H is for Hollow...

I was standing outside of a bathroom door. I had to empty the last of my drink into my gut. The night was winding down, or maybe, just getting started. I could smell the chain smoke on my fingers. I looked out, through the dark, over the bar, past the white lights, around the tables and into the dance floor. A little girl twirled. That is all they do, twirl. Then they get older and break your fucking heart. The bride danced, her new husband head and shoulders above the crowd. The breeze had died down, but the cold still hung around. My empty cup joined some distant cousins on a crowded post. Men in nice suits and cheap tuxes shared stories that must have been about conquests or drunken choices; their eyes and laughs gave them away. Some friends of mine huddled around a low table smoking, drinking, smiling and dancing just a little. I made myself promise not to forget the scene: the lights, the air, the joy and my heart beating in my head. The door opened and I walked in. "I'm going to sit here on the step, it is warm in here." I leaned down and kissed her.

8/26

Another Shirtless Entry

Today is the end of an era. This is is for one of my favorite houses ever. And a lot of other things too.

I don't remember exactly when it happened. It could have gradual, like a frog sitting in water getting hotter doesn't notice. Or it could have been instant, like a car crash or falling in love. I'm not really sure, and to be honest, it doesn't really matter. I just know this: one day the radio was fine and then it wasn't. One day it was cd's at the end of the aisle, or the "endcap" for us former retail slave, then it was blind grabs at bands on thank you lists. One day it was Dodger stadium for Genesis with my parents, and then it was driving through a snow storm alone for Against Me! and Alkaline Trio at a club in Reno.

Music has ALWAYS been a huge part of my life. One of my first memories was being at the first place I lived, 85 or 86, and dancing around to what was probably Bon Jovi. Thank god I grew out of that. But now it is no longer a spectator sport. I participate and it is wonderful. Its been a good thirteen or fourteen years of this, maybe more. I could only be happier if I had a mimosa dispenser next to my bed.

So it is with this, and a heavy heart, that I bid farewell to one of my favorite punk houses: shitHOUSEdrunk. I saw some of my favorite bands play there, in a living room. A fucking living room with this wall installation that made me feel like I was in a library or the set of a Sherlock Holmes play. I've played some of my favorite shows there, sometimes with Bobb balls naked. (there's pictures to prove it) There will be more houses, and more bands, and more drunken porches, but you, shitHOUSEdrunk will always have a special spot in my heart.

I'm going to scream out my sins in you later today. I'm gonna spill beer on my shirt and your floor. I might kiss a beautiful girl on your porch. And then I'll walk away and never see you again. A fitting end to our relationship.

I'll miss you.

filling the silent apartment

with the sounds of the Pogues the day after Christmas. filling my empty belly with a too strong hot chocolate/peppermint schnapps drink that is cold now. I've switched to the postal service for some inspiration if I start messing around with a synth tonight. Christmas went well. I couldn't get full, and I couldn't get drunk, and I tried all day. This time last year I was sitting on a bus. Remeber that? I think my seat mate had prison ozzy tattoos on his hand. My nose is peeling and I don't know why. It seems to be that time where I am running into people I haven't seen in a few years. It is all starting to feel very strange. 2009 will be a banner year, much like 2007 I imagine.

2008, you've let me down and made me feel like a prom queen. Seriously.

http://crapulentjukebox.blogspot.com/

So me and Frowning Bill are making a mix blog called The Crapulent Jukebox. His first mix is up, mine is being made as we speak. So add it to your blogroll and readers and things you tell your friends about. In the mean time, my breaks don't work and a burrito purchaser heard me call a co-worker a mother-fucker.

