Sunday, January 31, 2010

Newer rather than older.

And just like that, he had burst into a strange new place./
It was full of Beauty, it had no pain, it had no hate./
It lacked all of the things that Earth had had in such bounty./

He looked around, wandered about. He felt the ground;/
It felt warm, it felt comforting. He wanted to stay./
There were friends in this place too; familiar faces./

He wanted to stay, but then he woke up./
A dream, of course it was. How foolish of him/
To believe it could all be real. He wept./

Soon, however, he realized: he had learned something./
A dream it was, but so be it. It had been real to him,/
So he would now strive to return to that place again./

That place devoid of pain, hate, paranoia. Devoid of life./

Saturday, January 23, 2010

You're fucking fired.

Dear sirs,

With all due respect, I have lost interest in further continuing your branch's involvement in this company. It has grown tiresome and repetitive. I have been trying to decrease your influence in the company for a substantial bit of time now, and I thought I should let you know just how tired I am of your sickening attitudes. Every insignificant twitch or stitch or pain in our company's functions is analyzed and torn apart by your supposedly expert branch. I am not convinced. These glitches in our usually smooth existence should be treated as what they are: negligible. Every time you fools roll around to the main office, you attack us with possible scenarios, unlikely situations, and unnecessary concerns. In fact, we have lost customers and investors because of your consistently negative outlook! We have all become so preoccupied with the unlikely but possible worst-case scenario list of yours, that we have almost no profits at all anymore. The company is bankrupt, and unless something changes soon, we are going under without hope of return. In simpler turns: you can't quit, you are FIRED.

Vehemently yours,

Friday, January 22, 2010

New pains everyday

Hey, it isn't anything about you//
...Just go that way, I will follow//
After I wiped my nose, I thought it was blood//
Nah, man that's not blood. Just go//
And she'll stay behind//

I've got time on my hands, //
I don't think there's anything else to do//
But sit in my castle and let my city crumble//
Yeah, the smell gets real bad now,//
But it's something I can handle//

There's new pains every time I//
Decide to look at something important//
Why can't I go a day without //
Tripping over my own worried heels?//
Rank and file, rank and file//

Monday, January 18, 2010

FRIENDS, aren't we all just FRIENDS (go fuck ourselves)

I haven't talked to you in days. It seems like the end of the line, this time. You usually told me what to do in this sort of mess, but this time...well this time you are the mess. I sit here for hours on end, trudging through the human sludge of the internet, I numb myself to everything and everyone. Sometimes I could swear you're standing right next to me, but then I look and it's just a shadow or a bottle of hair. You can't keep doing this, man. Every time you disappear for one of your little adventures, I go a little more insane. When you're gone I imagine you taking off the roof of this house and peering in. We never make eye contact, though. Lately I've been having this dream where I'm walking down the road near my house on the Jersey shore, and in every dream a 30-something year old man holding his toddler son walks by me. Well, me and my cousin. She is holding a large knife, and we are discussing the film Juno. As the father and son walk by us, the little boy always looks at me, and every time he calls me a different place. "Hey Pennsylvania", he said once. "Hey Bay Avenue". I've had the dream enough times to know it by heart. The only thing that changes is the place. For some reason, the mood of this dream, the overwhelming feeling it gives me, reminds me of you. In the end it is always just you, isn't it? All these characters I create are just me and you in different forms. Man, I wish you were still real. Whatever. Go fuck ourselves.


You always plea for it.
You scream for it.
You never accept it,
Once it is handed to you.

If God made you,
Who made me?
You excel at living,
We only excel at failing.

We're not trying to
Form some kind of gang, man.
We just want ours, the way
That you always have yours.

You can drink, and you can fuck, and you can fight, and you can run, and you can play, and you can pay, and you can buy.

