash, and as such you should never EVER take them together. You know, I was a bit more convincing when I was ten, standing in front of the school, reading my D.A.R.E. speach that had been taken with good reviews. Fuck, I even got a watch out of the deal.
She. She is another word for devil. Let me tell you about myself, o' dauntless reader. I am twenty-two and I feel things slipping through my fingers every minute of every day. An unproductive minute is reason enough to expect failure, and as such, I see life slipping through my hands. I have this great idea. A wonderful idea. I could make it with the help of LB and God-dammit, I'm going to be rich.
Or, I'm going to die.
Self-loathing? No. I like me. The correct analogy was supposed to go here, but can't be found, due to the foggyness that has invaded my head. Uncertainty, you are my greatest and most horrible enemy. If only I could move the world like a chessboard. If only the next movement could be calculated and predicted and the movement would be clean, cool, unrushed.
Life is a game that no one knows the rules to, but whom everyone is forced to play, and in all honesty, winning is all based on luck. This applies to both real life and the game. Only in one of them, you're not guarenteed a wife, husband, or anyone else who will ride with you, high and low, for that matter. In one of them, a very few will be successful, and everyone who isn't will complain that it's because of a glass ceiling, and that you should have to pay more money than they do because you actually did something with your life, despite the fact that you are paying more money. In one of them, you will only be able to do what you set forth to do, while everyone you know would be willing to crush your hopes and dreams to see themselves get ahead. And in the other one, you get a stylish blue car to move from space to space.
Four asprin + two shots of rum = sexy.
Kids don't do drugs, or you will be immitating the most publisized successful person in America today, the Hollywood type. This, of course, includes musicians and actors, who, with seemingly very little (and an amazing deal of luck), are making more money than you will ever know, and thusly believe that they've got it all right when it comes to [art/politics/religion/ot her topic of heated discussion]. You will be acting like the person who makes millions being someone else or crying about how much they hate life. These are your role models, and you want to be just like them.
Don't feel bad, I do to.
Why else would I be here, 1:39am, half-naked, depressed because I'm starting to see that I'm not going to be one of those happy idiots? Angry, because I'm pretty much deemed worthless by the world around me. Mostly drunk, because I don't know how I'm supposed to take this.
Kid's don't ever drink. You don't want to be like this.
--Avarice
[i]It made sense at one point.[/i]
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| My Sexiest Mistake Gave Me Herpes |
| 01.26.05 (9:24 pm) [edit] |
So, it appears that I've finally scared away my audience, which I suppose is a good thing. The tightened strings of my social girdle have loosened for the time being.
Or that January is a rediculously busy month for everyone. Maybe they'll come back, maybe they won't. I've given up on worrying, honestly. After Christina and after losing my job... I can't do it. [Where's it gonna get you acting serious?]
I suppose that the only thing I can really do right now is bury myself in my music, and feed off of my currently unrestrained creative portion of the brain. As soon as things start going well again, the rational side will take over and I'll be reduced to bland, boring tunes. Oh, the paradox of the life of the musician. True happiness brings down the happiest of dreams.
Or something.
Sorry, I'm just getting over a drastic disillusionment, which roots in a long term, deply vein line of hope. If I come off as sad/bitter/angry/dramatic then trust that time heals all wounds, and that my relationship with the dream will fade from memory, only surfacing when I get really drunk and I end up bawling in the arms of a friend who's only there because he's supposed to watch over me when I drink to make sure that I don't fuck my foot up anymore.
Or something.
Anyway, I hope that's personal enough for you.
I don't want to say anymore.
--Avarice
[i]Can we eat them?[/i]
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| It Kills Us |
| 01.23.05 (11:58 am) [edit] |
My lack of posts. That's what I really want to focus on. Really. Just understand that when I go on to a couple of tangents, they're all connected, like a web, where one broken strand does little to the web, but many makes it fall. [We were dreaming.]
Keeping track of my life through zeros and ones for the world to ignore is more theraputic than it is hindering, but it seems that when I need it most, I can't form the words. I beg to be a fourteen year old, who isn't ashamed of the words that he writes to vent. It isn't happening, I assure you. But I tried. I tried hard. Especially on "Give". [There are moments when I know it.] I wanted to say "Fuck this. Fuck it all. I'm gonna take some pills, drink some booze, hire a hooker, pass out, so fuck you all." Why can't I? Why can't I at least [i]do[/i] that list of closure that works for most of my peers.
Why isn't that me? [Why isn't that me?]
She's not ready for a long-term relationship. I found myself on the friend ladder for being honest, which is a demeaning place to be. Especially for being honest. [Do everything you can. Don't you worry what they tell themselves.] I'm the one that no one falls for unless they are crazy. Erix can attest. Lunchbox can attest.
Unfortunately there's no feeling behind this anymore. There's no passion for me to pass on to you, the reader. [Smile like you mean it]. It's not that it's a chore, persay, but I don't feel the desire to share anything with anyone anymore. [Dreams aren't what they used to be.]
The look in his eyes. So hard to really explain what I saw. Victory, mostly. Perhaps I was just putting things where things don't go, but I saw victory. What was I supposed to do? I took off my schmock and handed in my badge. I was too dead to even care. I was still wearing the clothes from the night before. I can't believe I didn't at least change. I can't believe I even got up and came in. I wasn't feeling it. Not after last night. [I've had it with this game.]
My fingers hurt from being the vessel from which my heart pours. Too much energy, too much emotion, kills. Too much hope, too much passion, disappoints. [Heaven ain't close in a place like this.] Bleeding my life through a text based medium seems so sad and pointless. Especially after that night.