Happy times indeed.

days bleeding together

Folding/rolling burritos fills my days. I spend less time with my friends. I don't stay at their houses long enough, or try hard enough, or even show up enough. I go to work while roommates sit on the couch and come home and they are still there. I smell like burritos. I feel like a burrito. I don't hate my job. I don't yell at anyone or punch boxes of frozen fries. I'm just there all of the time. I can't find time to write, I can't find time to post blogs, I can't find time to write songs. I can't give all the time stephanie wants from me or all the time I want to give to her. I don't cook. I don't read. I don't take baths. I don't walk anywhere. I don't have any money. I get on the wagon. I fall off the wagon. Everyday is a blur, but not like it used to be, when I would work 5 hours, make 20 hours worth of money, and have a great time doing it. Now I work 11 hours, make 11 (or less) hours worth of money, and don't know where it is or where it goes. I'm on my break from work right now. I'll go back in 20 minutes. More burritos. More tacos. More people not saying please. More headaches. More calculated breathing. More. More. More.

I want less. Thank you.


Tonight: Bill's birthday.

going to the sea

going to spend the day and night next to the ocean with some of my best friends and some of the best company in celebration of Bill making it to 25. pictures and stories to follow.

the difference is in the distance

I am volatile. My highs are very high. My lows are even lower. My times in the middle are few and far between, and they are less everyday. I love so hard I want to wrap myself up with the ones I love and never see anything of them again. I hate so serious I have flashes of violent acts being committed on strangers and the closest of friends. I scream until my veins bulge and my throat bleeds. I drink to just before total blindness. And so on and so forth.

Since I have become aware of these facts, two people have been involved in my life to calm me down. The first made me boring; they stole my passion. The second, Bill, tells me things I don't want to hear. They are some of the nicest things ever said to me. At least by someone with their clothes on. ;) And he does this with out making me boring.

So I wanted to say thanks to him, he means more to me than he probably knows.

A harmonica in my lungs

There is a song playing right now, that is barely longer than 2 minutes and quiet enough to play in the most somber of places. It has a harmonica in it. And that harmonica echoes out of my lungs and heart and other organs.

Today (technically yesterday, I haven't gone to bed yet, so it is the same day) I walked around the desert next to my house. The same desert from these posts. I went wood gathering. I didn't have any exact ideas for the type of wood I wanted, I just knew I needed enough to make a flower. I have the day off from burrito manufacturing, so I figured I could do something nice for someone, make some art, and start regaining some of those hands on skills we seem to be using. (I didn't notice we were loosing are ability to work with our hands, but Bill brought it up, and he is a smart guy, and he is right. He is going to learn how to weld, count me excited.) After my gathering I went to the hardware store for nails and spray paint. Then I took pizza to Whit. Awww, lunch date. After borrowing a saw from him I went to work. Here are the before, in process and after. Crystal might be mad at me for spray painting the grass. She might not.

Even if the sky must fall

I'm still recovering from my last 24 hours. 2 hours of sleep after a very large beer and champagne before I drove to the airport at 3:30 in the morning then some more sleep. It was a day of listening to songs written by my friends, singing along to others, and writing my own. I wrote a song today that I am very proud of and is the most honest thing I have ever created. I was supposed to go watch basketball with Whit, but I ate dinner with my roommate Crystal and had an evening of great conversation. Bill got home and he got to hear the song and he showed me a video interview with this guy Jeffery Brown. Bill went to bed and I stayed up and read two of his books. I'm putting off going to bed because I'm not looking forward to doing it alone. I guess some nights have to be this way so you appreciate the others. Goodnight.

How to...

ENJOY A CHOCOLATE BOTTLE FULL OF BOOZE!



