Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Even Make Belief Has a Purpose

“You know that vinyl record that was stolen by those gang members a month ago?” I reminded my girlfriend of that night.

“You mean the 8 year old kids that you accused?”


About a month ago, my parents had company over and decided to let their friend’s children loose in the basement; a suite to which I have been renting for the last 3 years. They made their way into my room and managed to shuffle and rearrange every item they could, including my vinyl collection. I came home that night to an empty house, DVD disc without their cases and a missing vinyl record. I was furious! I mean, who would steal my Regina Spektor record?? That night I had a vivid dream to which I was choking the kid that was using my record as a Frisbee. He was playing by a pond and I had spotted him from afar. I crept up slowly, letting my foot land heavy only when the child raised his voice to sing the chorus of some innocent after school special song -- something about loving everyone and sharing -- yeah, me loving to kill him and him sharing a bed with the fishes haha right? right? I palm the back of his neck and force him into the pond; he struggles; I shush him with the grin of sweet revenge letting him up for air only to make him feel like he was getting a second chance at life then submerging him once again. Wait a minute…this isn’t my private diary…….

“Your friend’s children are thieves!” I proclaimed to my momma in her kitchen the next morning. “They need to be put into jail now while there’s still time to change! This record was very dear to me! It’s a classic! I love it! When I see that kid at the pond he’ll pay dearly, yes he will. Oh yes he--”

“What are you talking about?”

“--huh? Nothing.”

“Well,” I didn’t want to admit it to my sweet little girlfriend but I had to. “I don’t think I ever owned that record on vinyl to begin with.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, but while searching for the darn thing, I cleaned up my room real good!”

The past is forever evolving. I read that in a book by David Carr once and ain’t that the truth. Symbolically and literally, events from the past can mean/look different to us at different stages of our life. There may be things that hindsight will notice or make up sub-consciously, like the existence of a Regina Spektor record. The purpose? Who knows. But my room is so damn clean now.

Eulogy for Leslie Neilson

Lest we forget
Leslie, more yet
You’re great films, to which
future comedy is in debt
When I found out you was gone,
Me, hard, it hit
But like your movie Dracula,
I hope you’re dead and loving it
And your humor was probably the tip of the iceberg
You’ll be missed by many including OJ aka Nordberg
It’s hard to let go and get rid of this pain
May your spirit take off smoothly-er than Airplane
You caught the pneumonia
I thought the story was bologna
So I called the news station
They said “well, believe what you wanna”
And I said “ok I will!” and hung up the phone
And I searched it on Wikipedia
It read “Leslie Neilson is dead.”…pwn’d
White hair and so old
Your jokes were so bold
Now the world is so cold
Close to my heart I will hold
The Naked Gun triple feature DVD…
You see,
I don’t know how to feel, son
Wish you would have healed, son
Oh look, there is an eel son
RIP Leslie Neilson

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Without the Bells and Whistles

The stock speakers in my truck hold the 808s from Gucci Mane’s new album on it’s back with difficulty as he tells me how he’s the bad guy; introducing me to his little friend. I take that as a Scar Face reference, which tells me that he is talking about the guns he owns. The rest of his lyrics, although very stylish and full of swag, lacks, for a lack of a better word, talent. (see what I did there?) Don’t get me wrong; I was very entertained; just more so watching the beat picking up Gucci’s slack than anything else. And I ain’t talking about his pants, if you know what I mean. Although, those probably needs some picking up as well. (get it?) I don’t blame Mr. Mane for this abundance of slacking – no no – I blame all the $1500 car-stereo-system-owners and making-it-rain-club-hoppers that need those heavy bass thumps to hide a weakly beating heart. Gucci just be's gettin’ paypah.

Two turn tables and a microphone.

My momma raised me to respect where respect is due.

I cut Gucci Mane off as I put my truck into park and maneuver my keys out of the ignition switch at the same time striping myself back to my lame self. I enter the local pub to see a gentleman play a solo acoustic set but it’s not that easy. Two acts go before him and judging by the dolled up group of girls at the table next to me with eye shadow fitting for an evening orgy somewhere fancy, I know exactly what to expect. The girls will scream and cheer as these boys hit the stage. They will enter the stage with an expensive electric guitar, shiny and new, accompanied by a top of the line amp which wears a color that matches the New York designer shoes on their feet, fashioned to look vintage and used. Their hair would be flat ironed like those in teen life magazines flowing gracefully as they set up two microphones; one to project their normal vocals whilst the other is programmed to have some reverb, so to make for epic echoing effects. The 8 pedals on the floor connect the whole set up to another amp that projects some pre-recorded sounds to accompany the songs that they will attempt to play. After the 15-20 minute sound check, they will usually deliver a mediocre performance at best with monotone vocals. But don’t worry, the baby blue eyes and hip shaking will erase our minds of the tragedy that will take place on that stage, and I ain’t talking about Shakespeare, if you know what I mean. (ohhhhh high five? high five?...whatever) I don’t blame Mr. Glamor and Mr. Hip though. – no no – I blame the cute, big boob’d bimbos that will suck their dicks later because guitars are hot. Glamor and Hip are just getting their bj’s on.

