psycho rants

It's 6:45 AM, here on the Pacific Coast

2009-11-26T09:42:00.002-05:00

...and I'm not just waking up. What this usually (always) implies is that I've been up all night, thinking way too much. I did a little reading, interrupting Tolstoy's Anna Karenina with Kerouac's Big Sur, a much faster read (about 700 pages less, give or take), and of course, it didn't help the situation.

There was a quiet tonight, after work, after the ride down Valencia, back to the apartment, a peculiar quiet, an awfully awful familiar feeling. The kind that can be directed into an artistic breakthrough or a nervous breakdown; a moment that can last a minute or a month, depending on how you embrace it. My creative channels have been lacking somewhat as of late, which probably has a lot to do with the fact that I just gave up on writing, and for some time now. Usually, reading gets me back into writing, but I don't have a computer, and if I don't get started right away, I'll lose all inspiration gained, and have to start again from scratch. And I can't face myself enough to write in a real journal, so I have to write to an audience. It keeps me from divulging too much.

That said, I'm rethinking writing a book on the bike trip. I had made up my mind to let it be what it is, a memory for myself; a not-so-picturesque but certainly not regretted experience; an introspective journey more than a journey of physical distance; a pure and raw look at myself, and at life and what really makes it up; a new understanding of distance and dynamics; achieving equilibrium. Mostly, I wanted to let the bitterness fade, so only the sweet memories remain. However, my mind doesn't retain good memories all that well, so for the sake of encapsulating all the good things I experienced, I feel it may be my duty to write it all down. We'll see, though.

I need to sleep now.

Briefly

2009-11-23T00:19:00.003-05:00

Hey all, I know it has been way, way too long. I don't have a computer right now, and when I do have access, this is usually the last thing I think to update. Sorry.

I now officially live in San Francisco, after 60 days on a bicycle; 3,700 miles of adventure and self-exploration. I'm staying on Mission Street at Valencia, for those of you who have to know or would benefit in some way from the information...which is no one.

It has been a hell of a journey thus far, though I feel it is only beginning. I'm in a place so loaded with shit to do, people to meet, and things to see, that I'm oftentimes overwhelmed and just settle for sitting around, playing guitar, which is still badass. Making friends and connections is a slow, painstaking process, but I'm getting there. The time on the bike took from me being hella talkative to assuming the role of the introspective, somewhat quiet guy. It's a tough transition, and I'm hoping to find a better balance between the introvert and extrovert in the near future.

I got a job in retail, Karl's working at Starbucks, so we're at least up on our feet. Believe it or not, we haven't yet killed one another, despite coming awfully close a number of times throughout the tour. That's pretty much all I have on the status of our California situation. I've been a little under the weather since we hit the coast, culminating throughout last week, and now that I'm feeling a bit better, I plan on working on some new music and setting up some shows.

I'll post something here soon, probably whenever I get a computer of my own, which could be in a month or two. I'll hopefully resume regular blogging at that time, with some more thought behind it. You know, like the old days.

Free EP, News

2009-08-14T17:29:00.004-04:00

Alright, here's the story: I'm currently on a bicycle ride across the USA. I'm in the process of a move from the Akron area to the San Francisco bay area. Follow these links:

KTtourUSA.tumblr.com for the trip

mediafire.com/?gamyyejoone and that is the new EP

Love ya

T.Mo

2009-07-11T19:51:00.002-04:00

For the sake of keeping this thing somewhat current:

a song about riding bikes from Todd Moore on Vimeo.

"Smooth Sailing," another original song from Todd Moore on Vimeo.

I'll be launching a blog for the bicycle tour Karl and I are doing (Akron to San Fran) in the next few days. Check back.

conversation, revelation, committing Self to resignation

2009-05-03T03:53:00.003-04:00

It's tough to start writing about something with so many facets as this. It's tough to say things at all when the time for words has passed. Some things, they're just tough.

It takes a breath of old air to awaken new lungs, I know this, and it's been proven once again. Sometimes I find myself in this purgatory between fact and fiction, between now and then, between prose and poetry, between myself and my ghost. I'm not trying to be obscure; I'm trying not to cross lines.

Sometimes, you don't want a conversation to end. With some people, it never does, even in silence, greater than distance, greater than time. I wish certain things, with certain people, were different. It's hard for me to avoid the point, but I have to, because I have to.

I'd like to think I'm a boundary-crosser, but I know the consequences my words can bring, and I've seen some damage I've done in the past. I'd like to say I'll speak my mind about anything, but I have the most incredible secrets that I crave to tell but never will. I know things that would destroy the people I love. It amazes me, the pain love can bring. I don't cross any bridges I can't cross again.

It amazes me, the misery that the potential for joy brings. When the evening hours are heavy upon us, and all things begin to feel poetic, on those unbearably perfect nights, it is so crippling a moment, when you must slice the throat of romance-- at its very conception.

So I catch myself caught in frivolous things. Of this, I am very much aware. It is all I can I do when what I want is there, but not there.

7 AM, still awake, again.

2009-05-01T06:52:00.004-04:00

Man, am I depressed? I'm really fucking depressed. I've felt shitty for a good 60-70% of my waking life, but this is just really digging into me. I can't figure out what the problem is either-- which is depressing. It's not because I'm leaving, I don't even think it's because I work an awful job, or that I'm broke and I have a lot of equipment left to buy for the ride. I've just felt like shit for the past few days, every time I find myself alone, and most of the time in the company of others. On the bike, I feel alright, but it's been raining a lot the past few days, and I've been sleeping even more than usual. I slept at least 16 hours each day for the past two days, my only two days off. In fact, I only bothered to get out of bed because someone called me and told me it was time to get rolling.

I took some Valium this week, twice. I had absolutely no desire to take it. I just had it. I hadn't taken so much as an aspirin since 17. That's five years. I've been feeling this way (fucking retarded and sad) persistently, and it seems totally unrelated to the supposedly major changes going on in my life. This is a for-real emptiness, like I was between age 19 and age 21.5, except worse. More sickening, harder to break free of, even temporarily.

To make matters worse, I downloaded the Talons' discography from barkandhiss, and spent a good two hours just reading the lyrics. I picked up the guitar, I played for an hour. Really depressing stuff, the kind of stuff I always play at five AM. When I'm not singing, just focusing on the guitars, I can fuck myself up emotionally. Obviously, it's worse when I'm already fucked-up. Especially the Washburn, with the missing f# string. It's a little more hopeful kind of sadness, I guess.

One part of the lyrics .pdf that got me thinking, and really got me shitty, was an explanatory note for the song "Nicole", in which he showcased a shared sentiment of mine. I'll just copy what he said:

"...the end is about how all the people that want to change things move to New York or Portland when the places that really need them are places like Akron or Cleveland."

The lyric goes: "Truth is, I hate it here, but I kinda feel like this is where I ought to be."

I have believed the same for many years. This hasty exit doesn't come without some remorse, and though I've been consciously aware of it, I wonder if maybe it's having an effect on me from a subconscious level? Essentially, though I'm "starting anew" with a "clean slate" and all that bullshit, I'm also boldly declaring, "I have failed in every major attempt. I have failed to make myself happy with what I have, I have failed to make something great with the wealth of ability I possess. I have failed my community, my friends and family, and, most importantly, I have failed myself--miserably. I have not made myself into a lovable person."

I'm going out on a limb here. I'm giving myself a month on a bike, away from everything and everyone. Camping, crashing on couches, whatever. Can I take the good scraps from the person I've been throughout the years, and piece them together, using newness as the glue, and make a man out of the mess? I have very much been a disgrace, is this change of scenery going to change that?

Sure, I won't be fighting so much against the current. I can ride my bike everywhere, go out to vegan restaurants, etc. Will I be able to form strong and lasting friendships? All the ones I've formed thus far have been born out of a shared misery, or out of not having anyone to play guitars with. I rarely speak with and almost never speak with those friends who have meant the most in the past. There's still Chris, but there's not much left to say. We're broken records, and we don't have to speak to "get it." Korey's the same way, Tanner's the same way. Once you're all on the same page, it's all details. There's no more speaking to do, no more thinking or even feeling to do. The only think left is action; swift, uncompromising action.

A short one tonight

2009-04-27T00:33:00.002-04:00

Things have been insane lately. So much preparation, so much thought and research and work and cycling and music-making and chaos...life is hectic. Here's what I'm up to:

1. For those of you who know not yet, I am moving to San Francisco at the end of the summer, with Karl Vorndran. No, I'm not gay. He's pretty straight, too, I guess. That aside, we've decided to ride our bicycles from here (Kent/Akron/Ravenna/whatever) all the way to the fabled land known as California, with hopes at living a life closer to our ideals, with emphasis on Veganism, exclusively human-powered transportation (bikes), and hopefully some sort of musical endeavour. We don't have a plan as to where we're going to live or work, but we're confident in our ingenuity enough to risk it. What risk is it, really? I live at home and am still broke, with very little prospect of getting out of this situation anytime soon. I've tried bands with several folks but for one reason or another, they always fall through. There aren't that many talented individuals left, and my patience is wholly expired.

2. I'm recording an EP/LP with Ben Cureton producing, currently. We'll see how it goes, but I don't want to leave without putting SOMETHING decent out. We're going to try full instrumentation, though it may end up acoustic. Either is fine with me. I like drums a lot, though.

3. So I'm working as much as I can, but still barely bringing in cash enough to scrape by. Work is the murderer of youth and vigor. I've been doing OK at the card tables, but I've had a rough week. It happens, people get really fucking lucky sometimes. It just doesn't normally happen so many times in a row. What goes around comes around, though. I'm sure I'll hit a hot streak before too long and start bringing home the veggie bacon. That was a good one.

4. Karl and I will be launching a website/blog to monitor our progress throughout the trip. We'll be uploading pictures and blogs at the end of each of our rides/days, courtesy of my Blackberry. I will be sure to link you all up as soon as possible. If anyone has any ideas on how we can raise money to eat/buy equipment for the trip, please let one of us know. We would like to have a little money to help start a life in an area with a severely over-inflated economy, else we may be fucked.

I've slept three hours in the last three days, and worked 24 of the last 36 hours, so I'm going to call it a night after binging on these peanuts.

Hit me up, I won't be around much longer. Bike rides and jam sessions preferred; walks in the parks, eating at Aladdin's, and the occasional party/bar night also welcome ideas. Or anything, really.

T.

Back, by popular demand

2008-12-09T19:41:00.008-05:00

I turned 22 on November the 2nd, and as I do every year, since 18, when GWB was re-elected as the greatest birthday gift EVER, I was stressing out and feeling like shit for entirety of the month leading up to it, and continuing on, honestly, for about a month after. Leading into my first vegan winter, and my first winter after an incredibly active summer, I didn't even consider my 'birthday blues' having nearly the negative effect on me that they did. I was taking in more than 5000 calories each day for the greater part of the hot season, and still barely maintaining 150 lbs, considering the hundreds of miles of cycling I was doing each week. I got a flat during the Blaq race in Kent in early October, never fixed it, never got on the indoor trainer (which I had been doing 5 or 6 days a week, consistently), dropped my calorie intake down to 1500 or less per day, and somewhere in there, started drinking heavily again. I missed the entire autumn season, due to this and being stuck on third shift permanently. I don't even know how I fell off so hard, but I lost ten pounds of muscle over the month of October.

This misery was amplified by my skepticism in regard to the ability of the American people to do the right thing, and with the most important time EVER for us to do the right thing being just around the corner, life was all the more dismal. Luckily, we came through, in an unbelievable moment of victory for the free world. In the same night, however, California's Prop 8 rekindled the flames of discontent within. They giveth and taketh away. The repulsion building up from this and from thoughts of my own dilemma couldn't be quelled, even by the continually awesome statements from the President-Elect, and growing sentiment that not only the U.S., but the entire world will be in a greatly better position in two and a half months. It helped a little, though.

The one thing I have consistently been keeping up with is playing drums with my boys (look for a full launch in the coming weeks), and I've been working on some acoustic stuff with Chris, so it's pretty likely I'll be out on the show circuit in no time. I started lifting again and eating more to try to regain some muscle. It's considerably more difficult when one doesn't eat animal products, but I've managed to pick up about half of what I lost, and things are looking up. No more third shift pretty soon, hopefully no more gas station at all. I'm getting back on the trainer this weekend, and it'll be all good from there, I'm certain. All else I need is consistent reading and writing time, and I'll be, at least, at the best I've ever been.

I'd like to start blogging my thoughts again, but it's hard to get back on that train ever since I've become so inconsistent about it, because it seems more and more like I'm just briefing my dwindling crowd of readers on current events in my life -- most of which are shitty, and without any insight thrown in, ridiculously boring. Plus, it actually does take some time, and I'm incredibly inefficient with my free time. I find myself ever more frequently composing both mental and tangible lists of all the shit I'm not but should be doing. Scattered about my desk are grocery lists and 'To do' lists that all look like this:

Bread
Soymilk
Broccoli/Cauliflower
Read
Lift/Get on the trainer

These lists almost always include 'READ' and 'EXERCISE', because apparently, I will never read or exercise anymore without being under duress from my late-night, list-making self.

I'd like this to be the first of many blogs to come in rapid succession, as writing these often makes me more critical of the words I use in everyday conversation as well as being more critical of myself as a person in general. The first one back after a long pause always sucks and is usually depressing as hell, so much so that I don't even bother to write another for months and it sucks equally or greater than the last, and so on and so forth. It's just one of those things. Summaries are for the birds. I'm shooting for early early or late late Thursday. Hold me to it.

Hey, World! The worst is over!

2008-11-05T13:53:00.006-05:00

This is our apology gift to you and to ourselves for the worst eight years in the history of our great country. Here's to the next eight+ years in a new direction; at the very least, in a direction not toward the bowels of hell.

Congratulations to all, especially to those red voters who know not yet that they've also won.

I have unending gratitude for everyone who helped to make this happen. I believe this is the most important stride in the steps of America in decades, or longer.

I am proud of my people and my country.

glass fingers sliding across my back

2008-10-19T04:08:00.006-04:00

Twenty-two is right around the corner. Looking back at the past year, I have to wonder if I'm really progressing, as I would like to believe, or simply falling apart in a fantastic new way. I guess life is dying in the most interesting and creative way you can.

Let's briefly run through my 'life' at 21. I started working regularly January 2, after only doing so off and on for the previous year. That added a major dynamic and for a month or two, inspired me to get out of bed in the morning. For the first half of the year, especially, I was determined to change things, to take charge of my life.

I no longer wanted to be poor and allow fiscal concerns to make me a slave in my own life. I became incredibly frugal, eating lots of ramen and all that jazz. Then I started working two jobs, construction in the AM, gas station in the afternoon. Still, it was all good. I figured the hectic schedule would help me learn to deal with sleeping less than eight hours per day, as opposed to the ten-twelve hours I had become accustomed to. Without anything redeeming in your life, it's hard to get out of bed.

So I was sleeping 4-6 hours a day, whenever I could find time, making $750/wk, after taxes, which was nice, moreso when you consider I work 34 hours a week now and make $175. On top on that, I was freshly 21 and finally able to utilize casinos for income. Tallying up my wins and losses over the course of the 15 trips I made to Mountaineer, I made a profit of somewhere around $2400. Where did all that money go? Alcohol and irritating car costs.

I must mention that during the time I was making a somewhat reliable income playing cash games at the casino twice a week, on top of working 80 hours, I developed a pretty nasty drinking habit. Two double-shots of scotch for lunch, one or two midday, maybe slam a couple of those nasty energy/alcohol drinks before I clocked in at the gas station. Sometimes I'd follow it up with 2 or 3 more double-shots after I got off work, when I went to pick my dad up from the bar. This happened probably 4 days per week. Then there were the weekends, which were a lot worse. I know there were a couple times when my dad was buying me drinks and I still spent $200 or more at the bar. I was becoming a regular old jaded fuck-up, perhaps to an extreme most people don't reach. Most of the time, if I turn into something, it's pretty extreme. Luckily, the next thing I became was a health nut.

This was brought to me in the convenient package of a "love" interest. I vaguely recall blogging about that situation but refuse to read my other blogs from this year because I can already imagine how ridiculous they are, and they would likely lead me to delete the whole thing, and we can't have that. I think maybe I'll use this for something good in the future.

Let me clarify the Kate situation. I am an idealist at heart. I have also been disappointed thoroughly by every single woman I have ever met in my entire life. Until recently, I've never known any female that I felt I could respect. Don't tell me it's because I've been looking in the wrong places. I know. That's not the point. Some folks accuse me of misogyny. Some other folks accused of a very elevated form of misogyny. I'm pretty certain I'm neither, not that I particularly give a fuck, merely defensive. I can usually tell a snake when I see one. The times I've been wrong, however, have been almost always with females. Sue me for being wary.

What I'm trying to say is that Kate represented an ideal. She is a true socialite, very optimistic, she is spontaneous, vegetarian, and gorgeous. All parts of me that are dead, dormant, or yet to be born (well, except for the 'gorgeous' thing). I looked for her to be my counterpoint; someone who could complete me for the time being while giving me courage to grow into a greater molding. At the very least, I wanted to leech some of her good energy before it failed.

...And it failed. It barely even began, I was blindsided, I will not deny that. Had I been on my A-game (that is, not drinking everyday and not working shitty hours), I would have seen it coming a mile away. Too much time alone makes one invariably and cripplingly selfish; I basked in her qualities while hiding all mine away. We are all mostly aware that it's impossible to understand someone even mildly complex in a day, or a week, or a month. It would take years of hard effort for even the most intelligent of folk to understand the greater portion of me. I pride myself on that, so much so that I rarely give a glimpse. How likely are you to start digging without prior knowledge that you're standing on a gold mine?

I did leech some good out of it, and gained some new perspective. Together we went vegan. I'm still running with it, and I will continue to. That is where the rest of my money disappeared to. Groceries are a hell of a bomb to drop on someone who's always just eaten whatever came out of Mom's kitchen. Especially organic groceries and transition foods. When Kate and I had our thing, I stopped playing cards and stopped working two jobs. The major drop in income meant that from June until until September, I was digging into my reserves. Over a thousand spent on drum equipment, and thousand more when I got into cycling. Now I'm in debt, more than a grand. Early 21 Todd would be very disappointed. Late 21 Todd is even more upset with the situation. I might as well have spent this year building a magnificent mausoleum. Now I must settle for this shallow grave dug with dirty fingernails.

All is not lost, but certainly nothing is won. I've some new pastimes about which I'm passionate. Sometimes I'm passionate. I've lost touch with my guitar, and with my voice, with myself in general. I am the ghost that watches the body, helplessly. It passes through me without so much as a shiver. I know I know I exist. I have to find the middle ground.

PS. I always seem to write when I'm feeling super shitty, and never when I'm feeling good. Considering how few blogs I've written this year, I may be doing just fine.