We'll just complain.
Our balls hurt.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

The Antlers- Hospice review

It’s easy enough to guess the subject manner of The Antlers’ full length debut from its title. The word “hospice” fits the album’s mood and concept so well, in fact, that it would be a difficult task to come up with any other title. The album is loosely based on a man who falls in love with a dying cancer patient, but the subject matter of the album touches on other topics as well (abortion, mental illness, death). To say the album is dark would be an understatement; to say it is emotional wouldn’t even begin to describe it. The Antlers is basically Peter Silberman, and 2 other musicians (Michael Lerner and Darby Cicci) who play the instruments that he does not. In addition to already having a notoriously passionate live performance, the band now has one of the most emotionally exhausting and beautifully written albums released in the past few years to its name. Of course this is all opinion, but I find it hard to believe that anyone who listens to Hospice while reading the lyrics (and truly paying attention to the details of the music) can be anything but thoroughly moved.

“Prologue”, a sparse instrumental introduction, starts the record off. The track does an excellent job of setting a mood for the next track, “Kettering”, to elaborate on. I won’t bore you by explaining how I think the songs relate to the story/concept (I’ll leave that up to my fellow listeners). “Kettering” uses a melody so beautiful and original that, the first time I heard it, I had to listen several more times before moving on to the next track. Songs like “Bear” (which uses a deceivingly uplifting melody to disguise a ferociously depressing subject) or “Two” are instantly impressive, but most of the album takes a few run-throughs to really appreciate. The penultimate track, entitled “Wake”, is a nine-minute behemoth that serves as a climax for both the musical and lyrical aspects of the album. Hospice seems to have this attractive quality about it: once you are hooked, you won’t have the ability to stop listening. Sure, every time the final chorus in closing track “Epilogue” comes around, and the album ends, you’ll feel as though you’ve just completed the most disturbingly sad novel you’ve ever read, but you’ll also feel satisfied. Hospice is truly a gem of an album. I’ve never heard another one like it, and I am doubtful I ever will, even from the same band. The Antlers have created a masterpiece, and it is something to be cherished, even if it does make your life just a little bit less bright.

Sunday, January 10, 2010


There's honey dripping from the ceiling;/
There's a crack in every wall./
The books have all grown blank,/
And the authors haven't any names./

There are hives hidden in the blankets./
They buzz and twitch with hungry anxiety./
Every facet of life/
Has been chewed away by aching mouths./

You haven't moved for days/
And We are starting to worry, "is she okay?"./
We nudge you with a stick,/
And bees fly out of your clothing./

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

"Well the sun goes down. The armies of the voiceless, Several Hundred-thousand strong, Come without their bandages, Their voices raised in songs."

I haven't written a straight-forward blog on here in a while. So here it is, what's going on:

Ups and downs, what else? My vinyl collecting is sucking my wallet dry, so I think I should take it a little bit easier. Holiday break was alright, but as I explained in my 2009 summary, I have had some real anxiety problems lately. Less so this week, but I've just been plain down in the dumps the past day or so. It happens. My last post on here explains some of it. So, I need to figure out exactly what I need to do for my graduation project ( a collection of poems/writings, if you didn't know). I'm excited for it, honestly. I just hope the rules/regulations don't drag it down.

Basically, I've been living the same way as usual, with a little additional anxiety. Nothing is too new. I need to learn to be optimistic, see the sun breaking through the clouds, instead of just the clouds. Ah well, I'll learn one day. Cheers.

Music for the night: The Mountain Goats- Heretic Pride: Very solid folk band/man. This album captures what is so great about their music: storytelling, passionate vocals, great instrumentation. Recommended.

Monday, January 4, 2010


Right now, I miss things
I miss you, and I miss the other one
I miss you, and you and you.

I can't remember the last time I felt like this. Fuck writing this in stanzas, I miss a lot of things, and I can't ever have them back. Trexler Middle School, why did you do this?

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Not New

I think that, if my life had a narrator, it would be a ghost with a swelling, delayed voice. Like a heavily distorted electric guitar with a reverb effect, or like a nightmare.