I'm trying, Kendy. I'm trying LB, and Erix, and Process, and Night, and Cowboy, and Twilight, and Punk. I'm trying, but all that's happening is my hands are getting worn and tired. I'm trying Christina. [You would kill for this.]
God-dammit. I'm trying.
--Avarice
[i]-- Existentialism on a Prom Night --
When the sun came up
We were sleeping in
Sunk inside our blankets
Sprawled across the bed
And we were dreaming.
There are moments when
When I know it and
The world revolves around us
And we're keeping it
Keeping it all going
This delicate balance
Vulnerable, all knowing
(Sing like you think no one's listening)
You would kill for this
Just a little bit
Just a little bit
You would kill for this
(Sing like you think no one's listening)
You would kill for this
Just a little bit
Just a little bit
You would... you would
Sing me something soft
Sad and delicate
or loud and out of key
Sing me anything
We're glad for what we've got
Done with what we've lost
All our lives laid out
Right in front of us
(Sing like you think no one's listening)
You would kill for this
Just a little bit
Just a little bit
You would, you would
(Sing like you think no one's listening)
You would kill for this
Just a little bit
Just a little bit
You would
Sing me something soft
Sad and delicate
or loud and out of key
Sing me anything
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| All I have to give |
| 01.20.05 (8:27 am) [edit] |
Isn't good enough.
[i]-- Give --
I said it didn't matter
Lying, but you caught me
At least that's how I tell it
Making conversation
To re-poison the well
At least that's what I'm giving you
When all is said and done
I'm right here
I'm right here
This short drive felt like hours
405 at nine
Grabbing at directions
Down Burnside and 19th
We're gonna find our way
If it kills us
When all is said and done
I'm right here
I'm right here
And all I have to give
Is so much more than what I wanted
Letting it go under
There's cigarettes in all
The loves I've ever wanted
And it kills us
And all I have to give
Is so much more than what I wanted
Letting it go under
There's cigarettes in all
The loves I've ever wanted
And it kills us
If we're being honest
Then I am a bit discouraged
It doesn't matter
I can keep my cover
I said it and I meant it
It's what I'm good at
When all is said and done
I'm right here
I'm right here
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| Heavy |
| 01.18.05 (8:52 pm) [edit] |
God, I'm down tonight.
I am always the one who calls.
[i]-- Waiting for a Superman --
I asked you a question
But I didn't need you to reply.
"Is it getting heavy?"
But then I realized
"Is it getting heavy?
Hell, I thought it was already as heavy
As can be."
Is it overwhelming
To use a grain to crush a fly?
It's a good time for Superman
To lift the sun into the sky
Cause it's getting heavy
Hell, I thought it was already as heavy
As can be.
Tell everybody to wait now for Superman
That they should try to hold on as best they can
He hasn't dropped them,
Forgot them
Or anything
It's just too heavy for Superman to lift.
Is it getting heavy?
Well, I thought it was already as heavy
As can be.
Tell everybody to wait now for Superman
That they should try to hold on as best they can
He hasn't dropped them,
Forgot them
Or anything
It's just too heavy for Superman to lift.
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| Sentinel |
| 01.16.05 (8:56 pm) [edit] |
Let it be known: the Outlett mobile is about to be retired, and with it goes the memory of the half-could-have-been group that Outlett was.
The memories will fade, as will the drama that plagued the last few weeks. I just purchased a new death trap. It's a sentinel. It's expensive to repair, but it was a good deal. A steal and a half for $300. Fo' sho'.
Anyways, this is just a quick update. I'm getting ready to go meet Lunchbox at a Jack in the Box. God, that sounded dumb. Anyway, I'll post tomorrow after work.
Laters.
--Avarice
[i]And death followed with him.[/i]
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| The Meaning of Life. |
| 01.12.05 (7:52 pm) [edit] |
For those of you who think about the meaning of life and what not, I'll have you know that it rests on a plaque in a prize machine at the T/A station just off I-5 exit 278 in Oregon.
No really. It is.
You see, here's where I stood, on the outside of the glass, reading this half-buried plaque, trying to figure out the second half. I mean, this is some heavy shit I'm giving you right now. [i]I know where the meaning of life rests.[/i] And for a mere fifty cents, you can perhaps even obtain it, if you're good with those stupid claw prize machine. I pumped three bucks in that glorious holder of truth before two things happened: 1) I knocked the plaque flat, momentarily shifting the gravel and releasing the most coveted of all answers, and 2) I ran out of money.
But consider that from a moment. This actually says scores about the American citizen. [i]The meaning of life is reduced to a cheap prize in a truck stop.[/i] Not that the meaning itself was bad or false, it may have been the best interpretation of the real meaning of life that I've ever seen scripted. But that it was buried, intentionally, by someone who was seriously concealing the information in order to lure people into playing a game. I laughed.
I have this other thing that I've been meaning to talk about, but this isn't something that you follow with a story like that. This is something that will leave some smiling, some disenfranchised and some thinking. You don't need to worry about my personal stuff just yet.
But you know what I would have done with that plaque? I would have mounted it.
So everyone can see.
--Avarice
[i]I'm broken and colder than hell.[/i]
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| Given the time frame. |
| 01.11.05 (6:13 pm) [edit] |
Damn you car. Especially tonight.
If you read this, I swear, if I can make it up to you, I will.
I suppose it's time I let some others in on the nonsense.
So she is great. Wonderful. Uplifting. Like me. If I could marry myself, I would, so this is a great asset. She has other great assets to, but I couldn't explain without help of diagrams and photos. She is an excellent cook. [She was making me crab tonight, you God-forsaken piece of shit for a car.] She is an intellectual, which is good, because I do get bored with the idiots. She has certain qualities of Night, although not too much to make it weird. A hint of her eyes.