2008-10-01T07:48:00.001-04:00

A day will come
when our hearts will swell,
distended from these secrets we can't tell.
We'll all kill ourselves
and we'll share a chariot to hell.

2008-09-20T12:35:00.007-04:00

Who cares? We're climbing up the stairs to a house that isn't there,
fumbling for the keys, we enter,
falling to our knees, where did we go wrong?
It doesn't matter, our days are paved with mindless chatter;
in this hollow half-city, we only provide poor examples
to the hollow-headed boys and girls.
We, the skyscrapers!
We're the shells of what we were,
we're the shadows of what we would be,
if things were the way they could be.

Get this:

2008-06-29T13:56:00.008-04:00

As you might or might not know, I have been endlessly pursuing a healthier lifestyle over the course of the last two years. It has now been almost an entire year since I've consumed dairy products, and I'm now closing out week two of full-blown veganism. America is a terrible place to be if you want to live a clean, healthy, productive lifestyle; the odds are stacked very much against you, and unless you have companions in your endeavour, you're bound to get burnt. There likely are areas in major cities where you can find refuge from dairy and meat and genetically modified foods, but for the majority of us, here in the middle, there are few options. I'm confident people would eat healthier and maintain healthier lifestyles if it were not so difficult to do so. If you put an organic product on a shelf next to a chemically-enriched product, even people like myself five years ago (a consumer of over a gallon of Dr. Pepper per day...seriously) would probably go for the organic option, even for a dollar or two more. People will pay $5 to travel thirty miles in their cars, but won't spend $4 on a quality loaf of bread that will feed them for days? I don't believe it.

I have conquered salt, sugar, dairy, meat, candy; junk food, in general. I have minimized consumption of alcohol, and only rarely do I imbibe caffeinated beverages-- coffee and tea. I eat almost exclusively whole grain breads and cereals. My current and perhaps greatest enemy of them all is the mighty giant known as high-fructose corn syrup, that name you see on so many a Nutrition Facts label. It can be found in abundance in nearly every American food product, from soda, to Heinz ketchup, to most snack foods-- even in many, if not most, breads. Very few beverages can be found that don't contain either HFCS or dairy products (anything that says LACTOSE, CASEIN, LACTATE, WHEY, MILK, etc.). Nope, even VitaminWater contains milk sugars. In fact, at your average gas station, the only things healthy to drink are bottled water and SOME 100% juices.

I read a piece today that said the average American consumes over 70 pounds of HFCS per year, which promptly lead me to feelings of nausea via disgust. Assuming most people adopt an adult diet in puberty or sooner (especially these fucking fat kids), I'm going to ballpark about 70 years of adult diet. Given, that might be a little bit of a stretch, considering old farts probably don't eat nearly as much, and not all young people necessarily pound down the food. So we'll say 60 years of adult eating habits. That equates to 4200 pounds of high-fructose corn syrup over the course of a lifetime. 4200 FUCKING POUNDS OF SYRUP?! Have you ever seen corn syrup before? What you might have seen is actually high quality compared to this stuff. They take the corn syrup, which is already not good for you, especially in large quantities, add chemicals to it to increase the fructose level, from 0% to 90%, then they sometimes dilute it a little further to 55% fructose, 45% glucose, and sometimes they just stick it in foods at 90%. Fucking nuts, fucking disgusting!

High-fructose corn syrup has been in everything since somewhere between '75-'85, so we really don't know exactly the damage it will do. Though it's not as if we ever know the damage done by what we're putting in ourselves. Sure, life expectancies are at an all-time high, but the quality of life, and of health, I fear, is plummeting to an all-time low. 4000 pounds of syrup over a lifetime, though, WOW! I mean, GODDAMN!

People often look at me like I'm some kind of Nazi in regard to the foods I'll eat and won't eat, as if it is weird to want to know what you're putting into your body, and to actually stop yourself from doing extra damage when you know better, as opposed to the usual modern American activity of just recognizing the errors of one's ways and continuing on unimpeded by conscience.

----

I've been learning Italian via iPod language lessons I illegally downloaded a couple weeks ago. The progress I've made and continue to make is incredible; for a half an hour a day, I listen and repeat, have brief conversations in Italian, and I understand most things nearly as well as I understand my native tongue. The program is called The Pimsleur Method, and I recommend it to anyone who is taking an interest in a foreign language. Take the course religiously, once a day, whether you're commuting to work or whatever. One half-hour, uninterrupted, and you won't be sorry. It helps a lot when you're like me and feel like you're never doing anything with the time you've been given. Reading books on the regular helps, too. I mean, duh.

----

Iwin's End (the band I drum for) is in the midst of recording. I've been trying to upload a drums+guitars demo all day, to no avail. Regardless, it's turning out great. The shit really gets me moving.

In other other music news, I've been writing a lot more solo stuff, and am looking again to play a few shows, hopefully this time with a band backing me up. It's not hard stuff, not like what I want to be doing, but it will do for the time being, and it shouldn't be hard to teach a couple dudes how to play the 20+ plus songs I've written in recent months. If you're interested, holler.

The success of friends is really putting me in my place lately, with my old friend Ahmed Gallab shifting from background to foreground seemingly overnight (though we all know how hard he's been at it for all these years), when the drummer for Caribou broke something-or-other, and Ahmed, who was touring with them as their opening act, took over and filled-in for the rest of the tour. The attention propelled him to a certain degree of stardom on the Pitchfork circuit, and his song "Autobahn" is featured in this month's Spin as one of the "15 songs to download". Very cool, and his record (visit http://www.myspace.com/SINKANE) is certainly deserving of the attention.

Another of one of my former close dudes, Chris Bianchi (the drummer of Stiletto's partners in crime, Half-Hearted Handgun), as well as their guitarist Glenn, went metal, and consequently their band Forever In Terror has reached full-blown MTV2 status. Nuts, man, just nuts. I'm so proud of all my dudes finding success, but goddamn, it's not as if I couldn't just as easily be out there myself, crushing motherfuckers on the tour circuit. Laziness and misfortune combined to kill all that for me, but although my better dreams are lost, I myself am not dead yet.

It's just crazy, you know, seeing more and more records in the stores by my dudes, and yet there's nothing there by me, there's this sickening void in the T.Mo section. What am I to do but actually produce something? It will give out, soon, I promise. In the meantime, I watch dudes I rocked out with at The Orange Street tour and live the life I'm supposed to be leading.

On the topic of The Orange Street: they're closing it down. It's so surreal, the place where I first begin to discover and define myself, and it's going down. Chris got a job in Vegas, he's selling all his shit and getting the fuck out of Dodge. More power to him, though I think he mostly dug his own grave with that club throughout these years. Maybe someone with marketing genius (*ahem*) should try a similar endeavour here in Akron. With the Lime Spider and the Orange Street gone, there's not much left but Kling Street house shows. Oh, and Musica; but really, though.

----

I've been avoiding comment on the status of my relationship, due largely to the fact that we've had a rough weekend, and I'm not sure what the fucking deal is. It's been a depressing past few days, all around, though it may be worse due to a lack of needed nutrients within the confines of my new diet, a mighty big mistake on my part. I'm still adjusting, and it's very difficult when my spirits are already down, 'cause when I get sad, I don't eat very much, and I now have to pound down ridiculous quantities of food to survive. Gotsta change my ways! or just get happier. Something tells me I can't have one without the other...

----

Okay, enough boringness. I should write only when I'm feeling better than this.

Lovez,
T. Mo

Permanence, or Finding Stability in Volatility

2008-06-16T13:50:00.012-04:00

I am trying to be open and honest here, as I try to do in my everyday life, but the fact is, I'm terrified of writing anything that really matters to me. I mean, all the little things I mention are what ultimately makes life worth living for me, but when it comes to what occupies my mind, what drives me to either push myself or to lock myself away, I'm too embarrassed and too afraid of jinxing myself further to make any mention of them to anyone but those directly involved, if anyone is involved, in particular. Even then, I water it down, all the time.

Now, I'm here to make an effort toward this, for myself, my friends, and the mysterious 50-some people that read this everyday that I don't know; I want to try to let it out. It seems as I write these blogs, I get on tangents and see problems from new perspectives, and it helps to work them out. Maybe I've been thinking the big problems are my responsibility to work out in my head, and I don't want anything to be tainted by outside influence, and I want no one to know my thought process, or my progress (or lack thereof) on any particular issue of importance. I want to let people in, but it leaves me vulnerable to so much damage, damage I'm not sure I can recover from this time.

Well, that's sort-of the problem. I've let someone in. And sure, it's only baby steps for now, but I feel happy, not just a mood, but more as if I'm entering a phase where the haze is falling over me. As an adult, I've never felt that, so maybe I'm more inclined to preserve it this time than to let it deteriorate like I did the only other time I had it (age: 18, duration: ~6 months, reasoning: great shows, great friends, great girlfriend, great sex, etc.). It could have been inevitable, though. It probably was, but I can't help feeling that I could've done something to stop it, or slow it, or...I could've done something--especially then, when I was the most confident and most poised to make something big happen.

Here's the situation: She's twenty-five, graduated from Akron U., beautiful, full of desire for self-improvement, by her own mention, not by seeds I had to plant in her mind, she wants to travel, she's vegetarian trying to go vegan and go natural in general. To contrast and compare, I'm twenty-one, looking into going to college (this time, for real), beautiful, full of the utmost desire for continual self-improvement (the single most important thing to me), I want to travel, I'm dairy-free trying to go vegan and go natural in general. Now that I've found her, I really want to stay and live a simple life here for a while, I don't long everyday so much to live in great cities hundreds and thousands of miles away (not just yet). She's been here four more years, lived a lot more of a life (maybe), and is ready to leave. She wants to leave for the coast.

Where does that put me? Where does that put us? We're a new thing, sure, but I don't make anything 'official' (as our relationship) with frivolous intentions, and she's tired of all that, too. We get along great, the compatibility is unbelievable, and the potential for growth is enormous. I believe we could feed each other's fires to no conceivable end. When we talk about us, there is a sense of permanence. There's no urgency. We relax as if we have all the time in world, and that's the way it should be. We want to take it slow, drink it in, but the problem is, she wants to make her life faster, and there's a conflict of interest there. She wants to take it slow with me, savor every little bit, while feeling anxiety about not moving fast enough everywhere else. If that feeling grows stronger, which it inevitably will, I'll be pushed out.

There's this fear because of it, and I don't want it to prevent me from being real with her, and I don't want to start trying to bust out all my hidden qualities at the wrong time, rushing to make myself seem more desirable than whatever it is she really wants to do; I don't want her to have to make a decision. I don't want comprimises, I want shared vision; I want her to be satisfied with me, not somewhere else that I can't go, not doing something else that I can't be a part of or be there to encourage.

I can see how the way I'm writing could lead one to believe that she's skeptical about the whole ordeal--she's not, we're totally optimistic together, it's just this stirring in the back of my mind that gets me when I'm up working all night, and sitting around playing guitar and writing stories and poems. That fear is a recurring theme; see, I'll find the flow of whatever it is I'm writing, but these subtleties start slipping in. How can I give her any more of me, knowing that while we've potential to and no reason not to last forever, the carpet could very well be pulled from beneath me at the end of the summer, or six months from now, or whenever?

I could recover right now. It would be hard, but I could recover. I mean, it would be really hard, but I could do it, I'm confident that much of myself, but beyond this point, it's dangerous territory. This could really destroy me. Maybe I'm stronger than I'm giving myself credit for, but I don't know and I don't want to fucking find out.

A couple posts ago I wrote some free verse. Just a small piece. Normally I'd let it be what it is, but I'll explain further since I keep coming back around to the topic. The first line "Projected inevitabilites...bring me back to Earth like nothing else quite can", is about this particular situation (though it could be applied to many situations, this is what inspired it), essentially stating that these things that are bound to happen, especially if they've been declared and not just pondered, and that while they're not concrete, perhaps not even close, they're enough to pull me from my emotional highs and mental well-being, and thus throw me into a conundrum, whereas if I be exactly what I am, all the way, her perspective may be altered enough for her to find me in her life as well as achieve the things she's striving for individually. Alas, the fear prevents me from any chance of successfully making myself too desirable for her to let go of, and I know it, but I don't know if I'm strong enough to overcome it, and therefore am effectually digging my own grave, and I can't see anyway out. I don't know why, but I cannot enjoy the meantime so much when heading toward a wall that she built before I even came around, and because she was strong enough and committed enough to creating it, that wall of strength needed to break free of a situation you no longer want to be in, she is that much less likely to knock it down, even with me putting all my effort into it, too. How can I tear down a wall, with my bare hands, that has been built by expert craftsmen, over the course of many years, that prevents me from walking where she walks? Not only that, because I don't want her to give up on what she wants to do, I have make the end result of the destruction better than what it was. There is a noble aspect to this, I swear, I don't want to prevent her from anything, I just want to give her an even better choice. I want to give her an option of staying that guarantees things will be better everyday, with no visible horizon. I have to be that good, to push her when she needs a push, to pull her close when she needs the comfort, to show her things her eyes have never seen, to tell her things her ears have never heard, to fill her up with things she never imagined, and to continually do this, perpetually.

I'm all fucked-up, because I crave spontaneity, true spontaneity, but I can't appreciate it without some sense of constancy--totally contradicting viewpoints. I can't just make myself vulnerable because I want to, if I know the knife will be stuck in when I least expect it. It goes against everything I believe in.

Obviously, I think too far ahead about everything, and thus lose an appreciation for the present. Am I not supposed to, though? Is this not my life, my one and only life, and is this not the potential for some true love? Is there anything more important than that? I can't convince myself it's rational to not think of the future, and to not think of it hard and long, from time to time. I know however, that this is how most people end up unhappy, they lose the people they care about most, the ones that make them feel the greatest, for some stability, for a change of pace, for someone they see as more compatible. So many women postpone having children until they're too old to have them, for the sake of a career or a "life", not realizing that without perpetuating into children of their own, there will be a hollowness at the end, and that when they die, their essence will end there forever, with nothing to live through vicariously. These are mistakes people make when they get too concerned with futures, with projected inevitabilites; their concern ultimately becomes their demise. I do not want to be one of these people.

There, I said it. Not exactly how I wanted to, and I'm sure I'm missing major points that have become understood to me, but it's out there. Maybe I'm taking shit too seriously, and I need to go with the flow. Maybe not. Still, it's digging into me.

2008-06-11T14:45:00.003-04:00

...poring over notebooks, distended with zeal,
canvassing canvases for misplaced ideals,
stumbling upon shards of my Self unrevealed,
for the sake of my sanity, sometimes, I must tear away,
seek out some place, somewhere, out in the sweet heat of summer,
where my only concern is
the flow of air from here to there.

Fat Americans and Their Fat Children

2008-06-03T23:53:00.006-04:00

It won't probably won't shock any readers of this blog to find out that, lately, I have been feeling apprehensive in regards to sitting down and actually producing a solid piece of writing, whether it be a journal, blog, novel, et cetera. I think the source of my reluctance lies in my current struggle of trying to squeeze 25 hours out of every day, and I know, in the back of my mind, that once I start typing, it will likely be a multi-hour endeavour, a hand-cramp marathon. I just don't have the time to sit down and write something if I'm not certain it's going to be spectacular, and one can never really be certain of that sort of the thing. Plus, what good does writing shit down do for me? I don't frequently write about things that need to be brought to anyone's attention, and rarely do I have anything that I absolutely must get off my chest. It's not like the words I carry around within me, which would be disregarded and/or misunderstood by 99% of the populus anyway, are a particularly heavy burden. So why bother?

OK, so I know why I should bother. As with anything, it's often hard to set yourself to doing something that doesn't guarantee immediate or visible results. It's especially hard when you're not sure if there is going to be any result whatsoever. So, it's a motivation thing, an inspiration thing, an obligation to myself. Still it's hard to find somewhere to start, when I've nothing explicitly planned out, no obvious objective, no manifest lingual destiny. It's the first few paragraphs of firing off bullshit until I come across something to run with that really bum me out.

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On a completely unrelated note, I was pondering at work today about how much I really love rainy days. I can't think of one other thing that guarantees a kickass day quite like rain does. Let me elaborate.

First off, rain means it's not going to be overly sunny. Too much sun gives me a fucking headache. With rain, even if the sun does come out after a while, it's not so goddamn hot and there are often lovely colors floating about all around you.

Secondly, rain smells delicious, and it sort-of temporarily kills the smog and the filth of the city. When cats and dogs are coming down, it can be the sweetest release to wander about, soaking wet. Then, think of how great it feels to dry off afterward and hop into your 'jammies.

Third, rain keeps lazy white trash people from getting out of their cars at the gas station. What that means is I can get paid (if you want to call it that) for a whole day of kicking it and reading books. These motherfuckers think they're going to melt, I swear. Or maybe they're afraid they'll stop smelling like fat-people-sweat and cigarettes long enough to realize that their lifestyle choices are repulsive, thus requiring immediate and total transformation, which I hear is a pain in the ass. Ignorance is bliss.

Fourth, rain, though it may be cold, is not snow.

Finally, though I could go on and on and on, rainy days are the shit if you have a lady-friend. A rainy day is, pretty much, a guarantee of several hours of pelvis-grinding, puss-smashin' action. That's something we all can appreciate.

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My intention upon sitting down to start on this was not to create a list of the outstanding qualities of rain, but it seems I'm a little too tired to write anything worth reading tonight. I have to get up and work out before heading back to the shithole gas station on what I'm sure will be a blistering hot day. K8 comes home on Friday, and I'm very much looking forward to it. And, after three months of not playing guitar due to a ridiculous work schedule, I do believe T. Mo is starting to get his groove back.

That's it for updates, I will try to frequent the blogosphere more often. Holler at your boy with some shit you want me to write about, otherwise you will probably hear less and less of me until some interesting things start happening, and I have no idea when that will be...

*EDIT*: I forgot to mention that rain is GREAT for people with allergies to pollen, grass, et cetera, et cetera...

Convalescence

2007-12-27T03:12:00.000-05:00

Ah, I've neglected this again, for more than a month this time! I would like to thank those of you who have religiously visited my site, as it seems I've had 20+ unique hits daily in the time of my absence; it is you who've brought me back, though it may again prove to be only temporary.

As always, I deeply regret having not kept track of my daily everythings for the past weeks, especially seeing as how all the time passing has had the air of great change about it. Torpidity, or idleness, to be more specific, has occupied the last two years of my life, and I am to be regarded as a liar thus forth when I speak of any sort of accomplishments I have made in this bracket of time, though I'm sure it wasn't entirely wasted, as I have, at the very least, learned what it means to be truly empty, what dear friends are all about, and how regardless of the efforts of many outsiders (meaning, more specifically, anyone and anything outside of myself), I will often and perhaps eternally feel utterly alone, even in the very best company, and that to thrive, I must accept this and even embrace it, for what it is. I am a sophist, to the core, and while it is perhaps a very desirable quality to have in positions of power, after establishing oneself in society and in a more universal sense, it can and will ultimately be destructive to one who is young and relatively unaffecting to the world surrounding.