An acoustic guitar and one microphone.

My momma raised me to respect where respect is due.

They should call me Miss Cleo because my predictions were 100% correct. Seriously. I walk in on Mr. Glamor getting a bj in the bathroom. The gentleman I came to see takes the stage now, two shots and a beer in his hands. The stage now striped of all the bells and whistles of the circus that rolled in prior. He takes an acoustic guitar out of it’s case and strums it a couple of times, adjusting the tuning pegs in between. He checks the mic twice and proceeds to starting the first song off the set list that he failed to prepare. He sings the words knowing the meaning of every one and strums the chords that were born to accompany it. Oh how I wish he’d never stop pounding that curvy hollow bodied instrument. Wait, sorry. My mind is wandering back to that bathroom incident earlier.

Just strings and wood and a passionate voice.

My momma raised me to respect where respect is due.


Wednesday, November 24, 2010

She is...

...French, residing with her family on the southwest side of a building to which my tattoo artist is a denizen. She bakes and cooks and has the loveliest eye lashes you’d ever did see. A 70s-80s music connoisseur for the simple fact that it peaks her interest, to which no doubt is confirmed by the most natural curve of the lips. She can hold her own when it comes to alcohol consumption; no taller than 5’2”; makes her money as a distributor and collector of currency at a well known banking institution whilst feeding her mind of theories on business etiquette and succession.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Inspired by The Loss Of a Teardrop Diamond Screen Play

She said "no one will ever love me
But you can get use to me"
As the moon calls out the clouds
"now turn the lights out
So we can see the night better"
As the sound of denizens of grassy marshes stir about,
wet and cool
A blazer falls over her naive shoulders,
who'd hoped the suns warmth would carry through this night
And then and there, all became nothing
while the man in front of her
who had nothing but a broken father
became everything

Thursday, November 18, 2010

We Are! We Are!

We are! We are!
Boast our poetry
Structured now in full retreat
Pull quotes from fatal hearts
With roaring ignition
Thunderous start
What we thought was our time
Got cut short
We were wronged!
But the kisses in our diaries
Says it was our time all along
So dog dare me to chicken scratch
The minutes that brought me here
The ones that hurt a man more than he knows
Can come screaming back and save his soul
Reference key words to the feeling of now
And take not for granted the lift of a brow
Or the curving of lips
The swaying of hips
And don't let go
If you have a good grip
And we slip
At times
When we had it figured out
So when we're angry
Guaranteed we're going to shout
But when we're sad
We'll do more than just pout
We'll ink out the answers
On skin and on trees
Bottle it up and cast it out to sea
So don't ask if we're living yet
Under the dimness of stars
Cause our poetry say that
We are! We are!

No Matter How Things Change, They Always Stay The Same

As though in different light
A past image emerges
Signaling that it was always around
For it was a stranger's stare
That shook me so
Like the world was leaving me behind
But it wasn't a laugh
Or a look of the eyes
It was much more subtle to describe
Maybe a flick of the hair
Or just a sun light's glare
That brought me back to that person I use to know
And speechless I stood
And recognized, I felt
Maybe this anger was manifested
From a phase in time
When all was confused
Or awkwardly looking for escape
And we are not ourselves when we fight what we felt
Or else we'd have surrendered
But now, in the distances
That was built in the aftermath
I see what I ran from
I feel what I missed
Accept what transpired
And smile that it's still alive

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Blame It All On Being Older Now

A week ago, I was at the Registry renewing my driver’s license. Apparently, it expires after 5 years and an updated picture was required. She told me not to smile and the next minute a blinding flash painted the small room bright. My eyes re-focused on a monitor in front of me; on the left of which displayed my old picture and on the right, my recently taken one.

“You look exactly the same as you did 5 years ago!” She complimented.

“Just physically,” I corrected.

I’m a year older today and an article about my current thoughts seem fitting enough, so here goes. “If we’re not constantly growing, we’re dead,” said Lauryn Hill, as a response to those who claim that she’s changed since reaching superstar status. And ever since then, I’ve made a conscious effort to evolve, so to speak, as much and as often as I can. Indeed, that boy in the five year old driver license picture is not who you see in front of you now. And I can probably say the same about me, a year ago. Whether the changes are from tragedy or fortune, I find comfort in knowing that I’m slightly a different person because of them.

Could this comfort be a sense of maturity? Maybe. However, I have plenty of stories from this year alone that will reveal to you that I am far from it. But doesn’t maturity just creep up on you from time to time? I feel that my ability to accept the things that happen puts me on that stairwell to manhood. Perhaps, the greatest thing I’ve come to understand in life is how little control we have. Yeah, there are books out there that cheer us on to take control of our lives, and I’m not denying that we can, however, we can only control what we are able to control; which, like I said, is not much. And this statement is in no way meant to be negative. On the contrary, knowing that we don’t have much control allows us to choose our battles with the universe without regrets and to understand the motives of others.