She is one of the few people in this world that I worry that I will let down. I did tonight. Trust me. This sucks.
Gotta go.
--Avarice
[i]Arg.[/i]
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| Bloody knuckles |
| 01.09.05 (6:40 am) [edit] |
Here's the thing about drinking. You start, and seriously, you can tell where your tolerance is. You know when to stop. You don't, for whatever various reasons. You get drunk. You fall face down in the biggest, coldest mud puddle in all of Oregon.
Sorry, I had a really bad night.
I was pumped, don't get me wrong. There was a lot on the line tonight, that I appearentally threw out the window. She was there. Oh, God, you should have seen her.
I had this dream last night where I was looking for some schott's tape. I looked and looked, and finally, I decided to look in my father's room. He said to look over off to one side, and to that side were empty shot glasses and bottles of liquors drunk long ago. I wasn't happy with this, so I looked on the otherside. My father became very upset and began cursing me and telling me to stay away because it wasn't what I thought.
I went anyway.
On the otherside of the bed was this blanket. I pulled it back to reveal gifts for me that I never had recieved. Some had postal stickers, some hadn't been wrapped yet, and some said "Love, Mom and Dad." I was angry that they'd hold something that was good back from me, but my father kept saying, "See, you little prick? You never know when good enough is good enough."
I'm not quite sure what the message is supposed to be. But that's the worst part about it. I don't know what any of it means. Is there a life tally behind me that's going to mark what happened last night in the "Good" or "Bad" category? Or is this for naught? I don't know.
I normally miss the message anyway.
--Avarice
[i]Here, I'm allowed.[/i]
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| Hard decisions and harsher words |
| 01.05.05 (2:51 pm) [edit] |
Not yet, at least, but trust that it may get to that point.
I once played this game called [i]Singles[/i], and I would laugh when I played it because I had a hard time thinking that the avatar for my real life self could get bothered by their flatmate doing whatever. I was so horribly wrong, and I purpose an apology to anyone whose had a flatmate go bad.
I wish there weren't so many God-damned strings attached to this one. Guitar stings, to be exact. And a lunchbox. I don't know what I'm going to do, but he is willing to trash the place where I [i]let him live so that he wouldn't have to marry his over zealous, yet horribly hypocritical girlfriend[/i]. I had invited him in on grounds that he [i]needed[/i] a place to stay. The end. I didn't want a flatmate then, and I'm starting to not want one again.
Jesus, I feel so damned trapped here. I have a group who [i]could[/i] make it, we really fucking could, but the setbacks make me want to dive into a suicide marrage, get old and die. Of the group, there's one person I can really count on being serious about it, and Lunchbox, I swear man, we're going to do this. I don't care how. It will happen. Otherwise, I'm ditching this lame state, move up to the mountains of Utah, build a log cabin and shoot at people who come near me, because right now, the Bunny is everything but comatose. We've got a singer/guitarist who plays six hours a god-damned day, a bassist who has been producing some quality tracks (even if they weren't my taste) for about eight years, a slew of one day drummers, and a guitarist that moved five hours away -or- a guitarist who would rather get drunk and fuck everynight than to make something of the skills he's been given.
Mediocrity, here I am.
Where's my drink?
--Avarice
[i]I am in such a mess. I can't cope without this.[/i]
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| final straw - or - family |
| 12.29.04 (3:52 pm) [edit] |
I apolgize to my two readers for the much needed break from all things emotional. Christmas was quite the experience.
Here, before me, is a crossroad. I can go one way, and discuss the resentment and anger towards a certain person for giving up on his children (and how metal would that be?), or I can go the other and discuss the meaning of family, as interpreted by a short white male of the Pepsi generation (thus, being completely wrong). A lose/lose situation, to be sure.
But one of these paths leaves me with at least some face left to barter with.
I've recently come to realize that my mother is not my mom. She birthed me, yes, but that doesn't mean that she's a woman who should receive the loving term, "Mom". I don't want to go any further down this road, but this is important for the rest of the blog. You see, in reality, I have a mom, and a mother, them being completely different people.
Mother is a meth-dealing hypocrite who's turned CJ's life into a white trash cleche. Never there, never blamed, always into trouble, this woman spent $117k in a span of six months with nothing left to show, but a unclean 2003 Camero and a slew of angry, disinfranchised and disillusioned children. Am I bitter? Hardly. This has become fact by now, and I've let it go to the past.
Mom is a wonderful, yet horribly sarcastic woman who loves her kids despite their flaws. Always there if I need a sholder to talk to and an ear if I have a new song to play, this woman rates pretty high on my coolest people in the world list, and for good reason. At least she was there for Christmas.
As I pick up what I learn in my travels, I have to say that it seems more and more, family isn't something that should be used to describe blood relationships. These, are relatives, which is a lot more encombersome to say than family, and much harsher on the ears. Family is soft and caring. Relatives is just a word.
Sorry, Christmas left me bittersweet.
--Avarice
[i]You're the only thing that I love.[/i]
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| If I Put My Back Into It |
| 12.21.04 (8:25 pm) [edit] |
Christmas hurts.
It seems that everyone agrees with that comment. No body seems to actually like Christmas, except maybe lonely parents and grandparents. My grandmother loves it, but she's not lonely. She just loves to give stuff to her grandkids. I also think she likes quizing me on what I want.
But she promised, as soon as she wins the lotto, she's getting me that world peace I've always wanted.