So, in a conscientious effort to break free of myself and my vices, I sit here today and everyday and ponder over all the things I can do to move on and continue on the proper path toward my inevitable destiny (understand that I do not believe in faith or fate, as I can see one might assume the like). Perhaps the answer is simply to do, because simply being is not enough, though I've known this all along, and have used my own quite professional chicanery upon myself, something I should've well-known never to do. Nevertheless, it's over.

I've spent some serious private time with Dostoevsky recently, namely with Crime and Punishment, and needless to say, it has had a profound impact on me in innumerable aspects. It's a moving book, for many, I'm sure, as is obvious by its popularity, but for me, it hits the nail perfectly on the head. Not only do I share remarkable similarities to the main character, Rodion Romanovych Raskolnikov, but I practically am him, save a few differences, mostly regarding the choices he makes after the "incident" (which, I will not spoil for those who've not read it). Briefly, I'll say I'm much more cold-hearted than he is, and would not succumb or be taken in by any man, in his circumstance, and I need not elaborate, for those who've read, as to what I mean. I'll admit that I'm a slight monster at heart, though if you believe I have some sort of Hitler-complex, you are quite mistaken, as I have only positive intentions for myself and for the world around me; I simply will no longer allow any trivial thing to stand in my way, should I eventually set my mind to some seemingly-unattainable goal.

The other thing I thoroughly enjoyed about C&P was the cold, blunt feel to everything, which is perhaps what we uncultured folk deem most characteristic of all things Russian, and which is something I've been greatly inclined toward in recent weeks. I'm saying, mostly, that I have had an increasingly difficult time being pleasant with people, and I've been irritated infinitely by all the triteness, all the bullshit, that goes on around me and around everything, everyday, always. Maybe I just need something new (definitely), maybe I need to go out and socialize, meet new people, but I doubt sometimes, quite sincerely as of late, that new people even exist. It seems as though every face I see, I've seen before. Hell, it's not for lack of trying! I mean, for years now I've been amiable and even too eager to meet and become close to new people, yet it is all to no avail. At this point, save for a few, who I refrain from getting too close to due to my current ridiculous negativity, everyone can fuck off.

I mean, really, what more can I do? I've tried everything I know to make some decent friends here, and yet the only people I have with me now are three or four friends from my own HIGH SCHOOL! High school, the biggest joke of all (unfortunately at my expense, I later found), the place filled with base people I mostly disregarded when originally spreading my social wings. Nearly everyone I've met in these past five years turned out to be a fake or a bastard, with no care for themselves, let alone me or the world or anything greater, despite all my efforts to remain close and be the best friend I could be. And really, those friends I have now, how could they understand a depraved wretch such as myself! I often fear that we are only together now due to growing up in the same boring town, from birth drenched in its vileness, being of an elite few with an actual working brain, and witness only to crude displays of backstabbing and certainly backwards ideas of growing up. Is this what we have, and not a true, meaningful bond, only the same dolorous feelings keeping us together? or is that what true friendship is? What do I even know anymore?

I watch, I bear witness nearly everyday (for now I've taken a liking to solitude to the point of being a hermit), to people continually confused about the direction of life they should take. You'd think with your $40,000 educations, you'd learn a little bit of real knowledge about life! How focused everyone has become on moving forward, when the answer is quite obviously to grow outward! How successful would a tree be if its trunk only projected perpetually upward, never growing branches or deepening its roots? Must I answer that question for everyone, as well?

This is all so depressing to me - everything, that is - but I'm not without hope or determination. I found myself singing aloud one day, straight from my subconscious, and it was only by chance that my voice recorder was on and I was able to hear back the thoughts I was sending out, and I will paraphrase, simplify, rather, what I said: "If you want to get better, you have to stop doing what you hate, and postponing the pain [of breaking free of tradition, drastically altering your lifestyle, and perhaps losing all your friends in the process]." It was very much a note to Self, and I took it to heart, though I'd already been on the path for some time.

So, I decided I want to stop doing the things I hate. Sounds easy enough, right? I must end my idleness, I must stop ignoring things that I know are wrong, I must stop bothering with pointless small-talk, I must stop laughing when I want to cry, I must stop drinking alcohol, I must stop eating American garbage food, I must stop eating dairy and meat, I must get into peak physical condition, I must clear my head and fill it with knowledge until it bursts, I must read, I must write, I must be spontaneous, I must be inventive, I must sing, I must dance, I must use my abilities for the good of the Earth and all its inhabitants, I must retaliate immediately and harshly with the most effective method at any disrespect toward me or others undeserving, be it verbal, mental, or physical, I must remind others of the potential I possess and also prove that there is actually no limit to what I am able to achieve, I must no longer allow my fear of appearing condescending prevent me from using my extensive vocabulary, I must no longer refrain from making jokes that my company will not understand, and in fact should find better company, or have none at all, and I should probably stop ranting when I know it is the most ineffective manner of communicating I possess.

Anger and frustrations aside, I've been getting closer each day to being more at peace with myself, and closer to nearly giving up on all this and heading, quite seriously, towards a sort of monkhood, strange as it may sound, though I don't expect anyone to understand, as if anyone has even tried to understand in a long time. My greatest conflict right now, the main thing that I must decide, is this: Should I postpone social life and my attempts at my current visions of success, and forget everyone and everything and go into true and total seclusion, only to emerge again, at least several months, perhaps even years later, when I have decidedly become the greatest man I can possibly be, mentally, emotionally and physically, the best man I can be without considering social aspects, one prepared to take on the world, take the bull by the horns, so to say, and just do all that needs to be done? The struggle lies in the fact that I will only be "young" once, and I will never again be 21 and 22 and 23 and 24 and so on, so the social aspect of my life should probably become established now, if I'm ever to have one, but also, I may never again have these feelings of wanting to achieve a true sense of Self by total seclusion and perfect, clear focus. What's worth more to me, my so-far miserable youth, searching for love and true friendship and a place in the world, moving on day by day, trying without much motivation to come across something worthwhile, a quest which seems at present almost entirely impossible, an effort that will quite possibly yield no desirable and certainly no definite results, or should I seek the path toward perfecting myself, becoming the best I can be, a path guaranteed to be successful, with notable results everyday, spending all my time exclusively with the only thing that will remain steadfast and true to me eternally, myself, and doing all I can to have true respect for myself, so this incessant pride I fear I may never shake off will have, for once, a definite foundation beneath it so as I will thrive in crises instead of crumbling under the consistent assaults one must fend off from every thing and person in the world, which will inevitably, on occasion, assume the role of the antagonist to one's hero, which will always be the Self. The answer to my question is quite obvious, to me; however, it is easier said than done. If I'm going to do it, I should do it now, while I feel more detached than ever. Right?

I suggest everyone watch The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, at least to get an idea of what's been building in my head. If you have some knowledge of Buddhism and at least a slight inclination toward it, this movie will affect you all the more greatly, as it did me. It was less of a new idea for me as it was an encouragement for me do what I've been wanting to do for so long. Strange how I was drawn to both Crime and Punishment and The 36th Chamber, at the same time, both with no prior knowledge of their contents, and both so incredibly suited for my life right now...

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At any rate, while I'm making my decisions on all this, I've started a new band (this one I exclusively sing and write for). It's a dance band, or at least that's the idea, a combination of early Michael Jackson, The Faint, Justice, and so on, though due to my nature, it's bound to be much more sentimental and maybe a little more like the darker Postal Service songs. Either way, because it's a project specifically designed to make you dance, we are much more likely to play shows sooner rather than later. Updates will be on the way soon.

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Oh, and fuck you all for not sending me submissions for the magazine.

Newness...or not

2007-11-13T17:40:00.000-05:00

The amount of response I've received from the magazine post has been phenomenal, but the amount of actual submissions has been less than satisfactory. A fucking million people want to do it, but hardly anyone is giving me anything to work with. I don't need some trite bullshit, I need some worthwhile material, you know? You can even send in a favorite blog of yours, I just need some stimulating word-work. You feel me? Okay, then.

Not a whole lot of newness going on around here, mostly just those subtle things that aren't worth mentioning to anyone. I've been struggling a bit getting my words out lately, perhaps due to a lack of writing output, no stimulus for that portion of my brain that gives my vocal cords material for decent articulation, or perhaps because I've been too exhausted to think clearly after my daily workouts. I suppose there's no way to tell what the problem is. I should just focus on fixing everything else and hope it takes care of itself.

--------

Checking my voicemail last night, I found that James left a message that was worded quite poetically and with a certain strange sentiment, as if I should have received it in his posthumously-released private letters, saying, essentially, that he is so glad to have ever known me. You'd think he was dying or something, but really, he had just finally clicked with the American Football record that I'd burned for him close to a year and half ago. I can understand why he was feeling the way he was, because I wouldn't have burnt it for him if it wasn't one of those records.

See, Franks is one of those people who is not really "in the loop" as far as music goes; he's still very closed-minded about almost anything different or "too loud". He doesn't fully understand that there is a time and place for everything (sort of), and this may be almost solely due to the fact that he hasn't owned a car in years, thus never really getting a chance to experience real, moving music. So what I did was burn him a small collection of CDs, probably 20 or 30, only the real cream of the crop, that I personally guaranteed he would at some time need or relate to or crave without knowledge of what it is he was craving. He really is quite the skeptic, but he understands me a bit better these days and has a newfound respect for me, and therefore has finally given the albums an unbiased chance, electing all of them from unlikely candidates to personal favorites.

I've said it time and again that you just have to trust me, and I will not steer you wrong. I don't know everything, not even close, but when I tell you that I know something, down to the core, trust me and what advice I give you will eventually come to light and benefit you in some way, unless you get all Terry Schiavo'd or "find God" or fall into some other shit that will prevent you from utilizing your brain to its full potential. I should probably mention that Jamie has been sober and in a clearer and more optimistic mindset than ever before. He's really starting to open his eyes and ears and close his mouth when the situation calls for it. We are all only products of our environment, and if we allow nothing new to come into our minds, we'll be recycling and reviewing old, tired ideas until we die. It can and will happen to everyone, especially those growing old and "wise", and we must realize this and make it cease before it overcomes us and we waste even more of the tiny fragment of time that our lives occupy.

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On a lighter note, or perhaps a much heavier one, I may have finally started developing a real interest in a lady (or many ladies, ooh!), something that I haven't been able to bring myself to do for close to two years now. I will not specify too deeply about said woma(e)n, nor will I go into great detail about why I have been so resitant for as long as I have, to avoid running the risk of either fucking up what may be beginning, or getting people irrationally upset with me. Either way, this is a fairly sensitive subject, and because I pick and choose what goes in here, you may or may not hear more about this in the near future. Oh, and I've noticed that the ladies have been showing a much greater interest in me as of late, too. That's good news, for sure! Maybe they can sense somehow that I'm on the prowl...

Speaking of romantic interests and subjects that either directly or indirectly will lead to me being butt-naked with a woman: I'm going into the photo lab at Akron U this week for a photoshoot which will require me to bare it all for the camera. I don't know who is taking the pictures, all I know is that a sexy man is required for this project. Don't expect any pictures of me and my dong on this site anytime soon, but do know that somewhere in there world there are hot n00dz of Todd Moore. Let's just all join hands and pray that the room is not even the slightest bit chilly...

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A couple things before I go:

I've developed a pretty badass Nazi German impression that on one occasion caused Christopher to vomit all over me and the table at Sheetz, and on another occasion, almost had the same effect on Korey.
I've had a big shift in diet, I'll have no more garbage in my body. Mostly, I'm looking to cut out dairy and processed foods. I've also been looking into home colon cleansing kits, so for all you out there who've had experiences with the removal of shit from a time immemorial from your body, let me know your story! I'm sure this will generate a huge response.
Send me shit for the magazine. Vegan recipes that don't suck would be really nice, in addition to all those things which I've listed in the previous blog.
My knees hurt pretty badly all the time, especially now that I've started running 2+ miles, six days a week. If you know how to fix broken knees, let me know.

That's it for now, I suppose. Please get to work on your submissions, or at least let me know if you intend to send something in but haven't been able to finish or decide what you're sending, or if you're in the process of producing something stellar.

See you soon,
Toddy

I need your help!

2007-11-06T18:37:00.000-05:00

This goes out to all writers, artists, photographers, and anyone who has an opinion on ANYTHING, or an interesting/funny story to tell:

I'm looking to publish an independent magazine, and I need as much outside input as I can possibly muster up. The idea is to have a massive variety of submissions, not just me and a couple friends writing up stuff when we all already have the same general mindset as one another. Your writing doesn't have to agree with my opinions be published, and in fact, I'd prefer opposing viewpoints as to add some debate and positive tension with the magazine, and to increase the diversity and quantity of feedback I'll receive after putting it out. All I ask is that you use proper grammar, punctuation, and spelling. If you suck at writing or editing, but have something you want to say, correspond with me via e-mail or snail-mail and I will do what I can to help you convey your thoughts fitfully.

Artists and photographers: Make sure any submissions you send can translate well into overly contrasted black and white. Don't send me a fucking 8-foot poster of some shit you painted or photographed. Keep it small and, if possible, broadcasting something greater than simply the work itself, as the true artistic value will likely be lost in translation. Throw some propaganda in there.

Poets: Your poems must not suck or be trite. I wish you luck.

Writers: The more material, the better. This is your chance to be completely free with your style and do things your way, unrestricted by teachers and professors and peers who understand nothing about confident writing or artistic, manipulative prose. Don't bore us to death, but don't feel like you have to squeeze a lot into a small space. If it's really good but too long, I'll chop it and publish it in pieces over the course of a number of issues, in accordance with your desires. Don't plagiarize or be a fucker. Encourage everyone you know to send something in.

Again, this is ANYTHING you find interesting. If you want a review a record you really love, do it, and sent it in. If you are a total retard but have one area of expertise, share with us what you know. For instance, I know a dude who is practically braindead but is the definitive source of information when it comes to sex, be it ridiculous positions or how to get it whenever you want it from damn near anyone. If you know any tips or tricks for anything, send them in. If you want to declare your love for someone but know not how to do it, send it in and then get a copy of the 'zine to that special person. If you're pissed about something on the news, let me know. If you're pissed something didn't MAKE the news, let me know. No matter what, send something in. Send a thousand things if you want to!

Send your submissions via e-mail to thisistoddmoore@gmail.com, or send them to me via snail mail to this address:

Todd Moore
1009 Brittingham Drive
Ravenna, OH 44266

Make sure you include your desired contact information, so I can let you know when it's done and get you a copy. Let me know if you wish to remain anonymous, or how you'd prefer to be credited. If you have a personal story you wish to tell, make sure you change the names of the characters if you don't want them to find out. You feel me? The more secrets, the better.

Use the USPS method especially if your particular work needs to be presented a certain way to convey it's original intent.

Lastly, I can't make any promises that your shit will make it in, but rest assured that I will give it a good read.

Send me your contact information if you'd like a copy of the magazine once it's completed (I have no idea when it will be done, as I'm going to do my best to make it awesome), especially if you live somewhere away from Kent/Akron, OH and can make copies available to people in your area.

Thanks, and please, give me a good response to this.

Time flies when your life sucks ass.

2007-11-02T15:17:00.000-04:00

Today marks my 21st year of this lovely life we lead. There's not much to say except that I'm a million miles from where I should be. There's no giant crew and there'll be no giant celebration, and there's nothing to differentiate today from any other day, aside from it being the first truly bitter, frigid day of the year and the anniversary of the re-election of the worst president that was ever put into office. It serves as nothing but a slap in the face as I struggle to convince myself and the world of my worth.

Nothing new is turning up. We probably won't get the house. I still don't have a job. The one positive is yet another maybe, and that is I may be able to resurrect a version of my band that should have been. Like everything, it's all hovering and it makes it that much worse. I crave so much something to go through with relative ease and to have some permanence.

If things are at all looking up for me, it's because I'm residing at the bottom of everything.

GG Allin Moore

2007-10-30T02:48:00.000-04:00

Another party post, coming at ya. Shit has been so goddamn BORING lately, but I'll give you the what's-good.

Saturday night was Halloween in Kent, and it was mostly just an opportunity (for lack of a better word) to walk around drunk looking weirder than usual with a lot of bodies to bump into. Chris, Koobey and I set out for our loop around 9:30 and I had already consumed almost an entire bottle of wine and was yet entirely sober for the duration of the walk. I was dressed as GG Allin and the closest guess to my costume was "Skid Row, but gayer", while Chris was a makeshift Scarecrow, aka "Bag-man." Koobey didn't have to do anything but trim his hair and he was a perfect Travis Bickle. We made a quick run through town and settled in at a house on Willow Street, where I met up with my sweet old brother Dustin Bowling and lowered myself to drink from the keg... and drink I did. Didn't realize it 'til the walk back, but, yeah...

On the walk back, about two or three houses down, I gave a hella holler at a sweet lookin' bitch we were passing. "SHABAAM!," I said, and walked off. Five steps past and I heard the most beautiful response ever, a timid, "Shadeeq?" You must understand, "Shabaam Shadeeq" is one of my shoutouts, stolen from my favorite hip-hop record, Mos Def and Talib Kweli are Black Star. The odds of someone out of the thousands of people in Kent that night responding like that are so ridiculously small that I had to double-take and cut back, after which I started freaking out and hugging the only two bitches I ever even kick it with, Shan and Ashley.

It may not be very interesting to you, but if you knew me, you'd definitely think it was nuts.

ANYWAY, we trekked back and found Kevin Cline's corpse on Shan's back porch. After reviving him, we got in and crashed out. Pretty uneventful, but I woke up GG the next day, a shirtless badass just kiggin' it hard. After a badass Pulp for breakfast, we all split up for showers and work.

Korey and I went over to Tanner's house and together the three of us formed a sort of reincarnation of the old Smirnoff Lenins. For those of you unaware, the Smirnoff Lenins were the first sweet-ass punk band that three of us played in. We weren't really expecting to play anything more than some old-school throwback, so the outcome was obviously well above our expectations. We made up a badass track right off the bat (think old-school Engine Down with dueling vocals in the vein of some classic screamo), and that was before we even got into the songs I'd written earlier that day. Just starting yesterday, I've already written at least five songs that are super-badass, so maybe we'll play some shows soon? We'll see.

There's only one more thing I wanted to cover in this blog, and that is if you ever disrespect me or my boys, don't expect to get away with it, regardless of how tough you think you are. I will beat your fucking ass at the drop of a hat if you try to be condescending toward us, especially because my boys and I are the baddest motherfuckers walking this Earth, and you're probably nothing but a shit-talking fat redneck with no talents, no brains, and no reason to be alive. So fuck you.

