About a woman, before the other five or six things happened tonight

(I've briefly touched on this three years ago. Find it and you get nothing.)

I had been there twice before. Once I was really really young, like Velcro on my pants instead of buttons and zippers young. It was probably an emergency room, for too much coffee, or drugs, or life. I didn't understand it then, and it doesn't make much sense now. The other time a friend borrowed money to see a movie. This time I went in a different door, the back entrance, or whatever entrance will be suitable for what would be the next fifteen minutes of my life. I was given a tag, a number and a title. Visitor. Three digits. A room? A bed? My own number? whatever.

The elevator was full. Balloons. Happy. Flowers. Both happy and sad. And me; uncomfortable, lost, and not entirely sure how I had suddenly become an adult.

A dark hallway, then another dark hallway. Screams, or cries, or whimpers followed me. Smiles sometimes. But mostly no one paying any attention to me, the kid dressed in his fathers suit. (not really, but that is what I see when I think about me on that day.)

Her room was even darker than the hallways. It was almost Christmas; the sun had given up for the day and was off to give some fortunate souls way more time that day to fix their mistakes than it gave me or her.

The new baby slept close by. It was so small and I thought it weird it needed a bracelet. But I still don't know how these sort of things work, so give it a bracelet. And a beanie.

She was a haze of drugs, pain, and happiness.

That asshole who grabbed here once and shook her when they came into my shitty twelve hour a week retail job sat in a chair. He smiled. I'm sure.

No one in the room knew. There would be U-Haul trailers full of moves towards the Rockies, fists and black eyes, more children and then a slouching march back towards this shit hole. Names would fall out of my mind to be forgotten forever but a face of a man that I would give a lot to see in pain far worse then what he was capable of forcing on others sticks in my mind to this day. Some bar, some alley, some crowded supermarket and all will be returned.

Or not.

He got his. Waking up in an empty home, children and wife gone forever. Good. He deserves more. Much much more. One mans more is my worse. Fuck him.

But as I said, no one knew. I shook his hand. "Congratulations!" This was forever for them. He saved her from dancing, from creepy men with piss fetishes and drivers with one name. He was her ticket out. Her and this baby, safe forever.

That is what I thought.

I was wrong. I am all the time.

I talked to her briefly. She made little sense, a field of drugs different then the ones we had known, and I just stared at my tag. It had already started to peel off of my shirt. A country one with mother of pearl buttons. I was just walking. That tag wanted to jump.

And I guess I did too.

I didn't understand how people I knew could have children. I didn't understand where all of our dreams and backbones went. I didn't understand how mistakes could suddenly turn into miracles.

We once planned to kill ourselves together. Or at least we had a back up plan. Of pills and booze and some sad song that played on repeat when eighth grade was too much to handle and you thought you would never fall in love again.

But we did. She did. He did. And I stood between her, him, and the result of their love. Or the result of being bored and sad and alone and confused and worried and high and drunk and misled. Or at least some combination of those things.

I didn't hold the child. I didn't hug the mother. I just scratched my head.

I didn't know how I got there. I didn't know what to do.

Missing The War

This is for Zane's Birthday, it is late, like pretty much everything I do in my life. I keep listening to three songs over and over, let's see if they put themselves into this.

I've been coming to this blog a lot lately, to see if I have talked about something already, to see how I used to feel about people, places and things, and to help me figure out what is going on in my head. Isn't that what detectives do? Go through someones past life to figure out what frame of mind they were in or whatever? Well, I am detecting myself lately. Anyways. I've been coming to this blog a lot lately, and the pictures on the right side bar continue to be from Dan and Marliegh's wedding on Fourth of July. None of the scenes in the pictures are familiar. They make sense; I can tell when people are drinking, dancing, crying, fighting, whatever. But I didn't see any of this happen. I was standing behind a table playing the soundtrack for most of the night. I enjoy doing this, but it got me thinking.

More days and nights lately my mind is somewhere else. It is in kitchens of houses on streets with numbers for names. It is in car rides, bus depots, airport terminals and standing on docks. Its at weddings, funerals, hospitals, gravesides, baseball games, and graduations. It is at the beach, in a lake, at a waterfall, beside a cliff, on a peak, in the desert and lost. It is holding hands, kissing, fucking, punching, crying, hugging, celebrating, singing and dancing with girls, women, men, boys, family, friends, coworkers, bosses and alone.