I just finished shopping for my brothers. God dammit, I hate Christmas. No, that's a lie. I love the concept of Christmas. I hate the fact that I don't ever have enough money to even scratch at how much I love those two. Especially the littlest, a fifteen-year-old punk/skater, who I will call, "CJ". Despite the fact that there is no 'j' anywhere in his name.
I am not really a guy who cries easily, and I certainly never do it in public, but even the cashier at Fred Meyers asked if I was okay. I couldn't say anything. I just handed him my debit card, and he reluctantly pulled it through. I wonder if there's a policy against taking credit or atm cards from emotional customers.
I got home and inventoried the collection of items for the two people in this world that I love more than anything else in my life, and I almost decided not to go south for the holidays. I'm not a materialistic person, but I'm also not good at showing people how I feel about them. And, man, CJ can get on my nerves before I'd get the chance to start.
I hate being poor.
What's worse than being poor is hearing everyone tell me that I've got this magic musical meal ticket. I'm gonna be big. Avvy's going to be a rockstar, and I'll not ever have to worry about it again. It hurts, because, honestly, I feel it too. But IOUs aren't generally accepted during the holidays.
So, now CJ's got a cd that wants to be a new ps2, and a learn guitar book that wants to be a new guitar. And the DJ's got a game where he can have a car that runs and a home that isn't a shed. Because I'm not big yet.
I hate this.
--Avarice
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| F'ing Kareoke Elitists |
| 12.19.04 (2:41 am) [edit] |
If you go to any kareoke bar, you'll notice something at the end of the night: newbies will get up. This randomly happens throughout the night, but almost always, you'll see a newcomer as the crowd dwindles. This is mostly because newcomers are afraid to be laughed at or booed off stage. It's a solid plan, really, if people weren't such dicks.
I call them the Kareoke Elitists.
These are people that are good. People that I sweat a drop or two if I get up after them. Kareoke veterans who are still here because they feel they have something to prove to the broken hearted drunks who are still at the bar at one a.m., the other singers, or the noobs. But what gets me is that these people will not clap for anyone outside of their group, no matter how good they do.
At Eden's Gate, at 1:14am, right after a newcomer gets done, you'll hear one set of hands. They are mine. Maybe I'm not so used to it that I've forgotten getting up there for my first time. I don't know. I really hate people like this.
That being said, let's talk about Partisan Elitists.
I didn't vote for President Bush, because I wasn't content with the reasons that our men, my cousin, is still in Iraq. I didn't vote for him because he never really defends himself against accusations from the left wing. I didn't vote for him because he carried himself poorly in the televised debates. If I needed another reason, I'd say it was because Oregon has always been a blue state, so a vote for Bush is a vote for Kerry.
I didn't vote for Senator Kerry because he never really detailed "the plan" he had. I didn't vote for him because I didn't like the way he wanted to put America at the whim of the United Nations for any exo-national issues. I didn't vote for him because he wouldn't sign the 80-8 release form that would allow Americans greater insight into the type of leadership that he presented during his time in service that was constantly being boasted by the left and being attacked by the right wing.
Who I [i]did[/i] vote for was Mr. Nader. The reason was because I felt that he'd have a better sense of leadership than my other two choices, Mickey Mouse and Scooby Doo. That sounds a little immature, but let's get serious, the elections have been a great deal immature for some time now.
Now that I've shared my insight of Kareoke Elitists and of the 2004 election, I need to touch on loyalty.
My friend Spade and I have two very different views on religion. He is a great guy, and I have a relationship with him that resembles that of brothers, but he believes that the Christian bible is one-hundred percent accurate, while I don't believe it as much, relying on faith and prayer to guide me. This one sentence has sparked arguements and split friendships in my life, but, luckily Spade and I see things on a different level.
You see, we do it differently, but we both pray to the same god.
This is a concept that I wish I could implant in all Americans. I wish I could make them see that it doesn't matter if you're left wing or right wing. "You're fucking [i]Americans[/i]," I would tell them. "Your goal should be to make America better, not to tear it apart with your bickering. So you don't like this president. We've had our fair share of leaders, and the list differs depending on which side you sleep on, but God-dammit, if you don't like it, VOTE. If you don't like it, COME UP WITH A BETTER CANDIDATE. If you don't like it, stop whining. Stop attacking people who don't agree with you. Stop making everything a fucking flame war. Learn the words "I don't agree with you, but I respect your opinion," because let's face it, [i]no one has everything right[/i]."
My personal feeling on the elections? I wish people would just come together and say, "Congrats Mr. Bush. I didn't vote for you, but I hope you help move this country in a positive direction." Sound familiar? Even the Eminem, who was being investigated for saying that he wanted to see the president dead, said with a level head that he hoped the president could do well this time around.
Why can't everyone be like this? Why is it that every college student liberal feels the need to violently claim he wants to move to Canada to every television camera that points in his/her direction?
Because it's not about America anymore.
If the generation before this was the "Me Generation", then this one is taking it to a new level. I once heard comedian George Carlon say that people weren't environmentalists because they wanted to "save the earth." They were "environmental assholes because they want their habitat to be just as they want it." I see that with this generation of partisan parties. They want it to be just as they want it, or else. To this new generation (both sides are included here), there's no such thing as rationalization or a give/take mentality. They want the whole damned pie or none at all.
Forget the fact that most of the states voted red. Those people are obviously a sign that America is getting stupider with every passing day, or yet another testament of religion hindering the country. Forget that America appears to want to believe in a God. Forget that America appears to be red for the time being. Forget that [i]you[/i] are not America.
[i]We[/i] are America.