Oh yea, I almost forgot: Chris and I went down to my dad's house in Kentuckiana for three days earlier this week. We went to a lot of parks and it was badass, and in one in particular, they kept luring us with signs like "Bison: This Way" and we kept following them and then there were no bison and I had to shit so I dropped trou and then dropped a sweet turd in the middle of the path. Don't ever tell me there're gonna' be bison and then have no bison, or you'll get a fat fucking turd in your path. PEACE

Dude just smashed the fucking fishtank

2007-10-20T14:34:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned in the post from the night before last night, last night was the last night we had to spend at the ole' Infirmary House. Not too many people showed up, surprisingly, but we had the core unit there, and we're really all that ever mattered anyway. The size of the crowd doesn't necessarily determine the amount of enjoyment there is to be had.

There's not a whole lot to say in these party posts, just little bullets of information, like:

Having an arcade game on your front porch is one of the best ideas ever.
Don't try to fight girls on the floor next to a fishtank with 30 or more gallons of water inside.
Drinking two bottles of Merlot doesn't exactly help with articulation.
Never put your head in front of a door that opens in if there is a fat drunk bitch on the other side.
If you do, don't go to sleep no matter how appealing it may seem because if you somehow do survive the night passed out and with a concussion, the next day is going to be filled with excruciating pain.
Talking business at a party is probably not a brilliant idea, but sometimes it can help you make connections.
Sometimes the thought of two acquaintances getting hitched is even weirder than the girl you lost your virginity with getting married to the one Christian you've ever actually been friends with, even though he once told you you were going to burn in hell and looked at you with sympathy like you were the one who was confused, that girl who was once a full subscriber to the your signature mindset of logic and love and passion and the quest for true enlightenment in a real form, not bullshit like organized religion and systematic worship of a non- and never-existent being with a fluffy beard of clouds and a real, undying love for human beings who've time and again proven they have no ability to take care of this planet which is the one and only truly beautiful thing that we can touch and see and smell and hear and taste, an undying love for those who kill for sport, rape for pleasure, ruin themselves for temporary kicks, an undying love for those who always take the easy way out at any cost of suffering for others or even themselves later on down the line, an undying love for those who make a living making life even harder for those with a little worse luck, an undying love that is clearly the stuff of fairy tales and stories about Easter Bunnies and Santy Clauses and is only good for one thing and that is to make it easier to go to sleep at night because if you die you'll awaken soon in the great golden palaces of heaven, with green pastures like the ones you filled with trash on Earth, an oasis of light in the desert of darkness that is life on Earth, an escape so you don't have to struggle and suffer through life trying to find some meaning that isn't really there and then finding a way to be OK with that and move on and try to make something happen for the greater good of the Earth and it's inhabitants, a total act of being a pussy and being a liar and being a fool, an acknowledgement of defeat, a declaration of ignorance, submission to a life of blissful bullshit and an arrogance and air of condescension toward those who are clearly a million times more respectable and intelligent and honest and stronger than you could ever be, that girl who knew all of this and yet upon you breaking up with her forgot all that knowledge that you slipped in, in that subtle way of yours, that girl becoming a super-Christian and getting hitched and planning to spend her life in a false paradise. Okay, maybe it's not quite as weird.
Sometimes it takes a sideways joke to remind you that when you were mean and bitter toward people when they believed ridiculous shit you lost a lot of friends but accomplished a hell of a lot more.

Hot damn, that took a lot out of me, but it had to be done, dude.

So to sum it up, the party was fun for me, but I felt like shit in the morning, largely due the lump on my forehead similar in size and shape to a baseball cut in half. I hope my bullets helped you feel like you were there with me, and if you were there with me, I hope they can help you recollect and revel a bit in a party that was pale in comparison to some in the past but brought a close to a hella run of a hella house in a shit town in Suburbia, Ohio.

Upcoming Events

2007-10-19T02:16:00.001-04:00

Lots of gnar stuff coming up here in the next couple weeks:

1. Friday, October 19th: The final Infirmary House party. It's been a blast, but now Kluge, Kevin, Paul and Matt are moving out of their lovely abode and moving on to hopefully bigger and better things. It sucks that I'll miss PaperMoons at the Kling house, but this is more important to me by a whoooole lot, and I'm sure it will be sick. You should come out if you want something kickass to do tonight!

2. Wednesday, October 31st: Halloween! More than likely will be spent wandering around Kent, losing track of my doods, hollerin' at bitches left and right and just kickin' it. Maybe out to Akron later to holler at some of my doods n bitchez out there, too, but I probably won't be in any condition to drive.

3. Friday, November 2nd: My 21st birthday! Probably won't do anything, but maybe I will? I'd like to have another show sometime soon, and what better reason? I never celebrate growing older, so maybe this year I'll do things a little differently.

Today was uneventful, but it did include Tanner, Karl and I playing SNES for a few hours and a pretty bitchin' chicken sandwich.

Please, remind me to get my bass amp from the Infirmary House. Thankz.
I hope to see some of your pretty lil faces tonight!

bye

On The Road Again

2007-10-18T03:38:00.000-04:00

I got my license back on Tuesday and spent today out enjoying the same blank scenery that I drove through nearly every day six months ago. Driving doesn't feel as good as it used to, but I'm hoping that will change soon. I'm so goddamn paranoid from driving under suspension for the past six months that I'm finding it hard to relax behind the wheel, always focused on the speedometer and attempting to decipher the tops of the cars in my rearview. If my love for driving doesn't return, I'd like to extend a big "Fuck you" to the government for destroying what has been many times my last vestige of relief before losing myself to the total sick madness of the world and my mind, that same intangible refuge that I will likely need to fall back upon again, someday.

Things are crazy right now. Nothing seems like everything, and I know already that all is nothing at all. Words are not just words, actions are not just actions. I know not what I'm saying and doing. I'm outside of myself; rather, too far within myself. I just can't put a finger on what it is, you know? You know the feeling?

My desk is littered with scraps of paper, useless thoughts scribbled down with meanings soon to be forgotten. 90% of everything I write is going to be thrown into the trash can. That trash will go into the bigger trash can, and then into the garbage truck, and then off to the landfill and stewed in with piles of percentages of everyone else's selves around here. Rotten banana peels and car tires and broken glass and my own wasted words all mesh together into heaps, mini-mountains of filth. That's where 90% of me is. Probably a lot of you, too.

I can't even follow my own tangential sick ridiculous train of thought. I'm too fast for myself. My mind is too efficient for my body to keep up, and it's hard to decipher what is rational from what is whimsical and foolish and nothing but novelty. This blog may progressively get less interesting to those who read it, but I'm hoping it will provide me with some insight on my own insides. Read it back and repeat it. Read it back and repeat it to yourself.

We are the core
the chorus
the corresponding pieces of the whole

Burned all the bridges down inside my mind

2007-10-18T03:33:00.000-04:00

How much time are we going to waste
trying to rekindle lost emotions,
when we could be moving on
to bigger and better,
bolder and brighter things?
I just want to feel the wind under my wings.

No degree of busyness can kill a boredom so deeply rooted

2007-10-15T22:58:00.000-04:00

Well, I've been putting it off long enough. You've all missed a great deal of ridiculous stories and jokes and blah blah blah due to my laziness, and I apologize. I would've definitely liked to preserve the moments I've now forgotten, but it's done and over with and I can't dwell and dwell and keep weaving this web of regrets around myself.

I'll start off by saying that Maryland was a total bust. I read Double Duce by Aaron Cometbus, which was uber-asskicking, finished The Dharma Bums by Kerouac, also great, and read Kafka's left unfinished Amerika: The Man Who Disappeared, which would've most-assuredly kicked ass, had it been finished. I wrote some odd verse poetry and five or six songs that I'll probably get out to y'all pretty soon. I started doing push-ups everynight and have since developed quite a bit more muscle than I had before. Aside from all that, I did nothing at all, for six fucking weeks. At least I made a little money.

The shitty part of everything was that my license was still under suspension the whole time I was gone (I take the test to get it back tomorrow, by the way), and even if I could, I probably wouldn't have done anything. Why, you ask? Because my father invented chainsmoking, and I don't like being around other civilized human beings while feeling like fucking Pigpen from the Charlie Brown comics. This is why I didn't even bother walking to neighboring DC and affiliating myself with our nation's capital. Thanks, Pops, for being a gross idiot.

I've been back for something like two weeks now, and I've kept busier than I have for probably the last six months, which un-coincidentally is the approximate time I've gone without a license. Turns out, James is still here, creating some painting masterpiece for a friend and drinking a lot and getting maybe a little to into the old habits we developed working at Balls-Mart. That's not good news, but it could be worse, I guess.

People don't like the live CD I put online before I left. I like it, though, a lot. I guess maybe I don't really give a fuck what you think anyway. Try it in headphones, maybe? They really make all the difference.

Nervous anxiety and excitement and boredom have all intertwined themselves since I've been back, and all is but a waiting game. It's driving me mad, I tell you, MAD. I've kept my mind empty by buying clothes and getting a little too heavily back into poker, which I was doing quite well with until yesterday, when I lost the 400 I made over the weekend. Shit happens, but I know I'll eventually have my revenge on the poker gods.

Let me specify why I want to keep my mind empty. I've had two things residing in my brain that will drive me nuts if I give them half the chance. The whole license ordeal is almost over, and not really much of anything anymore; after that weight is lifted, I'm sure I'll feel hella better. The main thing is this big transaction I'm in the process of completing. I've been going back and forth between the realtor and the loan-guy, trying to buy this goddamn house in Akron. It's sick cheap and in great shape, plus it's less than a mile from campus.

I've been overwhelmed by all this, all this that fits in a couple poorly-written paragraphs. Kinda' puts it all into perspective, you know? This ain't shit, not at all, and I'm having a hard time handling it. I'm just being a pussy, I know, but I can't even enjoy the fall and that's really not like me at all. Everything is so goddamn boring, everything I'd usually have some appreciation for. I'm burning out.

I'll be gone for a while...

2007-08-25T06:26:00.000-04:00

Hey y'all, I just wanted to say a couple things right quick to let you know what's up! I wish I had more time to crank this out but I've got a whole bunch of other shit to do, and I'm pressed for time. It's 6:30 AM, so I'm too fucking tired to write anyway...

Alright, the past week or so has been super-duper fast-paced, I've had tons of stuff going on everyday. After coming home from NYC, a weird pressure was applied to me from all directions, and I mean that in a good way. Here's my list:

1. Aaron recorded me playing some songs the other day. It was a last-minute deal and I had to take the opportunity regardless of the fact that I was sick as hell. You can download them all over at myspace.com/thisistoddmoore. 12 tracks, 7 of them covers and 5 originals. Pleeease check them out, put them on your iPod and play 'em loud, 'cause they sound like shit through computer speakers (as does all music, but this especially).

2. The Akron-Kent Connection had their first show tonight in the new Furnace House, which I believe they are calling "It's A Kling Thing", Kling be the name of the street it's on. My buddies in Annabel went from mediocre to badass in a matter of 6 months. They are kickass. I love Scotty Moses and even more his ability to rock the fuck out. Oh, what could have been. :P

3. I hung out with James Franks tonight for perhaps the last time for a long while (I'm talking years), as he will be leaving for California while I'm gone (I'll get to that in a second). I should write a goddamn book devoted to the times he and I have spent together since we met back in 2k5, but for now this will have to do. It felt a lot like graduation day, that weird sadness that you didn't expect to be half as strong as it is. I'm really going to miss that crazy sumbitch. "Todd and I have been super-close friends for two years, and all I got was this lousy paragraph."

4. And finally, last but not least, I am leaving within the next couple hours to go work in Maryland (near DC, I think) for five or six weeks with my Popz. I will take the opportunity to try to crank out some new material, and maybe start working on my first book (?), but mostly I'll be reading and chillin' out.

That's it for now, and so obviously I won't be posting for awhile. I'mma miss all you dudes that I see every now and then, and really miss you dudes that I see all the time, and I just don't know what I'm missing from the rest of you, but when I get home we can try to fix that. Anyone who reads this can feel free to call me anytime @ 3302218993 ...I'm looking forward to hearin' from y'all. Please go check out my songs and I will be super happy. I wanna see, like, five hundred thousand plays on last.fm. You feel me?

Those of you who won't call (99% of you), please leave me badass comments on here and myspace. Send me lots of deep and private and personal messages, too. I want to come home and feel like I mean something to someone.

Oh, and one more thing: I'm movin' out soon after I get home, and I'll have my license back. So we're gonna pizzarty when I get home from Maryland, at least once (and I'll probably play a show/party right when I get back, too), and then soon after you'll all be invited to a badass housewarming party (assuming all goes as planned).

Miss me...
Toddy

NYC, the place to be

2007-08-20T18:38:00.000-04:00

I'm a bit out of it right now, but I'mma write this anyway, before I forget FORGET! Korey, Chris, and I decided to celebrate Korey's first weekend off since he's been home from North Carolina (where he lived for two years) by traveling across the lovely expansive state of Pennsylvania and spending a couple days in New York City.

I'm broke as hell so Koobz and Chris paid for the hotel, which was relatively cheap because we crashed in Parsippany, New Jersey, about 25 miles from the City itself. We woke up bright and early on Saturday and I was surprisingly energetic, considering we went to sleep around four in the AM, and I haven't been up that early in about six months. We really had no idea what we were going to do once we made it into the city, so we just busted out my road atlas and headed to Holland Tunnel, the entrance to isle of Manhattan.

As we got closer, we attempted to decipher the skylines surrounding us. Even the cities surrounding NYC dwarf most other cities I've seen. Everything progressively became bigger until we hit the tunnel, where traffic wasn't nearly as bad as we had expected, probably because it was fairly early on a Saturday morning, and when we finally broke through, we were like ants beneath the skyscrapers. To three sheltered kids from the suburbs of Ohio, New York City is mind-blowing.

We drove around for a bit, just trying to take it all in. Honestly, we spent the whole time there just trying to take it all in (so did she). We parked in an expensive lot (Tourist Trap #1) and then started walking through Manhattan, which is where most of the really famous shit is (unless you listen to a lot of NY hip-hop, like moi). We walked down the Avenue of the Americas for a while before heading up through Times Square to Central Park, a sort of haven within the towers of the city. I can't really explain how awesome the Park is, but it was the first instance that Korey and I expressed our love for the city and desire to live there.

Central Park is huge, several city blocks in size, stretching from 59th Street to 110th Street. It is a cultural center, random people set up here and there, showcasing their talents to make money off lame-ass tourists. We watched some breakers and it pushed me over the edge (being the Beat Street enthusiast that I am). After seeing this kind of shit in the most mainstream area of NYC, I could truly envision myself living there.

After loitering around the park for a while, we bought subway passes for the day and decided to check out some of the other boroughs, first taking the F-train south to Brooklyn. The area we found ourselves in initially was very similar to the busy Manhattan streets, except we were the only white people there. We wanted to keep moving and so hopped back on the F-train. Tapping my foot on the train, I was approached by an older man who talked to me about drums; he told me he was a drum teacher, and that he had lived in California for 35 years before moving to Brooklyn about three years ago. We chatted a bit about the area, but not for as long as I would've liked. Chris, Korey and I got off at the next stop, and he gave me his business card, but I never did catch his name. Maybe I'll visit him if I move out there?

We found ourselves soon in a much more relaxed area, not so packed with people. This is where I started to realize not everything in NYC is overly crowded and busy. People in the area were pretty chill and down-to-Earth, and it was a beautiful day, so everything was fucking bomb. I had preconceived notions of people in the city, and they were mostly true, except that I had believed them to be negative, when in reality, they were totally positive. It's all about perspective. We wandered around a bit and caught a train to Queens when we started getting hungry. We didn't stay long, as we couldn't find anything appealing at our particular stop, and took a long, tiring train back to Manhattan.

We hit the streets looking for food, and were stopped by a dude trying to sell his rap CD (Tourist Trap #2). He played the "I'm really cool" card and started giving us CDs, which he signed to "C-Meezy, Ohio's Hustla'", etc. etc., and asked us to make a donation. Korey offered him three bucks and the guy said, "My CD is ten dollars." Korey reluctantly gave him ten bucks and the douchebag tried to get him to pay for Chris' and my CD, to which we were all "Hell no." He took the two back that Chris and I had and walked off like a punk bitch.

We found a pizza shop and sat down to eat. Koobey almost beat my ass for making fun of him for getting duped, and tensions were sorta' high for a bit, especially because we were all getting tired as hell. We decided to go back to Central Park anyway. It's really fucking big. We were damn near the Harlem side before we turned back, all of us exhausted. We got back in the car and headed back to hotel.

Korey got pretty drunk and passed out relatively quickly, and Chris and I walked around the hotel for a bit. He pissed in the ice machine and stole someone's room service before we went back to the room, where he passed out within ten minutes. I only had a glass of wine and wasn't even slightly drunk, and stayed up til 4 to watch a movie.

The next day we woke up late and really learned why people hate driving in NYC. After getting through the driving hell that is Manhattan, we took Flatbush Avenue all the way through Brooklyn, deciding to take the above-ground method as opposed to the subway system we used the day before, getting a little better view of downtown Brooklyn. We cruised straight down to Rockaway Beach, where Chris saw the Ocean for the first time in his life. Needless to say, he was pretty blown away, especially because he was at one of those wonderful beaches of the Northeast, which I believe to be some of the greatest places in existence.

It took us a while to get out of NYC, and we eventually stopped in West Orange, NJ at an overpriced Chinese buffet, where we debated using the dine-and-dash method, but held back because there was a cop eating in there. We arrived home last night around 2 AM, exhausted but feeling good.

I'm leaving this weekend for the next five or six weeks to go to work near Baltimore, and when I return Chris, Korey, and I are going to look for a place to live around Ravenna. The other option is Korey and I finding a place to live in Queens or Brooklyn, but I'm not totally sure if I'm ready for a move like that. I think not being ready might actually propel me to just go for it, and break free from this life I lead. But probably not.

A couple unrelated things I wanted to mention: I bought Minus the Bear's Planet of Ice on gorgeous clear with red splatter double-LP, and I've been listening to the record on my iPod nonstop; it finally clicked with me. Also, I've enabled comments on this blog, for those of you who don't use Blogger (all of you).

I'll post a picture blog when Chris gets them on his computer, so until then...
PEACE!

A name for what I've always known.

2007-08-11T00:51:00.000-04:00

Lately, I've been reading The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac (see title of previous entry, which I'll admit I had hardly the faintest idea of it's true meaning), and it has piqued my interest on a few things that have been in the back of my mind for time immemorial, two ideas in particular: a thirst for adventure (his example: mountainclimbing), and a the necessity to acquire inner peace, Earthly tranquility and a reason to be (he discusses it in the form of Zen Buddhism). Not one to ignore curiousity, I looked a little more into Buddhist fundamentals, discovering startling similarities to my own way of thinking/living.