But I can't prove it. There are pictures somewhere, in some box or some landfill or sitting in a drawer undeveloped. There is video, maybe, in a format that no one could possibly still play. No one took minutes though. No one wrote a description in journal to be cataloged and referred to by someone someday to prove/disprove my existence. But I was there.

And fuck them if they don't believe me.

I meant everything. Even when I lied, or stole, or cheated, or whatever thing didn't seem right; I meant it. Every kiss, every tear, every thrust, every hug, every joke, every curse, every compliment, every erection, every stare filled with anger/passion/pain, every song, every mistake, every regret (no regrets, no looking back at sinking ships). All of it. I did it, I felt it, and I meant it.

You can't find it in photographs. You cant find it a video. You can't find it in a third hand story. It is all in my heart and my head.

There are nouns I have forgotten. They come back into my head every once in a while. I still care about them. There are things here I have forgotten to say. But if I said everything I had to say, I would have nothing left for tomorrow, nothing left for this.

But there is one thing.

Happy Birthday Zane.

Don't stand there, participate. I am sure you already are.

Return of the naked blog

An impromptu list of times I have either cried or been naked:

• Now
• On this couch in a beach house in Oxnard, CA
• Standing on a train platform
• At a doctors office
• Watching porno
• Watching Must Love Dogs
• Eating pizza
• Drinking wine
• While laying on top of a car
• At bill's wedding (both are possible)

Just something to think about on this wonderful Cinco De Mayo. Tonight, Coronitas!

twenty days...

A friend of mine started a blog the other day. He told me about it. I like it. It reminds me of those days a couple of years ago, I wouldn't say they were better, or more exciting, but they were different. There are routines, and they change. There are constant faces, and they change. There are pets, kitchens, jobs, loves, fears, desires, destinations and dream vacations, and they all change.

This lack of writing is really frustrating, and I'm the only one to blame. There are hundreds of unused minutes in every day. If I string them together I can find all the time in the world to do anything.

In honor of my friends list, a list of things that have happened to me in the last twenty days.

1. I smashed my finger.
2. I saw mostly naked pictures of a co-worker.
3. I won a party.
4. I celebrated a birthday for someone I couldn't pick out of a lineup.
5. I rode bicycles to a bar, and back.
6. I cooked Falafel.
7. I got Noam Chomskitty high.
8. I wrote a song.
9. I made a mix.
10. I slow danced in the kitchen.
11. I received a large tip from a man with a leprechaun voice.
12. I surprised a friend in Long Beach.
13. I went back to SDSU.
14. I got into a shouting match.
15. I made pigs-in-a-blanket.
16. I saw a new band comprised of 2 people I really respect and a third I should.
17. I saw Andrew Jackson Jihad at a punk house, for the second year in a row, and made new friends.
18. I have a new President.
19. I hung out with a wonderful dog named pancakes.
20. I failed at making Magic Rocks. Sorry Imperceptible.

Tonight, I will listen to a friends radio show, drink beer, cook spinach enchiladas and kiss a beautiful women.

I am busy, and happy.

12 months of 2008, plus one - mix

It's almost 6pm, New Years Eve. I have no plans. I'm waiting to figure out what I'm doing, so I made a mix. One song for each month of 2008, plus a bonus one for next year. I hope this finds you happy, safe and excited for what 2009 will bring you.

12 months of 2008, plus one - http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?wqxjgem5gmg
January - Over And Out - Alkaline Trio
February - This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open - The Weakerthans
March - Channel The Boss - Deepshit, Arkansas
April - This Year - The Mountain Goats
May - The Radiator Hums - Cursive
June - Humble Narrator - Two Cow Garage
July - Big Casino - Jimmy Eat World
August - Moab - Conor Oberst
September - Jinx Removing - Jawbreaker
October - The Swiss Army Romance - Dashboard Confessional
November -Caleb's Grave - Drag the River
December - I Gave Too Much Time To The Wine - The Gunshy
2009 - 100 Resolutions - The Lawrence Arms

why i grow a beard

for the same reason i...

• drink malt liquor from paper bags in my bedroom
• my throat is sore after I see my favorite bands
• don't vote
• rent a home with my friends while people I know are buying them
• can never find a bad time to put on a good record
• write songs and sing them without knowing how
• ride a bicycle in a tuxedo shirt
• am jealous of people who spend most of their year in a van and on other people's floors
• have a hard time making it through every work day
• cry at weddings
• tell my parents I love them
• don't answer email even though I have 100 different things I want to say

Friday is a day off, after one day on, after 8 off.

Even if I don't tell you, I love you.