--Avarice
[i]Yeah? Well there's no 'u' in 'team' either. So if I'm not on the team, and you're not on the team, then there's no fucking team, and the team sucks.[/i]
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| McDonalds, and other wars on terror |
| 12.17.04 (4:58 pm) [edit] |
Did I mention that I like corporations?
There's a very significant reason as to why I like these things, and it's not because "they dominate every aspect of our lives" so on and yadda yadda. No, I like corporations because if it wasn't for people, they wouldn't be so big.
Seriously. Stop bitching about how big and evil McDonalds is and realize that the reason they are in business is because people go there. Hell, nearly everyone I know who bitched about how bad McDonalds is for you and quotes lines from [i]Supersize Me[/i] will sit down and eat a burger, tearing into the restaurant in between bites.
And you know what? That's okay. In fact, I applaud it. Granted, these people are being a tad bit hypocritical when they do this, but I don't think any less of them. Why should I? That's actually quite bold.
Maybe Americans should all have the pleasure of living in other forms of government for at least three years before being allowed to come back. Maybe then they'd see that free healthcare isn't what it looks like. Maybe then they'd see that communism doesn't work well when people are involved. Maybe they'd see that America isn't that bad off... a little confused, maybe, and heading towards the end of it's run, but not bad off.
Maybe they'd come back and want a Big Mac.
But, then again, Uncle Sam and Miss America have some definate downsides, especially now. With this new division cracking through the states, sometimes it feels like another civil war is coming. Sometimes, the reds are painted to be such evil emperors that I think to myself, [i]"...and this is where the blue hero will rise and the war will begin."[/i] Which would be unfortunate. God knows we don't need another war. At least not now.
You know, it was really funny to me when it first happened. You know, the bombing in Baghdad. I remember, I was on leave, transfering between duty stations. If I remember correctly, the friend I mentioned prior was in boot camp, and as I faded in and out of sleep, I remember thinking that I couldn't wait to be there. And it was true. Until the moment I got out, I wanted to go to Iraq.
I didn't want to die, but I wanted to be there.
I have a hard time discussing the war with people. I guess that because I support the President and would give my life to protect the elected leader of my country, whom I swore alliegance to a long time ago, I am a conservative bastard. I guess that because I argue against the motives and the president's current decission of keeping our men (and women) there, I guess I'm a dirty liberal dog.
It's almost funny that the same generation that was nodding their heads with Brad Pitt when he said "We are history's middle children... we don't have our own war..." in the ever so good movie (and great book, too) [i]Fight Club[/i], is the same one that protests this war the most. It's not about how you walk, kids. It's how loud you talk and how honest you look when you lie.
I don't agree with most of the direction taken with the war. I don't agree with putting people on foot and staying "Go here," when we could have just sent a couple of bombers and some A-1 Abrahams in, and not lost any on our side. I don't agree with the lack of support that both our government [i]and the people[/i] have for our military.
And I really, really don't agree with the liberal television slant.
I can't stand the way that every major news channel (to include Fox News) has to put it's own spin on the issue. I can't stand that for almost a year, all we heard were the number of American casualties and strategic information dispursed over such an open source. Yes, the [i]American[/i] people have a right to know some things, like mission progress. The people don't need to know about strategic locations and bombing sites in Afganistan. Perhaps we've forgotten the cold war, when there were communists living in our country collecting information. Perhaps we've forgotten that the FBI and CIA expected that many sleeper cells for terrorist organizations were living right here.
Perhaps some people were just ignoring these things because it didn't fit their agenda.
Maybe. Maybe not. At anyrate, I do not agree entirely with the war over there, but I do support the president. I'm going to discuss this in further tomorrow, but had Gore or Kerry had won, I would still support them. It's only fair.
It may sound selfish, but the only thing I want to see come out of this war is my cousin, coming home in one piece.
--Avarice
[i]Stop thinking about it so that you can really[/i] think [i]about it[/i]
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| Starbucks, and other experiments on babies. |
| 12.16.04 (5:41 pm) [edit] |
To quote the lost-in-time Mr. Bungle, "God dammit, I love America". Really, I do. I love nearly every aspect of this country I live in, from fast food to movies, to towering buildings devoted to corporations, to the rich, to the poor, to the fat, to the slim, to the girls that are just-so-damned-hot-that-t hey-can-melt-the-skin-off -your-bones.
Not to say that these things don't exist in other countries. Australia, for instance, has some of the above mentioned hot girls. I really wanted to put a link there, but I figure Rinna would come kick my ass. She could too, and that's another thing I love about America.
That is, in part, why I love Starbucks so much. They have become so damned big that in Bellevue, WA, there is a Starbucks catty cornered from a Starbucks. I have seen it. It is real. I have also heard rumors that Austin, TX has one too. You see, people choose to do some crazy things, and let's face it, if Starbucks 1 is making enough money to stay in business, despite the fact that Starbucks 2 greets its customers when they look out the window, then God bless both of them. I wish they'd have been more creative, but hey, that's what you get from a generation raised on television.
That, and the Starbucks in Fred Meyers in Newberg, OR, makes an insanely good Tazo Chai.
Anyway, I came to the conclusion of my deep rooted love for America THIS VERY NIGHT. Okay, maybe I had an inkling or two that maybe, just [i]maybe[/i] I liked it here, but it was this evening, as I was passing through the "True Crime" section of the book session of the above mentioned Freddy's, drinking my Tazo Chai, reading rediculous names like [i]Bloody Passion[/i], [i]Dark Killer[/i], and [i]Love of Death[/i] (which, btw had the catchline "He was the victim of someone who loved too much..."), that it struck me. I love the fact that people are a) stupid enough to write this, b) stupid enough to buy this, and c) smart enough to NOT buy this.