Now, it is no stretch to say that I'm unaffected by most things that do not reinforce my own beliefs. I am strong-willed and I've self-conviction, and I've believed for many years (all of my adult years) that I can learn very little from others that I cannot learn from myself. As I was reading up, my attention was held by the fact that the dominant doctrines of belief held by the Buddhists are ones that I hold myself, and have held for years, with no prior knowledge of the faith. Upon reading further, I learned a loose definition of what a Buddha is, being, to put it beyond simply, one who learns the truths of the world and of life without being taught, who frees himself entirely from worldly sensations and then goes on to teach others what he has learned. While I am far from achieving Buddhahood, I believe the fundamentals are there and describe me well, and as I continued to read, my opinion on the matter was reinforced time and again.

My own outlined mental analysis of the pains of life is almost identical to that of the Buddhists, and I've spent a majority of the last five years trying to convey a specific portion of it, which they refer to as viparinama-dukkha, or "pain of alteration", being suffering caused by "violated expectations" and "the failure of happy moments to last". 75% of the music I've written over the past few years has been in attempt to encapsulate the latter of the two, though often veiled, and contrary to a popular (but not fundamental) Buddhist belief, stating that pain is simply pain and pleasure is simply pleasure, I believe that pain can and often does come with pleasure and vice versa. This is not relevant to the goal of Buddhism, nor my own indeterminable goal, but I felt it should be mentioned (although a bit more tastefully). I've spent time pondering over every field of dhukka, but considerably less with, though it has been increasingly prevalent in recent months, sankhara-dukkha, or "the pain of formation", which has to do with the mind and things brought on by the conditioned life most are raised within. Still, nothing I didn't already feel.

I came across what is known as "The Four Noble Truths", which are, though poorly translated:

1. All life is suffering.

2. Suffering is caused by desire.

3. To eliminate suffering, eliminate desire.

4. To eliminate desire, follow the Eightfold Path.

The first three of these affirmed once again that I was already engaging in a Buddhist lifestyle without knowing it, and so I had to see what this "Eightfold Path" was all about. All eight are things that already I live by or am trying to live by, and I will leave it up to you to get further information on the subject, if interested. There is one in particular that acted as a sort of slap in the face, and actually, it is possibly what I was seeking out relief from in the first place when I stumbled upon these doctrines. It is referred to as "Right Concentration/Meditation"; essentially, being aware of yourself without distraction or cravings to avert your attention (or lack of attention?). This eighth of me has reciprocated into something much heavier than I can hold and has been keeping me dormant and stagnating for months on end. There may be an answer to breaking free of this somewhere within Buddhism, and I intend to find it, if it exists, and hopefully, afterwards, I'll be free of inhibitions and finally able to find enlightenment. I've known since around the time I turned 19 that this is the one thing holding me back, and though I've made great strides toward defeating it, I haven't yet. I'd like to get it out of the way once and for all, so I can proceed with my life and my journey to self-discovery. I have so many other things I should be using my mind for.

Wish me luck on my quest to enlightenment; I already wish the same unto you.

And yes, Christianity is still fucking retarded.
Read up: Buddhism is antitheism.

Equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha.

2007-08-06T17:14:00.000-04:00

Obviously a lot has happened since my last blog, and with each day I procrastinate, it becomes all the more difficult to write it all out with detail. I've decided to give up on pounding out an incredibly vivid account of the past weeks, and to just touch upon each of the more significant moments that I can recall with a paragraph or two. It's the only way I can think of to clear my head of all the things I wanted to write about and start back on the path of regular updates. So here goes...

The first thing I wanted to mention (on this little to-do list of mine) is that I utterly despise Sidekicks. Most of the people I've spent time with in recent months have heard me bitch about this topic regularly and relentlessly. These awful inventions are destroying personalities all across America; every person I've ever met that owns one has turned into or is turning into a zombie-like shell of the person they once were, or at least a person they could've been. It's a cop out from conversation and sociality, and is similar in effect to curling into a ball or hiding under the bed. The best description I've come up with thus far, and the one I use to describe this phenomenon most often, is that when you're hanging out with a person with a Sidekick, he/she is chatting with some other people about hanging out with them later, and practically ignoring everything around her (definitely not putting anything into the conversation at hand), and then she goes to hang out with the people on the other end of the Sidekick. Once with them, she sits on the Sidekick and chats with the people that she was just with about hanging out sometime soon. It's a neverending cycle, honestly, and the worst part of it is that when I express my discontent to one of these poor souls, he/she will just take it lightly as if I'm joking or just slightly irritated. If you didn't have your head so far up your ass, you would understand that I'm dead fucking serious. You pull out a Sidekick around me and it's minus fifty human being points right off the fuckin' bat... out of fifty-two.

Now, I wouldn't get so upset if this were over one person with a Sidekick problem, but this is way bigger than that, and I can't stress satisfactorily how much it needs to stop. As if people didn't already have enough trouble with social awkwardness! Coincidence would have it that I stumbled into my own bit of social awkwardness at the residence of a Sidekick owner.

A huge part of the problem with me, socially, is that there are people in every local crowd that have fucked me over before, and it's one of the main reasons I've avoided the city of Kent for so long. Chris and I showed up at a small get-together, close to a month ago, and experienced some totally ridiculous silliness that probably should've been documented in some scientific study about the "Todd Moore Effect."

We arrived at the apartment and one of the kids there, the first one I made eye contact with, was this Akron BMX kid/partier who laid the groundwork and eventually fucked my ex-girlfriend (I was dating her at the time). I probably should've beaten his ass for disrespecting me like that (we had met and hung out once or twice before, and he knew she and I had been dating for 8+ months), but that wasn't my perspective and I got over it and pretty much just remained pissed at her for being a whore. I told her time and again what was happening and she refused to hear it, and blah blah blah; I don't want to get into it. So anyway, I came in and greeted him in a pretty friendly manner (being that this happened close to two years ago, and I'm over it) and just tried to kick it and get along with everybody, including this one girl (the one that fucked me up in the previous blog), and I was being cool with her, too. In a matter of minutes, they all migrated outside to chain-smoke until they ran out of cigarettes, leaving only Chris and I chillin' inside. When they came back in, they all walked straight through the room, cold-shouldering me hard as fuck, and headed straight upstairs, where, in all the times that I've gone to this place (and I've kicked it there quite a bit), no one ever really goes to chill. Even our Sidekick-wielding hostess headed up there, not attempting to at all assuage the situation, so Chris and I just said "Fuck it" and left.

I've been hitting up a lot of shows lately, mostly ones put on by the dudes at The Akron-Kent Connection, namely Jordan, Matt and Jesse. The bands they bring in are all pretty decent, and it's nice to have a little organization going on in our community, so I show my support whenever I can. It's given me an opportunity to hang out with people I like a lot but don't see very often, and has inspired me to start playing shows regardless of the fact that the songs I want to play can't really be played without a full band.

At one show that I attended with Chris and Korey, I saw a couple old-school-sounding hardcore bands and a band called Street Smart Cyclist, who were a total Cap'n Jazz ripoff, except with a little more skill and lot less originality, but still fun to watch. I realized on that evening that Chris and I are almost entirely incompatible musically, as he just stood there stiff as a board for a band that was ripping it up. It really bothers me when people go to shows and stand there, arms crossed, not even attempting to give anything a shot that is different from what they listen to. I mean, I already knew that he doesn't like any music that sounds different from the same shit he listens to now, but I just don't think I'm going to go to any shows I like with him anymore if he's going to sulk around the whole time. I swear, I can't mix any of my friends together, and at times it drives me crazy and I just don't want to talk to any of them anymore.

All this showgoing really got me fiending to get back on the circuit myself, so I started playing some cover songs and I wrote 4 simple songs in approximately 5 hours, and decided that if I am ever going to get my shit together, I have to set a goal and just wing it if I'm not ready by then. So we set up a bonfire/house show at Tanner's when his parents left for vacation, and that was that.

Before I get into that, I wanted to mention that there was a huge and incredibly important show two days before mine. THE STARCROSSED played a fucking reunion show! Unreal, I know. I was so psyched, and soooo many people showed up for it. This band called Slide Machine from Columbus opened up, and they were the shit, with a kind've southern-tinged rock with some serious headbang material in there. Annabel followed with their best show to date, playing some badass new songs that were a lot more exciting than their previous material. Then the big finale... THE STARCROSSED. Man, the fucking Starcrossed. They were the band that changed everything for me; before them, I was a stupid-ass punk rock shitbag, and they just blew me away. That was when I knew what I wanted to do and I saw my future in music light up and it all started making perfect sense to me. They made a lot of people feel like that, and their reunion show (though only a one-time thing) represented something more for the people of Kent and Akron: a rebirth. They kicked ass, as always, but the Europe Gyro owners ruined it by being total dicks, reminding us all of what has happened to Kent, and the show ended with cops telling Ahmed, "If you play those drums again, I'm going to arrest you."

Speaking of Ahmed, he just put out a new solo record and it is fucking incredible. The best depiction of it that I can think of is "post-free-jazz", but my preference is to just say that it's the shit. I encourage everyone to go check it out, he plays under the name SINKANE. I absolutely love it.

The day before my show, I got to see one of my favorite people of all time, Ben Kreis. Seriously, best dude ever. We watched a movie called Children of War and mostly just chilled out, but chillin' with Ben is hard to explain in a way that's worth reading, because our conversations are so much more advanced than anything I talk to anyone else about, and I couldn't even begin to start on all the shit we went over. It's always enlightening, talking to him; he has an outlook on life that is really impossible to put a finger on. He just graduated from Case with a degree in Physics, and is soon to be moving to New York to pursue that further, and spending more time doing with his life what I should be doing with mine - accomplishing things. Ah, I really love him and I miss the days when he was around all the time. I never see him anymore. I'm not gay, promise. He made an interesting comparison that I feel deserves a mention; just an easier way to word the general feeling we have toward life. Life is like Tetris; there is no purpose and you can never win, you just keep playing until you die. I have so much more respect for Tetris now.

After I left Ben's, I went over to Matt Herald's new apartment in Kent and kicked with him until around 3 AM. I'd been wanting to get to know Matt better for a long time, and his roommate is pretty kickass, too, so it was rad. We watched an old B-movie about this girl who gets raped by an old pervert as a kid and then becomes mute. She grows up into a pretty fine-ass bitch and gets picked up by a weird dude at a bus stop. He roofies her and while she's all fucked-up gets her hooked on heroin and turns her into his prostitute. The movie takes a turn for the better when you realize that it actually shows real fucking and not just titties. It was pretty funny overall and not as shady as most B-movies, but the slow-motion scenes really started to bore me by the end. I would probably watch it again, but I'd rather not.

So the day after that, Thursday, was the day of my first solo show (it was also Scotty's first show as Army of Vikings). I wrote two more songs in an hour and then headed over to Tanner's to kick it. All in all, it was a success, despite me being incredibly nervous and butchering some of the simplest songs ever written. I ended up playing 12-15 songs when I had only intended to play eight, so it went over pretty well, I suppose. It was a lot of fun and as far as I know, everyone that was there enjoyed themselves. I re-met this kid that I had met years before at a Stiletto show, his name's Phil, and he's actually pretty good at guitar. Maybe I'll play with him in the future? Eh?

So that's pretty much all I have for now, in a nutshell. I've noticed lately that my horoscopes have been dead-on everyday, which is weird because they're obviously bullshit. Hopefully the horoscope for Scorpios today reads "You will come into a large amount of money while sitting on your ass and writing a stupid blog." That sounds about right.

I may have quoted this before, but Ben Franklin once wrote that "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." I have taken this to heart and am trying to change.

Wish me luck,
Todd

Apples & Oranges

2007-07-19T02:37:00.000-04:00

I suppose it is perfectly fitting for me to avoid writing about the only interesting shit that happens in my life. It's hard to write down things that feel so good you can't describe them with words, and it's even harder to write them down when they go sour and feel so bad that you nearly die of heartache. I should say what's on my mind, but it's cloudy so all that comes out are furious spurts of gibberish: Fuck me, Fuck you, Fuck this. I just don't even know where to begin.

I've been trying for a few days now to keep secrets, but it's really the secrets that've been keeping me, drying me out and leaving me even more hollow than before. I can't close my mouth when I'm filled with joy, else I may drown in my own blissful words. Laconics are certainly not one of my strong points, but apparently, judging by this paragraph and the overall feel of the responses people have been giving me lately, neither is articulation. Forget it.

So I'll admit I fell face-first for a girl I had just met. I felt as if my time had finally arrived, my luck had finally changed, and that my true love, which I know could only arrive in a moment of complete spontaneity, was here at last. "The wait is over," I told myself, "I will look no further." And as the day dragged on, the feeling became more and more intense, breaking through to the point of no return. "God damn, this is it!"

I looked up at her, naked there on top of me, and stared straight into her pitch-black pupils; at that moment I could not hold back the widest grin, the most honest smile I've ever put on, as this could be the defining moment of my life. I felt that if this were any indication of the future, I could kiss all my pain goodbye, eternally, and begin living the way I need to be. It was only a few short hours from sunrise, but that night lasted nearly forever, and I mean that in the best of ways.

Alas, as with all instances of happiness, it was as fleeting as dust in the wind; this particular dust just happened to be spores of anthrax. I nearly died twice in one day, once of joy and once of utter despair. I didn't want to be dramatic, but this is my life, and it's priceless, and I refuse to apologize for having emotions and not being able to keep them in. I have no idea how I even survived this day, in all honesty. I really do not.

I still stand by what I've said so many times before: the highs that I hit are the highest there are, but when I hit lows, they're so far down that it's doubtful another human could survive them. I could feel the sweet breath of death through the crack in the door, but it was locked from the other side and he grew tired of waiting. Next time you're mine, and I swear that.

I'm a goddamn fool for digging this hole as deep as I did, knowing that I'm bound to fall in. I spent a few hours clawing at the walls, to no avail, but a friend came and pulled me out. Now I'm about to hop back in for a place to sleep. What is more comfortable than my bed of misery?

I'm not trying to be artsy, but my usual language just doesn't seem suitable here. I don't really give a fuck what you think about this anyway. I can't expect the things that matter to me to matter to anyone else. They never fucking do.

I'll write again when I'm done being a whiny, suicidal bitch.

Dark circles are making a comeback.

2007-07-11T19:21:00.000-04:00

Aye, I've been mad slacking on this shit. I've just been having some serious motivation issues lately, and it's weighing me down something fierce. I'm in dire need of a job and for the first time in my life, my thoughts have been occupied with monetary concerns. It's no way to live, man, lemme tell ya'.

As my bank account dwindles, my credit card debt accumulates, and my wallet's bulimia gets progressively worse, I start looking around for ways to get money without putting forth any real effort. I decided to make a move and bust out my old poker skills to bring in some income, and I made forty bucks in about four hours, with relative ease. If it was more reliable and there were games every night, I wouldn't have to worry about finding a job at all; I'd just let bitchez throw their money at me.

That night (Friday?), I finished up with cards around 1 in the AM and went over to Shan and Ashley's place in Kent to chill with Chris and Co., and ended up drinking a bit over there (not much, but still). It was pretty fun, at any rate. I stayed up a little later than most everyone else and wound up getting fucked by this girl who complains about my over/misuse of semicolons but currently has the improper form of "your" in her AIM profile. I tried pretty hard not to get mah dick wet, but it got to the point where I'd get blue balls if I didn't do something. As a result, I pulled some minuteman shit and embarrassed myself (rather, I should've been embarrassed but didn't really care that much). That's what ya get, woman, attacking me when I'm most vulnerable. Pshttttttttttttttttttttt.

So anyway, I woke up the next day at, like, 7 PM (I didn't get home until roughly 9:30 AM, with zero sleep under my belt), reflecting to myself that it was a pretty good day, overall, with the money and vagina and such. I went over to Kluge's to chill with all those dudes and, though it was meant to be just a couple people, it became that thing in between a small crew and a big party that just sucks ass. I didn't drink at all, which was nice, and Chris and I jammed in the basement and decided that I will probably play drums for his band. It's a pretty kickass thing to have happen, considering drums are the one instrument I've never really had an opportunity to excel at, and now I've got this perfect chance to get good and rock the fuck out. w00t!

The following morning, Sunday, I started to analyze my life and the things that I've been deeming as "good". I've been trying to shake this shit from my system since then; thinking that a night where I win money off a bunch of burnouts and get laid is a good one. I used to be a pretty respectable man, or so I thought, and I never got satisfaction from the petty bullshit that makes other people feel good. I still get no pleasure from this kind of activity, but for some reason I deemed that as an excellent evening. It just shows how far I've fallen off the path I set myself out upon. I'll get back there, just you wait!

We lost both our Megatron Kick games that day, as well, effectively ending our season and our team. We had a hella rally, but just couldn't pull it through this time around. Oh, well!

At night, Chris, Korey and I either watched a movie or drove around aimlessly (or both), I can't quite recall. The next day Chris and I practiced and got one of the songs down pretty well, then drove about 40,000 miles to the middle of nowhere and back. Yesterday, Korey and I hung out late and played a little basketball. I wore shoes with no socks and it sucked just as bad as it did when I was a kid. See, I remember things, but I just can't recall the order in which they happened. Yet another reason for me to keep up on this GAWD DAMN journal.

Today, Chris and I practiced a little bit, and some with Kevin, too. I didn't go out looking for a job. Korey never called me, so we never hung out. I've just been sitting here for three or four hours, wasting away away away away away. I'm getting tired, I'm getting depressed, the sun's going down; coincidence? I think not, I not think, not think I, think I not, not I think? Fuck.

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

2007-07-05T17:50:00.000-04:00

There are two reasons for the extended neglect of this blog; the first being Teddy's parents on vacation, and me crashing at their house for nearly an entire week. The house is massive and Teddy quit his job to spend the whole week with Chris and me, trying to get parties going on everynight. Of course, none of us are overly popular and we don't really know how to get a good party going on, so most of the time it was a bust. Still, a kickass week.

So it's no secret that I've been drinking a lot lately, but I guess I just don't give a fuck. It's not like I'm going to start doing it regularly again, but 4 out of 7 days is a pretty bad record, especially for me. I feel a lot fucking better than I have been, anyhow, so what's it matter?

Regardless, I've been slacking and generally just letting myself down, even though the repercussions haven't really hit me yet. It was nice to spend a few days with my dudes just chillin' and talkin' about life and killin' time. We even had an old-school Todd Moore group crying session. Life is rough, fuck!

Note: I'm in the midst of a campaign to cut down on semicolons, so please forgive me if my writing is excessively incoherent.

ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYWAY!
After my week at Teddy's, I went with my 'rents to Niagara Falls for a couple days. So there's my other reason for being gone so long. Korey commented that I'm such an anti-American that I went to Canada for our Independence Day; I truthfully didn't plan it out that way, but it's a pretty kickass coincidence, eh?

