The withdrawl of troops

The mornings come faster then a week ago. There is more noise: the rumbling of stomachs, the creaking of knees, and the ever-present soundtrack of men from Scotland trying to find the same place in their lives that I am flipping a coin to choose to run away or hide from. The cough is back, it is strong. It fell from trees, broke both arms, but quickly dusted itself off and ran straight down the street. There is no blood though. No open wounds. No trickle from my nose. My heart is finding ways to pound, but it does it's best work in dreams of old houses and drunk texts to women who don't even exist anymore. Or rather women who don't exist the same way in my heart or my head. There is more smoke. There is a hell of a lot more fire. There are fortresses, encampments, armadas, fronts, prison camps and place to smuggle all the worthwhile things out of the country that is my life. The fucking skin is fleeing my finger tips. It has been a while but it is still too familiar. If I had saved my photographs from the friends and places of years before this would be the time to set them on fire. I recruit new hands, new captains of ships that I will run into ground. No self destruction this time; Just trying to sow together a quilt to remember everything that isn't around anymore. Things I miss and the things I will forget. I am cramming my life full of living, someones idea of dreaming, and losing everything I can't keep in my pockets. Grab a bucket, there are holes everywhere.

As soon as you are born, you start cheating death

(or how I stopped a world war only to start a civil war...)

Everything sat perfectly in the box. Pink and red tissue paper lined the bottom. A small box, with a hand painted yellow bird, sat in one corner. A second corner held two boxes of white wine, equal to three glasses, purchased at the liquor store of earliest convenience. A box of conversation hearts laid upside down in a third corner. The one way tickets sat in the forth.

Things don't often come together in such nice packages. The pieces hadn't fit so well lately. There had been corners, or edges, or a cluster of four or five right in the middle that just couldn't be found. But this one, this one had everything. The thought, the moment, the place, the joy and of course the heart. It was the type of scene that a printer company would use to illustrate the superior printing ability of their product versus another. It was rare.

Another pair of tissue paper found its way on top of the contents. The proper creases and wrinkles were added to imply age, forethought and importance. A small tear was added; the corner of the box of the conversation hearts poked through, a glimpse into the future.

Packing tape had been purchased on the way home that afternoon just for this occasion. It had to be sealed. It had to be safe. It had to be secure.

It had to suffocate.

The tape was too tight. It was too secure. It was too safe. There was too much thought. There was too much effort. Too much fucking heart. The water was rising. This was sinking. There were holes everywhere. Small. Fucking huge. Some in between. Some day there would be a sort of monument here, a stump, just past the fence, by the park, next to the stone that commemorated the tree, that gave shade in the past, before this was ever here; before the tree fell into the ocean.

It gave in. It gave up. It did it's version of walking away. No fight. No yell. No tears. No pain. No hope. No chance.

But it got a plaque.

And what did we get?

W is for Weakness...

It used to be different. I used to literally sit by the phone, waiting for calls. Now there is no house phone, just the cell phone that sits in my pocket, waiting for calls.

I regularly loose things down the drain of my shower. Thoughts. Plans. Lovers. Friends. Ideas. Goals. Sympathies. Time. The water takes them with it when it rolls down my skin. Some I let go, freely. Some I fight for. But they all go. Eventually.

I have probably lost more things this way then I realize, or that I care to admit. I come up with ways to counteract the effect. I turn the lights off. I play music what some would consider too loud. I bring lovers in. But they all still go. Eventually.

Today it was music. Loud. Very loud. Music that reminded me of you.

Fuck.

Everything reminds me of you lately. Faces of women I don't know. Songs you have never heard. Maps to places you don't belong. The ding my phone makes when someone who is never you decides to send me a message. The steps I take between the refrigerator and the counter when I pour myself a glass of water. Sweaty punk kids. People kissing in the streets. Sidewalks.

I decided today was your turn. I made a date with you and my drain. It is time. I can't keep up my end of the bargain; I can't burn a candle for you anymore. It is out of sight, out of mind.

Your head is stronger than your heart.

Mine is not.

And in the steam, in the scalding water, in the place where I have had my heart pound harder than most, I let you go.

No ill feelings. No cross words. No regrets.

I heard a ding in the distance.

And for once it was you.

I responded, slowly. Then another ding. Then the phone rang.

You would call.

You would know.

23/26

K is for Knowledge...

11/26

did someone say hiatus?

Sounds like a great fucking idea to me! I've got things to deal with, yards to sit in, songs to write, places to put of visiting, vigils to keep, and, oh yeah, money, pills and girls.


"Watching simpsons, afraid to call you..."


It'll only be a couple of weeks, I promise!

computer attacks, I attack back!

My computer can be a bastard. It likes to make me reinstall windows. So I comply. Thats what I've been up to. Exciting crazy ridiculous news in a day or two, ok? In the meantime enjoy this video, I have burritos to fold.


The Get Up Kids - Action & Action

The Interview Threesome

There is the MeMe going around, the "interview me" MeMe. And you don't actually tag anyone for it, but you volunteer. Now that you know the basics, here is what happened.

Lovely IslandGirl did it. And supersweet ImPerceptibility did it. And I thought I should do it too. With both of them. So here is the blog equivalent of a menage a tous. I'll alternate like any good threesome participant should, but I won't tell you who wrote which question. It almost adds a nice bondage/s&m aspect to it.

1. You, either by chance or fate, land on the blog page of the woman you will spend the rest of your life. What are the titles of her first five posts?

One of the best questions I have seen, ever. In no particular order.