Granted, America has a rediculously long way to go before it becomes the [i]Ultimate[/i] superpower (the updated word for empire), but for now, we're still the main superpower. Pat yourself on the back, America. A lot of people died for you to get here.
But there's this... insurgance, I suppose... of children who think they've got it all figured out. They've all but thrown out religion, tradition and decency in the name of "rebellion" or "anti-corporate action". And that's not all, really. On the otherside, it seems there's nothing but zealous billion dollar, stab-you-in-the-back business men who want to keep the world dim, because stupid people buy stuff.
At least, this is how media paints pictures. There's no off colors in this picture of America. There are the obviously rich and ignorant "reds" and the horribly mislead and disrespectful (and blameless) "blues". And I don't just mean the alphabet channels, either. This includes talk radio, celebrities, movies, music, news sites... right damn near everything is a political bias, and either side is so far winged that it's become a dumb mold.
Please, let me meet a democrat that doesn't think that a strong military is a dumb idea. One that has concerns concerning abortion and feels that racisim is winding down, and if we just stop making white americans look like bigots then it [i]will[/i] end.
Please, let me meet a republican who is unsure about the presence of God, who leaves open the door to his exisitance, but hasn't sworn a blood oath with a Christian church. Or one that feels that situational abortion is an issue that should be addressed, even if s/he believes that it is wrong.
Please, let me meet a politician who will address controversial material like illegal aliens, national language, traditions and boarders.
Oh my, I'm so off topic tonight. I'm supposed to jump into stem cell research... sigh... okay, transition time.
Please let me meet a republican that can tell John Kerry that he has good initiative, but mixed up the facts a little.
Please let me meet a democrat that doesn't hate President Bush. Or one that can let go of the fact that he's here. Or stop thinking that he's put an end to stem cell research.
Now, this is how I understand it, and I may be wrong, I spent most of the day here, and a few other random google searched sites to find that these cells are a special cell that hasn't quite gotten to it's place in life, and is sorta the jack of all trades cell. If something happens to you, these cells form and become whatever you've lost... ie, blood. There have been some evidence pointing that harvested stem cells can aid in "kick starting" the cells in other things, like nerves and such. Stem cells have even been used to aid in bone marrow transplants, the stem cells becoming most of the needed bone marrow.
At least, that's how I understand it.
Of course, like all things, they have to come from somewhere, and that somewhere is from inside us. Okay, so far, I've heard about three places that stem cells can be harvested, from the adult, from cord blood (left over blood inside the umbilical cord), and from the embryo.
THE CONTROVERSY:
It seems that George W. has stopped funding on stem cell research that affects active embryos... in other words, babies to be. On a side note, this does not stop private funding for embrionic stem cell research, nor for adult, cord blood [i]or fetus[/i] research. Might as well put that curtain hanger baby to good use, my daddy always used to say.
Now, on the red side of the house, it's argued that embrionic research is a person to be, and there are no guarentees that the embryo will survive, so in that since it's nearly abortion. In this sense, it would be murder, and murder is wrong. Then it could be considered as "The Scientific Crusades", really. Only it hasn't happened yet. As for the president, he has said that until there is further evidence of the miraculous (and don't think I mean that sarcastically) healing benifits, he cannot warrant the risks of "killing off millions to save a few thousand." Eh... who knows.
Scientific Crusades. Hee hee.
Oh, that wasn't a presidential quote. That was a Lunchbox quote.
Okay, anyway, on the blue side of the house, it's argued that the president is hindering science (which I believe is a religion in its own), by not funding this one area of research. While I agree that it would be good to see what these stem cells can do, I don't feel that restricting government funding from the embryonic department really hinders the testing. There are plenty of stem cells in the cord blood, abortion and adult sections of research that a breakthrough can happen. Sen. Kerry had made it seem that if embryonic research was allowed, then people would get up out of their wheelchairs and walk, the blind would see, and we'd see a new Jesus in the incarnation of modern medicine.
While I don't disagree that these things could happen, it's a bit pretentious to declair such things at such an early stage. It's like claiming that you are eating the best dinner ever before you've sat down to eat.
The only real disagreement I have with the republican side of this issue is that there is not enough discription on embryos that are discarded from in vitro fertilisation. It is my understanding that many eggs produced and inseminated, but only one is returned to the mother, while the rest are discarded. What I don't see here is a clear distinction of what happens to these eggs. If they are to be destroyed (in the same manner of an abortion), why aren't they considered for use? I don't find this as stupidity on the republicans, but more as an oversight.
That isn't to say that these eggs could be raised into children whose only purpose is to be the farms from which stem cells are harvested. That is horrible.
Fun fact: Germany, the country that fourty years ago slaughtered off six million jews in the name of cleansing, has banned embryonic stem cell research, while the UK has almost embraced it since 1991.
Just something to chew on.
--Avarice
[i]I want to have your abortion.[/i]
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| Getting the facts straight |
| 12.15.04 (5:24 pm) [edit] |
Politics, oh fucking politics. Go away.
You know, I never really [i]liked[/i] politics. It's just one of those things that come up every now and then, and when it does, it's enough to stir me from my unpolitical daze long enough to question the integrity of our media sources. Like CNN. Or ABC. Or Fox News.
There is so much slant these days, even the rose-colored glasses seem mild. Now there's a new level of decoloring thats on some level of the infrared spectrum that we haven't even seen.
They're getting good.
But anyway. If you're tired of politics, have yourself a drink. Here's a good story for those of you at home who're ready for bed.