It was definitely weird spending that much time consecutively with my family, as I haven't for at least four or five years. We were within ten feet of each other for the entirety of three days, the only exception being when I left for a bit whilst they were asleep to start reading Kerouac's The Dharma Bums. So far I'm pretty happy with it, as it is for the same level reader as On The Road, whereas some of his other material requires a bit more extensive knowledge of the world; something I don't have much of, having delved into seclusion for the majority of my years.

I had every intention to make this blog an extensive one, but so much has happened over the course of the past two weeks that not only am I encountering great difficulty in finding a place to begin, I'd have to write a book to encompass all the thoughts I've had and things I've been doing. Frankly, it's a book that's not really worth writing, but the things in it bear some personal weight. So I'll just let it stay personal and hope to be better about it in the future. It's just so hard to write in retrospect when I care most about here and now. I'll figure it out someday.

Until then...

Things aren't so bad.

2007-06-25T01:48:00.000-04:00

I'm a little bummed that I opted out of blogging yesterday, I definitely would've had a lot to say; I didn't think I'd have two thought-provoking days in a row. It's been sooo long. I certainly won't be able to recall all the finer details of yesterday and by the time I get to today, I'll probably be too tired to get into it. Fuck it.

After going to the Spaghetti Warehouse, which was delicious but had terrible service, I had my mom drop me off over at Korey's, where I thought he'd be sleeping; we had planned to go get my car, which I left at Kluge/Kevin/Paul's house after the party. So she left and I knocked and rang the doorbell for a minute before grabbing the key and heading in to wake his bitch-ass up. Of course, no one was home and now I was at least an extra mile away from my car; it was a nice day and I had my iPod with me so I decided to make the trek.

Listening to music in headphones is crazy, if you haven't done it for a while; everything sounds hella clearer and you notice a lot of things that are seemingly distinct but oft-overlooked. It makes me feel as if I'm in my own world and completely separate from everything and everyone else; it's incredibly humbling, in its own right. I walked for miles over the concrete and grass, stepping over the trash that collects on sewer grates and ducking under trees and feeling the breeze, pleased and at peace with the scenery surrounding me; briefly, at least, I felt the sweet relief of clarity.

I arrived at my car and Korey called me simultaneously; we talked for a while outside of the Sheetz. It was nice aside from our chattering teeth; it's cold even in June in the Ohio Northeast. I'm so glad he's here now, when I need him most.

Today I awoke feeling shitty and knew that today would not be great but with hope that tonight would turn out alright. We won both of our Megatron Kick games today, but I hardly played; I was pretty fucking furious but could hardly complain. If I don't stop rhyming like this I'm going to go fucking insane. I don't even know where that shit comes from.

After the games we went to Pulp and it was, as always, fucking delicious. Jamie took a quick shower whilst we looked at some pictures he had taken of us, then we took him to work. Korey went home to shower and I headed back to do the same. Of course, being the prompt and reliable person I am, I decided to play volleyball with kids less than half my age for half an hour instead of showering, even though Korey said he'd be over in a few minutes. It was a lot of fun, and using his superb rationale, Korey compensated for my speediness by waiting an hour to come. I still wasn't out of the shower by the time he got there; but, oh well. We played badminton for a bit and it was sweet as fuck. Badminton is the shit.

It was after nine when we left to go search out something to do, forgetting, of course, that it's Sunday; God fucked everything up on Sunday. Thanks a lot, you fucking bitch! We decided to go to Burger King, of all places, and chow down on some fast food that I haven't eaten in a long-ass time. We idled around there for a hour or so, talking about everything; then we hit the road back to my house.

We spent a lot of time talking about the way things are, and we both came to the conclusion that things aren't quite as bad as we've been making them out to be. It's the kind of revelation I think we both needed, but nothing has been cured yet; we're just taking baby steps toward being OK. I suppose I've forgotten to mention that Korey feels just as fucked as I do, with the addition of $20,000 of school debts in place of the whole "no job, no money, no license" thing that I've got going on. What a duo!

We kept talking for over an hour after he said he should get home and to bed for work in the morning; things were just flowing well. I've felt pretty alright for almost three days now and I'm going to do what I can to keep that rolling. Stay optimistic, as much as possible, until I get my shit together. Come on, baby, c'mon; you've got this!

I'm about ready to call it a night, folks. Take it easy.

VIGOR!

2007-06-23T15:11:00.001-04:00

Sometimes it takes a little wrong to feel alright again. Today I awoke feeling fresh and lively; quite a relief after the excess of alcohol I consumed last night. I looked in the mirror and saw myself as if the cloud had been lifted; my balls got bigger, my abs got tighter, and I've got some hair on my head where I thought there'd never be hair again. Ah, what a difference a little difference can make!

I don't have a whole lot of time to write, but I felt I must do what I can to encapsulate this feeling; I may not be as fucked as I thought I was! Too many hours spent in front of this screen have been weighing me down, keeping me from achieving some sort of happiness by bringing me to a comatose, zombie-like state; no job, no license, busy friends and a computer can make a man forget how to speak. No more!

It was Kevin Cline's 22nd birthday party, and all sorts of familiar faces were there; predominantly people I wasn't friends with from high school. I showed up three-fourths of the way through a bottle of Barefoot Merlot, and it was a blast. They had Jell-O shots, and that's when I knew it was on; I ate just about all of them, and they were strong, just the way I like 'em. I made three dollars eating an onion like an apple; which is hardly a challenge for a guy who'll suck a dick for thirty bucks!

But for real, shit's good today. I gotta go eat some dinna' at Spaghetti Warehouse! HELL YES!

PEACE!

Damon Che's Haircut

2007-06-22T17:09:00.000-04:00

Regulating my sleep didn't end up happening the other day; though everything went as planned and got to sleep relatively early that evening, I'm already back to staying up past dawn. Shitty, but hey, what's new?

So I rode with James to his dentist appointment in the AM, and after he went to work at 12ish, I came home and chilled for a bit to scope out the day's potential. Chris called and we went to El Campesino for some delicious eats, then just drove around listening to some solid hip-hop until he had to go to work at six. This was timed fairly well, as Korey had simultaneously come home from work. WORK WORK WORK WORK WORK - it's always the same. It's a lot of work just working with everyone's work schedules; another reason for me to avoid getting a job.

Korey and I mostly just hung around his house and chilled a bit, but eventually we decided to go for a walk. I'd seen sometime somewhere on some map that there is a pond in Ravenna called Collins' Pond, and it's pretty close to where I live; we went out searching for the only thing in this town we haven't already found. I had scouted the possible location earlier this year but didn't want to go searching for it solo; so we headed to this private road off Rt. 44. We found some pretty gnar woods, a lot of land to be explored, but the bugs were unbearable; they probably don't see a whole lot of humans back there. All in all, it was a nice walk and it helped to pass the time.

We talked a lot about plans; mainly plans for the escape of this conventional world, this day-to-day struggle to hold on to your sanity. It was envigorating but still so farfetched that it brought about that uneasy air of hopelessness; it's just so difficult to break free from all the bullshit.

We walked around for a little longer and found a fucking foetid pond behind Rivers' Towing; it was foul but there was a lot of interesting shit back there. It seemed to be a scene straight out of a movie; a graveyard of cars, a reeking algae-ridden pond, and two friends walking through, obeying their instinct of exploration. We've had so many moments like these over the years...

The day came to a close and I got to bed around two, which is very early for me; still, I woke up at eleven and proceeded to do nothing for a few hours. Marta came down from Cleveland and we went up to The Lime Spider for the Don Cab show; most of my favorite people were up there, so it was nice. Concordia Discors opened and they were 10000x better than the last couple times I saw them; I've totally been in the mood for that sort of grinding insanity, too, so that was undoubtedly a factor leading to my overall enjoyment. My knees felt like Jell-O after their set and I was thankful.

There are a lot of stories out there about how Damon Che (the drummer of Don Caballero) is an arrogant prick, but I didn't find this to be the case; he's just a regular douchebag. His fucking haircut... ahhhahahahhaha. It's amazing how a bunch of old, fugly washups can make such ass-smashing music, but they do; though I'm certain I could play their songs a helluva lot better than the guitarist... he was fucking terrible. Their set was still awesome.

And today I've done nothing at all AGAIN. I'm supposed to play some poker tonight, and I shouldn't have a problem whoopin' up on this bunch of flunkeys and making a little extra dough for myself. I'm way out of practice, but I think I can handle it.

I'm out...PEACE!

I'm in the middle

2007-06-20T04:33:00.000-04:00

...of my first attempt to regulate my sleep schedule. For the past few months I've been up until dawn almost every night of the week; I'm going to stick it out tonight and just go about my business tomorrow without any sleep. Anyway, what use is rest if I don't ever do anything? I tried to save up a bunch of shit to write about in preparation for this loooong night, but there's no more to write about now than any other time I'd sit down to crank this out. Oh well...

I love my uncle Tim. He and my aunt Bonnie dropped by to dine with the fam yesterday, which is sort of a big deal since they rarely come around. They moved to South Carolina around the time my brother was born (1994), and it's a major bummer that I never really got to spend a lot of time with him. He is by far the realest person in my family, and perhaps the only one I can truly relate to; you know how we freethinkers have a sixth sense for finding each other. You can just tell when someone actually cares.

He is undoubtedly one of the most personable people I've ever met; in fact, Tim coming to town is just about the only way to get our whole family together. Aside from his general amiability, he's a great role model for everyone. When his son Danny came out (he likes wang), it was a really tough time for him and his wife, but he came out stronger and more respectable than ever; and instead of just claiming to, he really does love his son just the same, never showing the slightest contempt. They are damn good parents, and proud of their children. Tim and Bonnie are a picture perfect couple, one of those that you know will never be broken, or even unhappy; they make movies like The Notebook about that kind of love.

After saying my goodbyes, I went and played basketball nigh continuously from six o'clock until midnight; wrecked my body something fierce, but it was exhilarating. I came home, looking to get some serious sleep, but it just wasn't in the cards; stayed up well into daylight hours. I noticed a significant drop in my sex drive after ballin' all day, which brings me to believe that testosterone drains as much from athletic competition as it does from pure coital activity. Gnar! I needed to find a way to knock this shit out, since I haven't been fucking lately.

On the subject of bodily chemicals, I read an interesting bit on Wikipedia the other day about pheromones. Under the section about sex pheromones in animals (not proven in humans), it says that the male emits chemicals that transmit genetic information to possible partners, so as to avoid inbreeding among the species. Immediately, I knew that this is what makes the best girls go for the biggest douchebags; it also states in the article that while pregnant, the female spends time with people more similar to her. I believe this explains why girls tend to hop on mah nuts when they start to get overly depressed and once they're comfortable and happy again, they leave. I could just be trying to rationalize with scientific bullshit my failure to find a woman, though.

That's really all I have for now. I'm taking Jamie to another one of his dentist appointments in three hours, so I'mma go shower and puh-puh-powernap before I head out. L8Z

Man, I'm really starting to run out of things to write about.

2007-06-17T22:29:00.000-04:00

The thing about blogs is that you can start with just about anything, no matter how frivolous it is, and (occasionally) turn it into something worth reading; I could never really do that when I wrote in journals. On paper, there always had to be some semi-important event that occurred before I would take the time to sit down and punch it out; and as you probably know by now, those don't happen to me too often. Plus, my brain works a helluva lot faster than my hands ever could; so I'd lose all sorts of juicy details that become irrecoverable almost instantaneously. It also doesn't help that my handwriting looks like this.

I mentioned before that I can't ever remember anything. This blog is mostly an effort to document my life and a very small portion of my thoughts; though I'd like to be able to meet new people through it if I can. I think folks can relate to blogs way more than they could relate to a Myspace or Last.fm or Facebook or whatever else there is out there; on those websites you can convey an image or add some obscurity to make yourself look all artsy-fartsy, whereas here you gotta just be real as fuck and hope you don't sound like an ass when you do it. I'm all about keeping it real.

The concept of meeting people here, although I feel it's a good one, has one major flaw: It doesn't work. In fact, it has served the opposite effect; I have become even more of a recluse than before. Now I don't even try to go out, and I certainly haven't been great to talk to; the things I try to talk about are already written in my blog, so if you've read it... yea. It's quite a conversation killer.

Megatron Kick played a double-header today, and we lost both games; yet another let down for my beloved softball team. I don't really want to talk about it, I just wanted to mention that I did leave the house for a while and didn't just sit around all day like a fucking loser. Afterwards, I was left with no energy and a terribly sore foot; that's when I started sitting around like a fucking loser. Life is just so depressing anymore.

Earlier this morning, before the game, I came to the conclusion that I dislike all my friends and, in fact, can't really label anyone as a friend at all (except maybe Korey/James/Chris). Honestly, all the people I know, I could do and should do without; every single person is fucked up and not looking to get any better. I was talking to Jamie today about how some people can judge and try to better themselves without needing outside influence, and how weird it is that some people do not; I didn't realize at the moment to what extent that this is found to be truth. I still forget that not everyone thinks like me; it reminds me again that I've to be happy with only myself in this world, because there's never going to be anyone I can relate to, or be happy with, or even expect to understand me.

Fuck it, I've always known I'd be alone before long; it's just a matter of sooner or later. The bad shit always comes sooner; for some reason I just keep thinking that maybe it will get better. Ben Franklin once wrote, "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." I suppose that's inspiration enough for me to know that I can't go on like this forever; the sooner I'm gone, the better.

I feel a big change coming; probably the biggest of my life. I will welcome it with open arms.

I love Scrabble.

2007-06-16T22:29:00.000-04:00

I'm no good right now, but I really, really love scrabble. I didn't write in here yesterday 'cause I was totally freakin' over Scrabulous.com. Hit me up sometime and we'll duke it out!

Aside from that, I did nothing yesterday except dwell over completely random thoughts. I was thinking about how strange it is that everyone has their own particular scent; I mean, it's a scent you can't describe as anything but "_____'s scent". I started thinking about this one girl from high school who had one reminiscent of farts covered up with cheap perfume; she was pretty hot, so everytime that burning sensation filled my nostrils, I felt a sort of strange excitement. Still, it got me worrying about what my personal aroma is; I certainly hope it doesn't smell like farts mixed with anything.

The thing is, you can never smell your own scent; 'cause you're always covered in it. You also can't tell any of your friends how they smell, for it's a hard thing to take in (I know, that's what she said) regardless of whether the odor's pleasant or not-so-nice. I just find it to be a peculiar thing; worth mentioning as much as anything else, I suppose.

Today, my immediate family and I went to my cousin Jeremy's graduation party. I usually avoid family gatherings, but this one is unique, so I had to go; it signifies the end of our "generation". Jeremy was the cousin I was closest with growing up, the one I did all those "boys will be boys" kind of things with, and after him the line is drawn; there are no more kids who were around when we were little. It's kills me to think back to the way things used to be, and how everyone takes their own separate routes in life; it sucks that I had to choose the one that leads to my inevitable demise.

I'm just going to come out and say it: Everyone has that hot relative that you think about way more than you should. My particular hot cousin is soooo fucking hot; I'm not saying I'd make a move on her, but if she were to say "Fuck me", I'd be on her like Flash Gordon. I don't care what anybody thinks; I'd do almost anything to slap them hams. Y'all knew I was fucked up anyway, so what's it to ya'?

Seriously, though, it was a sentimental day for me. It didn't help that everyone was asking "How are you?" and "What are you doing with yourself?" As an adult, I had to give an honest response while still keeping up the general friendly vibe; so how do you explain to your family that you have no job, no money, no license, no friends, no motivation, and you don't intend to ever work again, limiting your options to hobo life or an early death? I just settled for "Uh, I'm alright, I guess; not up to much of anything..."

I finally realized the new Six Parts Seven record, Casually Smashed to Pieces, before I was went to bed last night; it's so sparse and light, but the subtleties really started digging into me when I played it on vinyl. The low bass is fucking awesome, but you can never really feel it unless it's played through a nice stereo. Once that kicked in, I was hooked; I listened to it all day today, while I was getting ready and on the way to my aunt's house. It sounds great through headphones, too; perfect thinking music.

So all in all, today was not very exciting, but bearing some personal significance to me; perhaps even more than I realized. I'm about to go hang out with some peeps, so I'll have to holla at y'all again later.

luvyaz,
toddddy

Updates

2007-06-15T00:35:00.000-04:00

So in the past couple days I've learned that when you take time off from writing, just like jogging or working, it becomes incredibly hard to get motivated enough to start again. Regardless of how much I enjoying I finishing these things, I always dread the beginning. I hate that I have to fall into routine just to get by these days; I swear to myself that I'll find a way out of it.

The last couple days have been pretty humdrum; though I suppose no more so than any of the other days I write about. The past week has been uncharacteristically rough, though; I've been experiencing a strange sort of enervation, in both body and mind. I can't really put a finger on what it is, but it's a very scary kind of sickness, and the exhaustion from simply trying to keep myself moving throughout the days has prevented me from even attempting to write anything.

Let me explain myself a bit further: I was over at Jamie's two days ago, and I started feeling extremely weak; so, in an attempt to get my energies up, I started walking around the yard. I came to a standing position and almost immediately fell, face-first, into the dirt. I caught myself on the way down(a last-ditch effort to prevent injury), but I was out as soon as my head hit the grass. Now, I'm no Howie Mandel, but I'm certainly not a stranger to mysophobia; in fact, this was probably the only time in my life that I've spent more than two seconds lying on the bare Earth. When you're too tired to be afraid of anything, it's safe to say that you're too tired to be awake at all. The strange part of this is that lately I've been sleeping and eating healthier than ever before.

Does this seem weird to anyone else, or is it just irrational fear coming from the hypochondriac that I've found myself to be?

So that has been my major impedance for the past couple days; I've been running on adrenaline and testosterone as often as possible in an effort to force the fatigue from my body. I've been drumming and jerking off and playing a shit-ton of basketball to try to keep my heart rate up. Did I mention I love basketball?

Speaking of basketball, The Cavs lost the NBA Finals tonight; and they were fucking SWEPT. It was some pathetic shit, lemme tell ya, I'm hella disappointed; guys, you've gotta' win at least one! The Cleveland Curse rears its ugly head, once again.

In less-depressing news, I got two new records in the mail this week: The City on Film's In Formal Introduction and The Locust's New Erections. New Erections totally stomps box, as well as being the most badass-looking record I've ever seen; it's clear vinyl with this crazy burst of blue tulip-shaped marks. I was going to mention how cool the City on Film record looked until this one came in... now I don't even feel like explaining it.

I've been going old-school since I got this record player; it has fully resurrected my love for punk rock music. I feel as if I've awoken from a coma; now it's time to see who's been fucking my wife! All this punkin' has inspired me to do a cover record (it's been a long time comin'), with indie-fied versions of the classics: Operation Ivy, Minor Threat, Crimpshrine, and Misfits are all sure to be targets of my manipulation, as well as any other punk treasures I can dig up. Yes!