• On the receiving of my new grand piano.
• Sorry I'm late, I was out spoiling my liver.
• On Holiday From The Holidays.
• When my feet hit the road. Or how I learned to hold on by letting everything go.
• What I actually felt last night in the basement.

2. Would you give up the drink for the love of a good woman? Or would you give up a good woman for the love of drink? Which is better? Which is wetter? Which has made you the man you are today? Make of this question what you may, and answer at will.

I've known both good women and good drink. They have both been there to comfort me and have both been there to break my heart. I have stood on rooftops with both. I have ridden bicycles with both. I have made bad decisions with both. I would like to think that a good woman would love me, drunk or no (her or me). If at any point a drink seems more appetizing then a good woman then I have become my father, and I am fucked. I have been greater affected by both the love and hatred of good and not-so-good women more than drink. So would I give up drinking for a good woman? Yes. Would I give up a good woman for drinking? Yes.

3. Who pops out of your birthday cake and what do they say?

John Cusack. He says "Here's to you, Booth". We toast. It starts to rain.

4. Are you an accurate example of your own zodiac sign?

I am a Scorpio. My birthday is November 16th. I believe that makes me a Scorpio III. I use to hold a lot of stock in the zodiac and read all about it. So much so that when I meet someone I almost always check are sign compatibility. Everything I have ever read about Scorpios are true about me. I am complex, loyal, sexual, secretive, jealous, aggressive, inquisitive and prone to extremity. Pretty much anyone who knows me can vouch for this.

5. What do you think is the most important thing I should teach my children?

DIY. Do It Yourself. Not that shitty television network about putting new concrete steps in front of your house. Teach them the value of their own ability to make anything happen that they want to happen. For me it is mostly associated with punk rock and creativity, but it is something that the whole world would benefit from. They want to write a book? Write it and publish it themselves. They want to make the roads in their town safer for people who aren't in cars (you know, pedestrians and bicyclists)? Don't wait around for the politicians to do something about it, make it happen. That and punk rock is dead, so they create their own version of it.

6. If you do decide to leave the Antelope Valley, which city is your number one destination choice right now, and why?

Chicago. The reasons, in order. I won't need a car. I can go to Bears games at Solider Field. The music scene. And I have wanted to live there for about 5 years.

7. What is your favorite Booth! song?

The next one that is going to be written. I love all of the ones that already exist. Some are shitty, some are not. But the unknown is exciting. What's next fills me with joy!

8. Are there really antelopes in your valley?

Just the students of the worst high school in the valley.

9. Are you wearing pants?

When I started this, yes. When I got home from work, after drinking tall cans of beer and a bottle of champagne, no. Just me and my glasses and my boxers. I don't like wearing clothes that much. And I enjoy the activities that require a little bit of clothing very much. (Swimming, bodybuilding, sex, hostile takeovers.)

10. Poetry. Do you read it? Do you write it, outside of your rather poetic and elliptical blog? If you feel this question compromises your masculinity (although it does not!), I will accept a Hard Man's Answer such as "only in rock songs."

My poetry reading/writing is much like everything in my life. I do a lot of it, then I don't. I have a very addictive personality. It is pretty much all or nothing. I fancied myself a poet when I was in high school, but didn't anyone who wasn't getting laid and received some sort of shitty look from someone else about what they thought was cool? I used to write poems for girls/women. I don't do that much anymore. It could be because I haven't had those strong of feelings lately, or it could be because it just ends up getting you in trouble, but it probably has to do with a conspiracy I have entered into with all of my ex's to make money off of my poetry once I die a tragic death.

11. Please describe your favourite tattoo - when and where did you get it, what is it, what does it stand for, etc.

Better yet, How about a couple of pictures.

This is my molotov cocktail. It is on my left arm. Nate Hopewell did it, he did all of these. I got it right before my 22nd birthday. It is a molotov cocktail. It stands for that.


This is my dead lady and upside down crown. It is at the top of my left arm. The crown is for my distaste of government, the lady for my love of women.


Yes, this is the Morton Salt Girl. It is on my leg. The script says "When it pains, it roars". It is a tribute to one of the best bands ever, Jawbreaker.


This is my second most recent tattoo. It is on my right arm. It is a Kurt Vonnegut tribute. It is also a tribute to my nomadic lifestyle.

Most of my tattoos are music related. They are band logos, or representation of song lyrics, or just a mark of some point in my life. And all of those points in my life have a band attached to them too.

12. Please describe your favourite meal. All courses, dessert, drinks, everything. Then your lovely lady fans can make it for you if you are ever in town. Your lovely man fans as well, not to be sexist!

To be completely honest, food doesn't interest me that much. I don't crave things very often, and those craving have slimmed down especially since I became a vegetarian 6 months ago. I like food. And I like dessert. And I like drinks. But I like the people who consume those things with me more. I love the conversations, the strange revealings of the first few meals with someone, the learning of likes and dislikes, the stories that are shared and the stories that are created. Some food that is always awesome: asparagus, pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches, popcorn, and edible panties. (the last part I am not a first hand taster, but, really, they have to be great!) Give me any of these things, or anything tasty for that matter, and someone who wants to talk as opposed to watch tv or be shallow, and I will be a happy man.


There are a bunch of rules for this thing, but they are bullshit. So if you want me to interview you, I will. If you want to steal these questions and answer them yourself, do it. And if you want to be a travel partner buy a greyhound bus ticket from Bend, OR to Chicago, IL on December 26th. 14 days in advance and it will be 81 bucks. Show up to oregon early and you can have christmas with my folks and snow.