I have been called conservative, which is fine. Some people just need labels for things, and some may seriously believe that I fall into the "conservative" circle. I think it's because I'm a spiritual person. Sometimes people mistake "spiritual" for "religious" and religious people are ALWAYS conservative. Anyway, whatever. I have a friend who is liberal as all get up. We've been friends since fourth grade, and have been pretty close, not letting political preference cloud our opinion of the other.
I would like to take this time to say that all relationships should be like this. Too often we let political, sexual, or religious preference hinder our relationships. It's not what you do, it's why you do it. Ugh. Anyway.
So my friend and I were driving that long south to north Oregon drive I mention from time to time, when something happened; a political issue was brought up. Now, I try my hardest to stay away from political issues with friends who are far winged, but for some reason, I didn't change the topic, and it began.
If you're reading this, know that this doesn't change our friendship in anyway. I am actually glad we had this conversation. I like to be made to research.
Anyone who's brough up the topic with me knows that I am against abortion. The reason I am against abortion isn't because I'm spiritual. The religious took a heavy stance upon abortion and claimed it was murder, and frankly, I don't know if that's true. It's hard for me to claim that it's an offence against God, when I'm not even quite sure when God thinks that a baby is a baby. I can't be quite that arrogant. Instead, I am against abortion because I believe in cycles. I feel that cycles shouldn't be broken, and it is abhorant in nature to do so. Of course, special cases have special circumstances, but generally, I am against abortion.
But, when the topic changed to Stem Cell Research (and how Mr. Bush is an idiot for not allowing the aforementioned research 'at all' and that it saves millions and what have you), I had to admit that I knew nothing about it. So, trust, there will be a post about that in the near future.
And when the topic changed to the war in Iraq, a topic that I don't suggest at your next party, things became complicated. I support the war, but I don't support the war. Don't worry, this will be another post, along with some extra tidbits of whatever we brought up.
I'd like to say now that for the next three posts, I'm going to post at least one source for each of the touch points, but that isn't to say that I'm getting my information from one place. In reality, I'm getting many 'o sources EXCEPT on one topic (which I will make mention when I do talk about it) where a google search found one matching result.
But that is in due time.
I have some matters to take care of now (which mainly consist of kicking back, having a drink and putting on some Space Ghost: Coast to Coast), but I'll start my posting tomorrow and finish either Saturday or Sunday.
Have fun, and [i]please[/i], don't kill anyone.
--Avarice
[i]My God can beat up your God.[/i]
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| Burning out -or- The Workaholic Blues |
| 12.13.04 (8:33 pm) [edit] |
My father, quite possibly the reincarnation of one of the three wise men (I like to think that he was the one in the middle), is a huge influence on me. When I found out that he used to play guitar, I picked his old acoustic up and thought "Well, if Dad can, then I can too."
So, when my resident wise man / mechanic has words to offer, I normally pay attention. Which makes my current behavior odd, like the smell of almost-rotten eggs... they can still be good, but are very close to being bad.
He worries about me. I understand this. It would be difficult to watch my son or daughter become so focused on something that I wasn't sure if they'd survive a downfall. Hell, it's difficult even though I'm the one that's doing it. My father's afraid that I'm becoming a workaholic. I'm afraid of that too, Dad.
But here's the thing... I'm not becoming a workaholic. Workaholics tire endlessly for the sense that they LIKE to work. Trust me, that's not my thing. I see this goal, and I know that the harder I work, the closer I'll get to it. Life is a game of priorities. Once I get there, I'll kick back in my mansion in my pool, entertaining the ladies.
No really.
I like to think of what Jesus did in these times. I mean, not to compare what I do to the gift that he gave the world (if you believe that). He knew that he was going to die from the begining. I believe that he prepared for it the whole way.
I'm just preparing. I'm living like I'm going to die.
Hmmm... morbid and slightly depressing.
That's not the angle I wanted.
--Avarice
[i]You're not the real Jesus![/i]
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| Fucked up. |
| 12.08.04 (7:30 pm) [edit] |
Seriously, I have no idea who would ever want to do something like this, but, ladies and gentlemen, Dimebag Darrell has left the building.
Forget about a reunion tour. Forget about remade hits cds. At 10pm tonight, some fucktard ran up on stage, and shot and killed one of the coolest guitarists of the times. He also shot six other people, two of those six died. In the words of my brother, "Fucktard is too weak of a term."
It's weird to know someone who died. It's weirder when it's a personal hero. I never cared much for his music, but I loved reading his interviews. This is the man who taught me a pentatonic scale. This is the man who validated my self-isolation by saying "[Rockstars] were all outcasts and geeks once. Look at us now."
Known by millions, loved by thousands, practiced (or at least viewed in awe) by many, many young guitar students. Like me. The man was a master of his hands, making clear, clean presision when the music around him was distorted chaos. Often times, I wanted to shut out the rest of Pantera (and later DamagePlan) just so that I could disect the solos, like a frog in a biology course. Much like he will be when he gets to the morgue.
Class, this is Darrell. He used to be a musician. He ate mostly fast food and drank mostly alcohol. The tour bus was his main habitat, though he prefered the comfort of his personal home. He was known to have performed the act of mating nightly. Now, watch as I make a laceration down the center of the chest...
Fucktards. Morons with guns shooting up clubs. Killing people who have done something. It wouldn't bother me if it was just another welfare slimeball whose only activity was activly doing nothing. Who fucked to fuck. Who brought children into this world to make them sleep in the feces of their thousands of animals whose cages are never cleaned. No. This fucktard killed a man who was known. Who came from that and made himself something.