Still on the subject of resurrections, I've saved the best for last. Korey and I hung out all day yesterday; first to get his drug test for work, and then just trying to pass the time... mostly jamming (not that kind of jamming) and listening to records. We seemed to have stumbled upon a gold mine and created most of what will be the first MGX song in over six years! For those of you unfamiliar with MGX, we created the classic song "That Last Turn's a Bitch" as a tribute to the late, beloved Dale Earnhardt. This new song touches upon the topics of faith, money, and struggle. I'll keep ya' updated... you won't want to miss this!

I left Korey's and returned to my quiet residence around midnight, exhausted from having hardly slept the previous night and still fucked-up from that illness I've been suffering from, intending to retire rather promptly to my bed. Instead, Chris called me at about 12:30 AM and asked if I'd like to go running, to which I responded, "Okay," without the slightest tinge of reluctance; funny how easily I can be shaken from something I was so set on doing. I guess anything is better than sleeping your life away. We ran for awhile and it was surprisingly pleasant; I'd never gone out running at night before... it's definitely more refreshing without the sun beating down on you.

You'd think, as tired as I was prior to the jog, that I'd be out as soon as I got home; but that's just not the Todd Moore way. I delved into conversation(soon becoming furious) and spat out that rant just below this one, keeping me up until ~4:30 AM. Brilliant, especially because I had to get up fairly early today to go to some job fair downtown, which was pointless except for the free hot dog I got from the doorman. After that, James and I played ball at City Park with a bunch of dudes until he had to go to work; it was 4:30 PM when I got home, and the lack of sleep finally caught up with me. I did nothing at all today except listen to that Locust record and watch the Cavs get stomped.

That's it for now. PEACE!

FUCK

2007-06-13T01:52:00.000-04:00

Well, I didn't realize it was possible, but I finally found something that infuriates and causes more anxiety to me than Christian assholes: Realizing one of your good friends really has no idea who you are and the one thing that you have in common, you don't have in common at all. If you have the nerve to talk down on the things that I love and believe in most and that are many pieces of the puzzle that defines me as a human being, ESPECIALLY if I consider you a friend and your means of shit-talking is to block out my words and perpetuate your own ignorance to all ends, you are lucky to be on the opposite end of a computer connection and not in my face; for it's likely that I'd knock you the fuck out. Don't ever fucking deride me like this again. I'm not an angry person at all, and I don't see violence as an answer for much of anything; however, I'm offended as much as I would be if I had an asshole stepfather and he hit my mom. These are things that, if witnessed, warrant a healthy asswhooping.

Of course, you would never have the balls to say anything along these lines to my face, as I would smother you with rebuttals so fast that you'd be forced give up your bullshit stance on the situation and recede into the nearest corner or cave and shut the fuck up. Computers have proven themselves useful to me once again, as a means to draw out the true thoughts of punks who talk out of their asses. If I only had a dime for every time I believed in someone and they let me down...

Dude, you just need to stop being such a pessimistic shitbag. It seems as though you try to find out what other people like just so you can say you hate it, and you always give some lame, baseless response when queried as to what it is you dislike about it so much. If you don't know anything about a band, don't act like you've sampled their entire catalog and determined that they just don't have anything good about them. You rarely have any idea what you're talking about; and yet, you're so heavily opinionated. Just grow up and stop acting like a 15-year-old Hot Topic customer.

My friends are supposed to be intelligent and understanding; not closed-minded and arrogant. That's what makes them my friends; why associate with people who are fucking pricks when there are billions of other people in the world? I guess I must be confused, because everyone I've known that had the capability to reach greatness has become a hermit, a wage-slave, an alcoholic, a pothead, a Christian, or an egotistical cuntrag. If more people refused to give up and/or stopped themselves from becoming assholes, the world wouldn't suck half as bad as it does. There comes a time when you have to get better at what you are or give yourself up. Don't fucking give up.

I'm starting to cool off now and, by the looks of that last paragraph, going off on a another tangent. When you read this, don't reply or mention anything to me in regards to it; either take it to heart and change yourself or ignore it and be content with knowing that you let me down and that we won't be friends before long.

Fuck who you are right now; I'm sick of it.
Change, or I'm out. PEACE!

One thing I overlooked

2007-06-11T12:27:00.000-04:00

When I shaved my head, I didn't think much about the exposed skin on the back of my neck. Needless to say, I learned my lesson pretty quickly; the sun has given me quite a scolding for my lack of foresight. My little ears are also victims of my neglect.

Aside from that, yesterday was nice. We had softball practice in the morning and, along with the sunburn, I received a massive welt on my left forearm. I'm remembering why I stopped doing vigorous physical activity; I get fucked-up way too easily. I ain't a pussy, though, so I still had a lot of fun.

After practice, Korey and I drove up to Chapel Hill, the usual destination; I wish with all my lil' heart that there was no "usual destination", "usual route", or "usual anything". All the signs are pointing to me getting the fuck out of Dodge. Regardless of this, Korey had never been to Square Records, so we headed up there; another one of my "usual destinations". Although I'm bummed about the lack of variety in my life, I don't think I'd feel bad if I went to Square every day, 'til Death has its way with me. The peculiar thing about this endeavour is that our goal was to find some old Misfits records; it took me a while to realize it, but Glenn Danzig is the shit. While there, I picked up Clikatat Ikatowi - Orchestrated and Conducted, Elliott Smith - Either/Or, and Leadbelly - The Library of Congress Recordings; all on wax, of course. Now I can mark Either/Or off my list of CDs to convert to vinyl. Yes!

The best part of the day was when Korey gave me one of his turntables(as mine has been broken for almost three years), finally giving purpose to this beautiful collection I've acquired. The first record I put on was the Clikatat Ikatowi LP I bought, and it was like a dream come true. I had only heard one of their songs prior to this (thanks Epitonic) and was not expecting them to be half as awesome as they are. I've never realized the added low-end clarity that vinyl recordings provide, but lemme tell ya, it makes all the difference. I am a complete vinyl junkie, once again! Thank Korey for me if you see him around!

After that Korey had to head home, so I went over to Nick's (one of my Megatron Kick teammates) house and ate the most delicious ribs I've ever had. Nick and I are not friends (we're about as similar as Malcolm X and Larry the Cable Guy), but for some reason we are completely tolerant of each other...we infielders have to stick together. Nick's father was there and manohman, he is a crazy asshole; right off the bat I felt a lot more comfortable, being a die-hard asshole myself. Although his dad completey was ridiculous and amusing, I felt bad for Nick; I finally understand why he can be such a shithead. Being raised by this guy must've been hell.

After the tasty dinner, James, Nick and I watched the Cavs receive a thorough asswhoopin' from the Spurs. I have to say it was one of the most embarrassing things I have ever Witnessed; Jamie and I gave up on watching it by halftime and decided to go play a little ball of our own.

We hit up our usual court, found a bunch of kids there, and got a game of 3-on-3 going. My team won (obviously, or I'd leave this part out of the story). In your face, Jamie!

In news regarding my health: I'm dying.

So all in all, the day was probably not worth writing about (and I almost didn't), but I was so stoked on getting a new record player that I had to get it out. Forgive me if you wasted your time reading this... one day I'll write something you won't want to miss, I promise!

Until next time...
PEACE!

Now that I've regained my composure

2007-06-10T00:24:00.000-04:00

...I can actually try to write something that isn't layered thick with angst. Yesterday wasn't a particularly bad day; I just let my mind get the best of me. Whenever I think too hard about anything, I start to lose it; I just keep coming to same conclusion. I find the same results every time I analyze anything to the furthest extent of my mind. Knowing there is nothing unique in this universe is a crippling piece of information for me.

I try not to let it get me down, though, because it's not always true. It's strange, but the greatest truth there is can be erased through alternate perspectives. This is probably a major clue in helping to solve the riddle: Why is Todd Moore so fucked up? Could it be that I don't always believe in the thing I believe in most of all? Man, I'm starting to feel like a Christian... except not dumb. I know, I know: it's an oxymoron.

Yesterday was almost as uneventful as today. In fact, it was so bland that I don't even remember any of it, save playing a little basketball and sinking into a deep depression. Have I mentioned that I rarely remember anything unless I write it down? Yea, and I haven't written regularly in over a year. I wonder what sweet memories I'm missing out on...

Ohhhh yea, I can recall one other detail from yesterday; I finally broke down and downloaded a leaked copy of Minus the Bear's upcoming record, Planet of Ice. I was starting to get pretty sick of hearing all these people talk about it; people that I know won't ever buy it. Well, I will fucking buy it, because I choose to show respect for the artists who bust their asses to make shit that is actually worth listening to. Most of you have no idea, nor will you ever have any idea how difficult it is to actually make a quality piece of music; let alone know how incredible an achievement it is to put together a solid band and keep it up. Music piracy can get me so heated; I mean, it's not like I'm siding with Lars Ulrich... we all know he's a fucking douchebag. It's one of those cases where two people come to an agreement for totally different reasons; one being rational and respectable, and the other fueled by some ulterior motive (greed).

Oh, you were wondering about the record? It took a few listens, as it is quite a departure from their earlier material, but I love it. The music is not quite as complex and is definitely way more low-key, but they pull it off well. My main beefs with the record are the effects-laden vocals and overly repetitious lyrics. It seems as if Mr. Snider was drawing a bit of a blank on this one; pretty disappointing, as he is one of my all-time favorite singers. It's still good, don't get me wrong... I just expected better.

Nothing happened today, but it still felt okay, for the most part. I stuck around the homestead and spent more time with the family than I have in months. My brother and I played catch with this weird frisbee for a while and it was nice to actually spend some quality time with him. For as much as I see him, we rarely speak; he's just not interested in me, I guess. I'm a boring motherfucker, so I don't blame him. My one great accomplishment of the day was whooping my family in Scrabble. Ah, the sweet taste of victory.

In other news: I must be getting sick; perhaps the new diets I'm trying to instill to improve my health are backfiring, or my body is taking its sweet time to adjust to the difference. I've been in horrible shape for a year+, and it has been getting progressively worse, no matter what I do; too much more and I see hospitalization as a real possibility. I thought I was just somaticizing for the longest time, but now I'm beginning to think it is quite the opposite; or maybe it's both? That sounds like the kind of situation I'd get stuck in.

Alright, enough whining. I had a lot of things in mind for this blog and I didn't say any of them. I must assess the situation further; I'll get back to this when I figure it all out. Wish me luck.

Ahhhhhhh

2007-06-09T02:25:00.000-04:00

My mind is a mess tonight, but it always is when I go searching through the remains of things I've written in the past few years. I was so much more confident in my writing and in my music before I started over-analyzing everything; it's so fucking tiring, seeing all the cheap copies people make of every original thing that comes about. I developed such a fear of becoming one of these clones that I just stopped creating altogether. I've never recovered from this, as you could probably tell by the fact that I haven't produced a single piece of recorded music for over two years; aside from some rough acoustic demos of songs that I swear to myself I'll finish someday. I'll never finish them.

Creating and maintaining this blog is an attempt at enforcing positive habits of production. If I can author a massive wealth of word-works, I can begin subtly sneaking in the more personal things that I'm afraid cannot stand on their own. Maybe someday someone will see the beauty of these minute details that I consider to be the most defining pieces of me as a man; perhaps someone could finally come close to understanding me, or at least be inspired enough to make an effort. Either way, it feels good to let even a little of it out.

I really debated with myself whether or not to write in here tonight, as I am in possibly the worst mindset that I could be in, and I'm so fucking tired. My wit is about as dry tonight as Hillary Clinton's pussy would be after spending a week in Death Valley with only salt cubes for food. In this condition, I know that eloquence is out of the picture, and my energies are entirely negative; so interesting thoughts are not likely to occur to hold anyone's attention. These are the moments (and a moment can stretch on forever) when I really crave death, but I'm not a pussy so I usually force myself to sleep. But seriously, what is the point?

The strongest part of me knows the truth about this world, and it takes all of the other parts to subdue it, keep it in check. God damn, it is so tiring. In the words of a million other people, "I'm tired of being tired, I'm sick of being sick." I shaved my head and my eyes reminded me how much I've been hiding. Oh, how long I've been hiding.

The reason I forced myself to write this is because this is the absolute worst side of me, a facet I try to kill every moment of my waking life; but it is me, nonetheless. I am less than alone, for I don't even have myself to pass time with.

It's useless to go on here, as I can't even pinpoint the things that cause this, at least not enough to make them viable to anyone but myself. I'm fucking miserable. At least I finally took a stab at it.

I'll write again in the morning if I feel like a human being.

Day #7522 of my life

2007-06-08T02:44:00.000-04:00

Following every great change in life is a day of revelation. Today was no exception to that rule; though the most revelatory aspects came from unlikely sources. The shaving of the head is much more than just getting a haircut to me; it signifies so many personal changes and has completely altered my perspective of myself, of life, and of people. It's funny how such frivolous things can have so great an impact on a man.

I suppose it started like any other day, except that I have vague recollections of my brother creeping into my room and chuckling to himself with his beaming smile of metal and white. At least I'm not going through puberty like your Green Day-loving ass, you goofy fucker. Today was Tanner's 21st [cringe] birthday, and he showed up at my house around 2:30 PM to go out and do a lil BMXing for a bit, before the customary celebratory dinner with his fam. I thought something was a little off from the get-go, as he said he'd be over around 1, and I can't recall him ever coming late to an arrangement with me. In fact, he's usually criticizing my inability to get moving. He wasn't laughing his usual laugh (which sounds very similar to the reaction you'd get from a retard after an exaggerated fart), and he was being exceptionally nice; something I consider to be a sign of sickness, weakness, discomfort, or, most often, fraudulence. In the case of Tanner, it is an example of three-drinks-deep behavior.

I watched him go from being overly nice to overly drunk in approximately 30 minutes. I think the bike ride helped speed the process along considerably, as he was laughing his retard-fart laugh in no time at all. Apparently he'd visited James just prior to coming over and they killed a whole bottle of SoCo in about half an hour; something I knew would come back to haunt me in a few hours.

Tanner's drunkenness didn't stop me from enjoying my bike ride, as he mostly just kept to himself, and a little bit behind. I was reveling in everything on the way back to my house; I felt the pulse of the pavement through my pedals. Each crack in the concrete traveled up my spine; every incline added swagger to my stride. For these moments; rather, this moment... I was at peace with myself and a part of the world surrounding me. I was enveloped by the sky and sealed with the blood of the earth.

Tanner took off quickly upon our return, and I went in and read some short stories by Aaron Cometbus and played a little guitar, figuring out a majority of the one album song that I wasn't really close to completing. Oh yea, I'm doing an album soon. It should be sweet, but I'll save the story for another day.

It wasn't long before I received the expected call from James. I should let it be known that James is a struggling alcoholic; not alcoholic like Tanner, who just drinks way too much - James is an alcoholic alcoholic. He knows how shitty it is, and he's never been happy with it in any way, but he just does it compulsively. It doesn't help that he is a total asshole when he drinks, and is irrational in the worst sense of the word. I probably should also let it be known that I'm a firm advocate of sobriety, and many people avoid conversation with me due to how outspoken I am about it. I will also take this opportunity to add that I'm a hypocrite, and I have had a few drinks on recent occasions, though I have been fairly alcohol-free since Halloween last year. I really do hate drinking and I know how it ruins people; and, if I could rid the world of it, I would... in a heartbeat. The problem is that I no longer feel comfortable around people, because I've spent the last year or so turning into a fucking hermit. Drinking becomes a lot more accessible when you've lost all your social capabilities, but it's not really a good excuse and I'm steering clear of it as much as possible in the future. I don't understand why people feel the need to get fucked-up so much; wasn't there a time when a clear mind was something to be desired?

So Jamie fell asleep in the greenhouse at work and they sent him home early. Did I mention they got drunk on Jamie's break? Yea. So he may or may not get fired tomorrow, we'll see. He's really good at fucking himself over.

We got some Pulp and headed up to Highland Square so Jamie could sell some shit at Square Records. Outside Angel Falls Coffee Shop, I saw a gorgeous girl sitting alone, awaiting the arrival of some friend. Now, I must explain the significance of this girl. She isn't just some random attractive young woman; there is more to the story.

After the devastating break-up I experienced a year or so ago, I fell into a rut. Not a normal rut; I fell straight into the bowels of Hell. My somatization reached all-time highs, the shakes I had in high school came back stronger than ever, my thoughts became darker and darker until they were pitch black... and then it all went blank. There was no distinction anymore in the caliginous mass that was my mind. I had become nothing.

For a year I felt nothing, thought nothing, and meant nothing. Everything was pointing in the direction that I would never respect or care strongly for a woman again. They're all whores, they're all empty, I thought. I couldn't think of a single woman who didn't offend me with weakness and her lack of dignity. At least in some of the guys I've met in my life I could see some resilence and potential for greatness. Never in a woman. The ones I respected most of all showed me that they were fallacies. Being 19-20 years old and feeling as if no woman will ever live up to my expectations was as crippling as the knowledge that I'd given up on everything I believed in.

When I first saw her in action, I couldn't believe my eyes. A woman, here, in Akron, that I'd never met and who surpasses all the things I had defined as necessity to be the perfect girl. A million thoughts were flying through my head; I was crushing for the first time ever. I mean, I felt like a kid again. I was conscious of myself for the first time in a loooong while. For that year I had felt as though I was worthless and yet still more valuable than everyone else; this was a reality check in the harshest form. I realized in that moment that I exist and I must be. She occupied my thoughts day in and day out. But it was so different from everything else I've felt. To quote FUGAZI: "Oh, what a difference a little difference can make."

Any decent woman can occupy your thoughts, keep you constantly craving for her. It takes a truly amazing woman to make you think of everything but her. This is exactly what she did to me. She was shining so brightly, but I could not avert my eyes; I stared long and hard, and I saw only the world around me in all its glory.

Clarity.

The world seemed more massive than ever; yet somehow no larger than myself. Looking from a height, the earth flattened out and horizon erased itself from my vocabulary. I was everywhere at once. I knew everyone; I was everyone. I was a being beyond everything.

So this is how she made me feel, from the moment I realized her. Hope is a word that I've never believed in; she showed me the error of my ways... simply by being. Of course, she's in a relationship, and I have too much respect for that to speak my mind, though I'm sure it would make no difference. I'm not exactly discreet, anyway. I'm just glad to know that there ARE women out there, and one could be out there for me. But goddamn, do I want this one!

She gives me the butterflies; no one else can do that. She kills my swagger just by looking at me. I just went up to her and attempted conversation(forgetting that I look nothing like I did the last time I saw her), and I could not look her in the eyes for more than an instant. That's one thing I can always do, and she took it from me without even trying. I've already accepted that I'll never have her, and I'm OK with it, I guess... but every second of eye contact absolutely cripples me. I see purple and green where her glare permeated into me. No matter how much I blink, it stays burned into my view of everything; it keeps making me feel like I did the first time. If she could do that to me everytime I saw her, the long-term effect would be unimaginable. I could be anything, do anything. I really can't be myself around her at all. I thought I had my shit together as a man; but I crumble like dry leaves in her presence.