From top to bottom:

• Get tiny chocolate bottle of booze
• Turn upside down and peel off half of the wrapper
• Bite the ass off
• Spit ass into box/bag/cup (not pictured)
• Drink!
• Throw empty chocolate bottle into box/bag/cup
• Repeat (not pictured)

Crystal (Bill's girlfriend and one of the roommates. Editor's note: It wasn't them watching basketball, it was my other roommate Bobb and his lady, sorry for any confusion.) had a box with WAY too many of these under her bed that she forgot to pass out at Christmas, so she put them on the coffee table for all of us (read: me.) to enjoy. Tim came over a night or two later and we "ate" almost 2/3rds of the box. The trick to doing this is to not eat ANY chocolate. It will inhibit your buzz getting ability and make your belly not happy. Plus, if you are like Tim and I, you are drinking beer too, and chocolate doesn't really go well with beer. We've put them in coffee and tried to eat the whole thing, and honestly, this is best way. Some come Christmas next year keep you eyes out for a box full of chocolate bottles of booze, and if you go halves on the plane ticket I'll come give you the demonstration in person. Sorry, I'm never taking a bus anywhere again ;)

200 - mix

I love that numbers like this get us all sentimental. This is my 200th post on this blog. In high school I had a crude diary on a free server that I had to code everyday and upload. Then I had a couple other blogs and misc things. This one was started less than a month before I moved from Lancaster to Sacramento. It survived the move there and back. I think for the most part I did too. It stayed with me through the pretty consistent chaos that has been the last year. Everything on here is wordy, except when it's not. It's sad, except when its happy. It's boozy, actually, pretty much always. One of my favorite things about blogging (besides the invitations to orgies at my own funeral) is putting together a mix for an occasion, sorting it, uploading it, and sharing it. If there is any occasion, this is one, so I put 13 songs that are just killing me softly (and sometimes not so soft). There are some older stuff, some newer stuff, and some surprising stuff, maybe. It's about this blog, the stuff I've written about, the stuff I didn't write about, and the people who still check this out. Brew some coffee, put some booze in it, browse through some of the older posts, before I knew what labels were, and enjoy. I'm actually listening to this mix as I type this, and it's pretty fucking good. Have a good chinese new year, even though I'm a few days late.

200 - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=3FPI56CD
Joining The Army - Lucero
Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe - Okkervil River
I'm Sorry for Saying I'm Sorry - The Arrivals
Silver Lining - Rilo Kiley
Personal Slump - The Weight
The Wright Wrong - The Wunder Years
Red Alibi - Sparta
Never Get To Know - Paul Baribeau
God Deciding - Hot Water Music
The Condition - Defiance, Ohio
Song for Dennis Brown - The Mountain Goats
That's What You Get - Paramore
Hot Knives - Bright Eyes

my first sin was a young american girl

A couple of days ago Bill and I hung out. We got my money back on a car battery, we had lunch, we went shopping. Our shopping consisted of a single stop at a LEVI outlet. I bought some pants, some skinny jeans, something I have been enjoying lately. Bill bought some pants too. I knew the girl who rang up our purchases.

It was Kimmy Martinez. The first girl I ever kissed.

And by kissed, I mean kissed. Behind a church, after a youth church meeting; tongue, teeth and erections.

(For the longest time when I was making out, I was aroused. It still happens today. Some women inspire the hardest erections with the slightest touch. I am fourteen.)

So there she was, working part or full time at a retail establishment that saw less than 35 customers a day. And she looked the same, how I remembered her. Her body was slimmer, her face was the same. I caught her looking at me the way she periodically did back then; head down a little, eyes pushed up as high as possible, as if she was a librarian looking over her reading glasses. For a second I was thrown back to those days, being 14, knowing nothing about women, but wanting to know everything. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her now, but that thought soon left with the realization that it could never happen again, and it shouldn't.

See, she has a boyfriend, and a child, and what would appear to be a full time job. Her parents live in San Francisco, one brother is married, one is toiling away in a horrible band, at least the last I heard that was the case.

And me...

Some ways I am the same. Parents in different places. In some ways I am different. No children, no siblings, no significant other.

So we said goodbye. Said it was good to see each other. Said we hoped to see each other again.

And that was probably the biggest lie of them all.

who wants tea?

I was going to blog the other night. Instead there was an impromptu whip undie party. Enjoy.