Is this what's in store for me? I think. God, I hope not. Is this what's going to happen? I'm working so hard so that I can get killed playing in a club doing what I love?
God, I hope not.
--Avarice
[i]How about psycho, sadistic sonofabitch?[/i]
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| Dusted Bunnies |
| 12.06.04 (5:49 pm) [edit] |
I couldn't be more excited if Michelle Branch were here in lacy undergarments... wait, no. I could.
But I'm still really really stoked. "Drugs", my single that I've been excited about since God dropped it's oh-so-lovely riff into my head has made it out of my head and into an acceptable demo quality song. I am the proud creator of something beautiful.
It's a boy.
So, I'm not supposed to drop LB's name here, because he's self-concious that my one reader (besides him and the occasional visit from Kurt) will learn about his secret identity or something, but the man has added a creative element into that song that pushed it above and beyond. Hey bass-head, call me, man. You need to hear it. It's hawt.
Currently, the demo is closed to a small number of people because technically it's not done yet. It's really close, and I need to go over it with Fish and the Box (ha ha, I made a funny) and make sure that it's good to them.
So far, a kid wanted to know who it was. IT WAS THE DUST BUNNY NATION. Bom.
Oh God, I'm so excited.
--Avarice
[i]As the drugs leave, I see what you mean.[/i]
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| Lunchbox |
| 12.05.04 (7:00 pm) [edit] |
Dude, LB, I'm coming down this weekend.
That is all. Sorry faithful blog reader.
I will post a picture of my cousin.
There ya go, Leezard. I don't want to know what you do with it.
--Avarice
[i]I would sell out in a heartbeat. Being independant is cool and all, but it doesn't turn on the heat.[/i]
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| Oh, plug plug plug. |
| 12.04.04 (5:49 pm) [edit] |
I'm sorry, but as I'm told you before, I sacrificed my personal life so that I could learn the guitar.
But enough about me, here's some more about me.
Hi. I really really really really really want an iPod. That is a stupid amount of reallies, but it's true. And I can't explain it, actually. I didn't care much for them (which probably has to do with the rediculous amount of money, and I am a poor man. And my family isn't that well off to throw down $300-$400 on a bit of musical bliss for me.
Not that they don't love me or vica versa. I love my family a great deal. At least the ones in Brookings.
So anyway, I worked and, you know, did normal day stuff, and maybe it was just because I didn't get much sleep last night or get as long a shower as I usually do, because I ended up watching a video of a TechTV interview with the owner of http://www.freeipods.com" title="http://www.freeipods.com" target="_blank"http://www.freeipods.com, and it seemed pretty legit. Maybe I'm delirious or whatever. Maybe I'm stuck longing for mac love. Either way, I signed up for it.
The thing, it seems, is that you need to refer five people, and let's do the math: Avvy posts prolly once every two days, and is introverted and a social child. So you add these together, and Avvy has not that many friends (okay, maybe I have more than five, but they're all skeptical and don't long for the iPod like I do). So, all I want for Christmas is my five referals so that I can have an iPod. Then I will listen to Kareoke jams all day long. And maybe even put my own stuff on it. I don't know.
Thing is that I don't have much to offer you in return, so after thinking it through I have decided that if you will help me get my five referals, I will record a four song acoustic video and post it here. Fish will most likely join me, and Lunchbox may have to be bribed in (dude, it's for an iPod, man. an IIIIIII-Pod), and one of the local drummers (unless I can get that foo Brandon to come up here...).
Please, I would really appreciate it. The link to be one of my referrees is http://www.freeiPods.com/?r=12683828" title="http://www.freeiPods.com/?r=12683828" target="_blank"http://www.freeiPods.com/?r=1....
Thanks so much. Merry X-Mas Month
--Avarice
[i]All the random hands that I have shook are reaching for the door.[/i]
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| 12.03.04 (5:39 pm) [edit] |
[i]-- Round Here --
Step out the front door like a ghost
Into a fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you
Angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
I walk in the air, between the rain
Through myself and back again
Where? I don't know
Maria says she's dying
Through the door I hear her crying
Why? I don't know
'Round here
We always stand up straight
'Round here
Something radiates
Maria came from Nashville
With a suitcase in her hand
Said she'd like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis
And she walks along the edge
Of where the ocean meets the land
Like she's walking on a wire in the circus
She parks her car outside of my house
And takes her clothes off
Says she's close to understanding Jesus
And she knows she's more than just a little
Misunderstood
She has trouble acting normal
Well, I have trouble acting normal
'Round here
We're carving out our names
'Round here
We all look the same
'Round here, we talk just like lions
But we sacrifice just like lambs
And round here
She's slipping through my hands
Sleeping children better run like the wind
Out of this lightning dream
Mama's little baby better get her self in
Out of the lightning
She says "It's only in my head"
She says "Shhh... I know, it's only in my head"
But there's a girl on the car in the parking lot
Who says "Man you should try to take a shot.
Can't you see my walls are crumbling?"
And she looks up at the building
Says she's thinking of jumping
She says she's tired of life
But everybody's tired of something
'Round here
She's always on my mind
And round here
Hey man, I got a lot of time
'Round here, we're never sent to bed early
And nobody makes us wait
'Round here we stay up very, very,
Very, very late
I can't see nothing
Nothing
'Round here
Would you catch me if I was falling?
Would you kiss me if I was leaving?
Would you hold me cause I'm lonely
Without you
And I said I'm under the gun
Around here
I said I'm lonely, lonely, lonely
Without you
And I can't see nothing
Nothing
'Round here
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