In the pasting year of my life I’ve lived days on end out of a studio, written and record 9 songs alone in my room, chased an Edible Arrangement delivery van down a busy part of Jasper Avenue under a warm sunny afternoon, made out with a taken girl in the back seat of her car, been dumped thousands of kilometers from home, woke up in bed with blood all over my boxers, , went on a date with a girl that turned out to be a drug dealer, found a wound on my side that is still unexplained to this day and those are the things that I can remember. I’ve written countless articles and discovered many life changing songs, movies and books; been heartbroken too, but in the process, befriended many who were willing to lend some glue. So I guess I’ll conclude with the following.

People are naturally selfish and rightly so. The best we can ask for is that they have good intentions and respect for us. For example, she kissed me with the intent that the relationship would work out but she could not control the fact that she needed something different than what I was offering. Or, his intention was for us to grow up together and have beers on the patio we built but he couldn’t control the fact that he got cancer. Cause intentions are wishful thinking in a world where control is so scarce. People change; sometimes unintentionally and with those changes we find ourselves outcasts to their new lives. We hold so much against the people who let us down that we kill ourselves dwelling in it; the victims that we are. But are we? Had not for those changes, would this very article exist? In turn, would I, the man before you, exist? I won’t go as far as saying that things happen for a reason for the simple fact that I don’t want to get spiritual. So I’ll simply say that the world is alive and things will change. Let it.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

The Comfort of Chaos

"There's something seriously wrong here," I said, referring to a relationship that I am currently engaged in.

"What's the problem?" asked my audience, a person that I've confide in for as long as I can remember.

"Absolutely nothing." I reply. I mean, she's gorgeous, fun, and has been treating me great!

Reminds me of the time we camped out in a barn located at the edge of nowhere just south of no place. My band was playing a festival called Backwater Bash organized by a carpenter who had a lot of land and a love of music. There were 10 plus bands playing two sets over two nights. We camped where we could, ate what we packed, and drank anything and everything with alcohol content, including a jalapeƱo wine that a creepy old man was passing around. The last few bands were setting up right around the time I passed out in the tent, approximately at 4 in the morning.

Regardless of the deep sleep that I fell in to I found myself wide eyed and border line scared about 2 hours later. The morning was quiet and I could hear voices in the distances.

"Good set man!"

"How about one more song?"

The last band had finished. They must have ended their set with a loud bang or something to have wakened me up. I tried to find a comfortable position to drift back asleep to but nothing would allow it. I realized later that the thing that woke me was not a loud bang or a tough nudge; far from it. The thing that woke me up and left me uneasy was the silence of the undeveloped countryside.

Strange how the loud chaos that is rock and roll was what soothed me to sleep yet the comfort calmness of nature make me edgy, paranoid even. I laid in my bed after that trip and dosed off quick, surrounded by the sirens and traffic of the big city. There was even a point when I heard a gunshot and smiled a little.

"Things are quiet," I whispered to my audience across the table from me. "Way too quiet."

"Actually things are quiet loud." she replied. “We’re at Swiss Chalet during a lunch rush.”

Oh, right…

While People Sleep

God forbid that I have used my sleep
At times when people wake
Reacquaint with ceilings off shade
That a night stand lamp dictates

Unfamiliar hours projects from awkward clocks
While silences hums a tune
Curious closed eyes wonder most
Of slaveries under the moon

But soon necks will give, heavy heads fall
The determine yawn will cry
Motherly lungs will take control
While lids strangle the eyes

And without a doubt efforts will tucker out
Even the stubbornness of wake
Which will live tomorrow with such regret
And pray for time they should have breaked

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Backup Plans?

In the event that
In an attempt at

Love, I fail
Above safe rails

Lies a back up rope
So a sap could cope

If stored in mind
Were more in line

Rebound, if short
See 'round for sport

Is it justified?
Or lusted lies?

That hurts the now
And bursts and allows

For faults to surface
And vaults the purpose

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Chivalry Belongs to Technology Now

Chivalry belongs to technology now
Luxuries to impress is effortless
Damned are you that hold open doors
When the next can't afford any less

Oh hearts will melt at conveniences
Such as televisions in transportations
God forbid that mouths do work
Communication building relations

On occasion send voices to eager ears
Instead of pixels to the eyes
And here I will correct myself
Technology caused chivalry's demise

Monday, November 1, 2010

Relative Perception

These Ideas, I pitch
Whilst in that ditch
So full of naivety
And hopes of longevity

Though her eyes did spark
From the light in her dark
Relative perception
Is indeed full of deception

So I flip though charts
With works of art
Born of great mistakes
And roads I did not take

Same time, I showed no fear
Which drew her near
My words opened doors
Had her saying "forever more"

Or so I thought I heard
But words sometimes are words
And a smile showed
Realized that she was oh so cold

So she warmed up near me
While hearts grew weary
Cause it was I, so clear
Who fell for my own ideas