OK, OK, I'll stop. I'm making it seem like I'm obsessed, but I'm really not. I just wish there was a way to articulate that FEELING, that unexplainable thing that IS and makes me want to be. I know it sounds pathetic but I don't give a fuck. After so long being devoid of a heart, I'm going to enjoy these moments that make life worth living to me. If you don't appreciate the good things, you don't deserve them at all, so far as I'm concerned.

So fuck everything else I planned to talk about, I want to go to sleep on this note. I wish I could go to sleep on this note at the end of every day.

lookout

2007-06-07T03:49:00.000-04:00

Here's that shaven head/beard I was telling you about...
I threw in the headband for good measure.

Today was... productive?

2007-06-07T00:56:00.000-04:00

I awoke to the sound of the alarm at 8:00 AM.
I awoke to the sound of the alarm at 8:10 AM.
I awoke to the sound of the alarm at 8:20 AM.
I awoke to the sound of the alarm at 8:30 AM and finally rolled myself out of the bed. With tired eyes, I shuffled about the room aimlessly until I could actually make sense of my surroundings. I am NOT a morning person, especially with only three hours of sleep under my belt. I was obliged to get moving, though, for I never bail on a friend who needs a hand. I fixed up a bowl of Corn Pops and hit the road.

There sure was an awful lot of driving today; only by my chauffeurs, of course, for I am a total bum. James and I took a morning cruise to lovely Warren, OH; a town reminiscent of a graveyard, in the sense that it's lovely in the morning, but the last place you'd want to be after dark. After getting his teeth cleaned, we promptly headed back to Ravenna, where Jamie and I split off; he to work and me to Korey's house. Korey took the helm and we were off to Solon, where he was destined to go get a drug test for his new job. I found this especially gnar because it's his only day off in the week and he's forced to drive 30+ minutes away for a lame occupational requirement.

Well, it actually turned out to be more like an hour, as we couldn't find the place, due at least partially to the pinpoint accuracy of the directions provided by Mapquest.com, and partially to the fact that there are two Aurora Roads in Solon (they must have run out of street names). We finally got there around 1:00 PM, only to find that on Wednesdays they close at noon. WooHoo! Such luck!

So there we were, early afternoon, with no plans for the day. We decided to go to Nelson Ledges and be forest explorers, where we ran around on the boulders and in the caverns for a few hours, just enjoying the pleasant (albeit slightly chilly) early summer day. There is a badass spot in between two huge rocks where, if you hit the perfect vocal frequency, it echoes something fierce and creates an insane "wall-of-sound effect". If you ever feel like it, I'll take you up there and we'll sing our lil' hearts out.

Once we'd exhausted our stay in the park, we drove to Hiram where we attempted to find the first home I can recall from my earliest childhood memories. I'll admit it was a half-assed search, as I wasn't exactly hell-bent on reliving my youth, so much as looking for something to do with our time. We gave up fairly quickly and found ourselves on Pioneer Trail, host to another fond early-life memory of mine. I called up Ma to see what fruit was in season, and when she told me that it's strawberry-time, my heart skipped a beat and before I knew it we were pulling into Munroe Orchard.

Munroe Orchard is the bomb, lemme tell ya. Korey and I grabbed a basket and headed out to fields to fill it up with some delectable berries. I stuffed myself until my tummy was about to burst and then put a couple of handfuls in the box to make it seem as if I wasn't just there to gorge on the wealth of ripe, red morsels. We ended up getting a shit-ton of strawberries for like, four bucks, a killer deal; literally, killer, 'cause I kept eating them long after as I was full, until I up and died and had to be resuscitated.

After that, we shot through the hometown, grabbing a bite to eat, and made our way up to Borders. We perused the selection with no real intention of buying anything, as I have two bookcases overstuffed with classics and comtemporary literature, most of which I haven't even opened yet, and also because we are both poor sumbitches. I did learn, in my time there, that sperm is neither incredibly nutritious nor fattening - to my great disappointment. I guess all those pre-workout shots were for nothing but the taste?

The night started winding down soon after, and we stopped at Balls-mart so I could get a new headband, before heading back to Korey's humble abode. Upon arrival I made the revolutionary decision to shave my head (and my face, for kicks) after not having a haircut for over two years. It was a very tough decision that I'm certainly not quite adjusted to, but it had to be done; my hair was so damaged from the lack of routine trims that I needed a fresh start, and it don't get much fresher than this.

My friend Michelle brought up a fact to me a little bit ago that I found quite interesting, and answered a question that has been puzzling me for years: How do porn stars get their assholes to be so pink? Apparently there is a process called "anal bleaching" that turns that downer browner into le stinky pinky. I am 100,000 times better off for knowing that!

That's all for now, fuckers. Maybe I'll post some pictures of my ridiculous new look soon.
PEACE!

I'm taking great strides

2007-06-05T23:30:00.000-04:00

...in my ongoing quest to convert my vast music collection from CD to vinyl format. Although I haven't purchased very many LPs in the past month, I've already made the switch with over 40 albums; which is pretty good, considering I haven't worked since February and have been living off the leftovers of my paychecks after shelling out over $1300 for my new amp. I still have about 250 CDs that I have to find vinyl copies of, plus all the new stuff I've been getting into; it can be pretty overbearing, but I'm sure it will be worth it in the end. Just looking at the healthy stack that's developing at the bottom of my bookcase gives me a hard-on that my pants can't handle.

I brought up my record collection because I just got home from Square Records; a record shop that, if you didn't already know, easily earns the title of "Best Record Shop in Northeast Ohio". A trip to Square is always a cause for excitement: little kids from the neighborhood cheer you on the walk to your car; your poorer friends try to sell anything, down to the skin on their backs, trying to get some dollars together to buy a new record (or at least a zine); your mom and dad sit you down at the kitchen table to let you know how proud you're making them. It's one of the best ways I've found to shake yourself free of the little-town blues.

My goal at Square today was to try to find two records in particular: Battles' first full-length, Mirrored, which I've been listening to religiously for the past two weeks, and Low's Things We Lost in the Fire; an album, judging by the two songs I have from it (Sunflower and In Metal), that will easily dominate my playlist for weeks to come. Instead, as they had neither album in stock (this is less a disheartening thing and more an opportunity to explore countless other delectable choices), I decided to pick up Low's newest album, Drums and Guns. The act of purchasing a solitary album at this store is an achievement in itself; a remarkable display of personal restraint.

I've only listened to the album once thus far, and it didn't exactly blow me away; but then again, neither did Trust at first, and I haven't been able to take it off since I "realized" it. It seems they may have over-produced this new one, and that tends to turn me off from records pretty quickly; though I can't really be too harsh a judge, as it's only been played through some lousy computer speakers... probably the most degrading thing you can do to an album. With a broken record player that I know not how to fix, what am I to do? I just do with what I have until I get motivated enough to have my shit fixed.

Oh yea, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Sub Pop Records and other like-minded labels for throwing in a free mp3 download of each vinyl purchase; it has greatly improved the practicality of buying shit on wax, and is especially nice now that CDs have become all but obsolete. I can't bring myself to buy an album on iTunes; I need to have a real copy, with artwork and all that good stuff. I know it's stupid, but that's just how I have to roll when it comes to my music.

On a completely different subject: I am quite partial to list-making, and soon I will have to make one of bands that I love but do not listen to enough, namely The Black Heart Procession, a band that has forced me to spread the writing of this journal entry over the course of three hours. I had planned on going straight to bed after the completion of this blog, but they're so good that I just can't break myself away. I have to get up at the asscrack of dawn to take James to the dentist for poor people, which is located somewhere in buttfuck Egypt, approximately 45 minutes away from here. Yes, I just used both "asscrack" and "buttfuck" in the same sentence, and I'm not ashamed. Like I said, I'm just procrastinating in order to listen to more of this lovely music.

I forgot to mention that I also picked up another Aaron Cometbus book, Double Duce. For those of you unfamiliar with Mr. Cometbus, he is one of the greatest writers of contemporary literature, so far as I'm concerned. I originally stumbled upon him as the drummer and main lyricist for Crimpshrine, the band that changed everything for me whilst I was coping with the transition from a kid with no idea where to go in life, nor any idea who I was, into a man with strong emotions and a thirst for knowledge. The things that bothered me most bothered them, too (ie. the destruction of the world we live in) and they also made me comfortable with things I was uncomfortable with before (ie. love, longing, feeling out of place in the world). They have some of the most quotable lyrics ever, and despite Jeff Ott's voice being a bit of an acquired taste, some of the best songs I've heard to date. Crimpshrine might be the most important thing that ever happened to me.

Being obsessed as I was, I explored more into the members' other projects; and, though I never really got into any of Aaron's other musical projects (Pinhead Gunpowder have some great songs), I found out he writes/edits a zine called Cometbus. The only issue I could find was the most recent one (pretty sure I found it in the Lookout! catalog), but lemme tell ya, I loved it and have been totally into his writing ever since. In my search for more Crimpshrine spinoffs, I found Jeff Ott's band Fifteen to be perfect for the direction I was heading in and I let my obsession/adoration spill forth onto them, following his life as much as I followed Aaron's.

So I've pretty much done the same thing I was doing earlier with The Black Heart Procession... adding a little bit of text over the course of about two hours, just to listen to more Crimpshrine. I rarely feel anything strongly anymore; this music, hitting me this hard, is a fucking miracle.

I have no clue how to close this off, but it's time to be done with it.

Nice day for a sulk

2007-06-04T19:11:00.000-04:00

Today is one of those typical Northeast Ohio days; dreary, rainy, depressing. Normally, on a day like this, I could cure "the Mondays" by simply hopping in the car and going for a relaxing cruise through Kent or Akron or wherever the wind felt like taking me. Luckily, the state BMV loves me and has taken away the last vestige of relief I have; I'm halfway through a six-month tenure as a licenseless loser. Driving has been the cure for almost every ailment that I've had in recent years, and it's probably the only thing in my life that keeps me sane. That being said, the last 90+ days have been about as comfortable for me as the first time my mom walked in on me jerking off. I just can't seem to achieve any sort of equanimity; I rot away here in this tomb of a room.

I mentioned in the previous post that I'm working on on a new song; I suppose I'll expatiate on the topic until anyone who reads this (myself included) will never want to read anything I write again. This is one of the first times I've ever used drop-D tuning (actually, it's a whole step lower than drop-d), as I've always been sort of biased against it because of its use as a metal/screamo tuning; something I try to stay as far away from as possible. I've played in DGDFAD for over four years now, ever since I made it up my sophomore year of high school, and it's nice to occasionally mix things up. I've been playing my other acoustic lately because something is wrong with the neck on this guitar and the first and second strings go out of tune way easier than they should; but the tone and warmth completely dwarf that of the other, which is mainly used for acoustic-electric shit.

So the other night I picked this one up and was completely taken aback at how strong the sound of it is, especially the deeper notes. I decided to throw it into the deepest tuning I could think of and play around for a bit. I pieced together a few freestyled riffs and one from an old Stiletto song that C-Bull wrote, did some impromptu vocal work over top, and came out with about two minutes of a song that will probably be around five minutes long at finish. Unlike anything else I've written in a long time, this song has a hook that gets repeated: "time is on my side." This is a peculiar lyric for me, for it's especially contradictory to a lot of my writing and most of my mental troubles of the past year or so. It somewhat signifies (I hope) the start of my coming to peace with time and existence, though the feeling is ephemeral and will probably reduce the chances of my ever completing the song. At its conception, I actually felt that time was on my side, for possibly the first occasion in my life; and so, I hope that by repeating it over and over and over and over, I'll be able to reawaken that feeling and perhaps even gain a modicum of mental security.

Bands like Red House Painters, Low, The Secret Stars, Pedro the Lion, and earlier Versus have affected me more strongly than almost any other music in the past year or two. The simple, somber strumming just digs into me and incites some emotions that I can't compare to anything; somehow, I'm persuaded to keep moving forward, even in my most nihilistic moments. I'll take any help I can get these days.

So this has been the least-interesting post to date, and I can't help but notice its correlation to the least-interesting day I've ever had. OK, so today probably ties with every other day since I turned 19 for the "Most Lackluster Day" award , but I've felt like shit since the moment I woke up; mind, body and... soul? I don't know, I just need to do something with myself. Maybe I'll go for a bike ride?

"Get your ass handed to you"

2007-06-04T00:35:00.000-04:00

...is one of those phrases that just doesn't make any sense, but has been passed on from person to person and commonly uttered without consideration of its literal meaning. I could just be overlooking the greater picture; maybe this is just a fraction of the original quote, I don't know. It just doesn't make any fucking sense to me.

Regardless, it's a fitting description of what happened today. We, the adult softball team known as MEGATRON KICK, had our asses thoroughly whooped, and then handed to us on a silver platter (I think I'm starting to get it now). We played our second double-header (all the games in this league are double-headers) against a team of fugly-ass retards whose name was probably The Fugly-Ass Retards, and they outplayed (destroyed) us without even batting a collective eye. They were obviously cheating.

This team is only really different from us in two ways: they practice and they know how to play. If we had both of those things going for us, there would be no chains strong enough to hold us down.

I'm sure at this point you're wondering, "Todd, are you number 69?" The answer is Yes.

Now that that's all cleared up, we can move on to the rest of my day... which consisted of absolutely nothing else. That's right, I did nothing at all today except play softball. Oh, I played my brother's drums for a little bit this morning, and I must say, I'm starting to sound like I know what the fuck I'm doing behind a set. Pretty gnar, for sure; that's the one "conventional" instrument that I've never really been able to hold my own on.

Oh and I also started throwing together a new song. Very Red House Painters-esque, which is a nice change from the general all-over-the-place-ness of my other stuff. I've been wanting to play some simple, melodic stuff for a while now, but I can never recapture the initial feeling and just end up trashing it if I don't record it right away, which I haven't done in a long time. It's overwhelmingly depressing how much fantastic material I've forgotten because of this in the past two years. It just gives me that hollow feeling; the kind of hollow feeling that can't be filled by anything, you just sorta' have to get accustomed to it and hope it will stop being so noticeable that it affects your overall mindset and distracts you from doing pretty much everything you set out to do. It never really works for me, though; trying to fool myself. It's like losing a piece of yourself. Less like the kind of piece of yourself that is gone when you lose a friend or a good lover; more like losing a leg or something. Losing a piece of your heart is probably a better comparison, but this paragraph is already starting to sound a little too much like bad teenage poetry (which I can kinda' sorta' secretly still relate to), and I'm going to have to cut this one off at the head.

In other news: I still hate Republicans. I just read an article about a Muslim family in which the mother and father killed their 18 -year-old daughter for falling in love with a local Hindu boy, then chopped up her body to try to dispose of it. The article was titled "The War on Terror: Muslim Parents Chop Off Daughter's Head". The "War on Terror" part really gets me; what the hell does that have to do with any war? It's just a couple of nuts that finally cracked; white trash do that kind of shit all the time, so what's new? There are probably some people across town doing the same thing right now, and kicking back a few brews to celebrate a job well done.

Some genius in the comment section posted this:
"Not exactly embracing the open minded tolerant multiculturalism our domestic lefties say we should, are they?"

Now, after spending a half an hour on Dictionary.com, this asshat takes an article about some deranged parents going off the deep end and turns it into an attack on the "liberal" concept of being open-minded and tolerant of people different from themselves. If I'm not mistaken, tolerance and multiculturalism are fundamental aspects of American thinking, aren't they? At least they were, back in the day. Like, 1776.

Have you ever noticed how the Republican party is made up of the most idiotic portion of the proletariat and controlled by the some of the richest, most "successful" people in the world? I guess big businessmen have learned keep an eye out for every opportunity to keep the profits rolling in. There's no easier way to make money than to take the most hate-filled, idiotic portion of the country (unfortunately, the majority), fuel their fires with racist propaganda, then get them to vote for the candidate most "sympathetic" to their cause (destroying everything that isn't like them) and having him push the corporate agenda for four wonderful years. Rednecks and rich people, my two favorite groups, merged together to form one giant, foetid asshole.

I'm going to have to close this blog, and hopefully one of these days I'll be able to elaborate on the things I mean to talk about, instead of shooting off on a million tangents that seem to end up with me pissed off about something completely off-topic. I guess I don't really mind, either way. PEACE!

It's pretty amazing

2007-06-03T00:45:00.001-04:00

...how things I've made fun of forever can get me so fucking hyped. It has been increasingly prevalent in recent months, from the purchasing of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" to really listening to Van Halen's "1984", and many more that I can't recall of the top of my head. I've always been an advocate of the concept of being able to find something good in any record, yet these were never given a fair chance. Thriller is all-around awesome record, and 1984 has some badass instrumental work, despite the awful lyrics.

What I'm really coming to, however, is Cleveland Cavaliers basketball; particularly, playoff basketball. When I was visiting my good friend Korey at his North Carolina home earlier this year, I found this brand new pair of basketball shoes on his cluttered front porch; apparently, they were sent to the wrong address before he moved in and never left the spot he found them in. I was inspired to go all out, immediately putting sweatpants on and these shiny white shoes (which just so happen to have "spinner" rims on the side - yea, they spin everytime I step) and went out to act like a goofy-ass idiot white boy and play some hoops.

Then I remembered - I fucking love basketball. I have always loved basketball. I was so exhausted after about three minutes of playing that I decided, upon my return home, to really put an effort into getting in shape and getting my shit together. Since I've been back, I've joined a softball team, started playing street ball around town, and picked up jogging. If I had a dollar every time a joke turned into some life-changing thing (reference GWKA), I would have like 15 dollars by now.

Since then, Korey has moved home, and lemme tell ya, he couldn't have come at a better time. We were best friends from the end of my freshman (his sophomore) year of high school on, and we drifted apart around the time that I joined Stiletto (my junior year, so 2004-ish), and I probably saw him only three or four more times before he moved to NC for auto-mechanic school. Stiletto and I parted ways soon after, and after that, all I had was my girlfriend. I will elaborate some other time on what happened with that, but I will say that I was quite crippled after that fell out, but I was pretty excited for about six months to be rid of all the trouble of a long-term, failing relationship. I had a new band going and the songs were feeling great (it was around this time that I wrote "The Gwapes of Waf", which I'll probably blog here sometime soon). I found Scotty and finally pulled the band together, right on time, too, because in the months following, the band pulled me together.

So I finally was ready to go, and as miserable as I was in the offtime, I was hyped to finally have a band together that I wrote the music for; something I could really call my own. However, tensions in the band caused a pretty awful vibe, and I knew it wouldn't ever fully blossom. I was still hopeful, though, and I got a job with my dad with an extremely flexible schedule - the perfect job for a touring musician. A lot of money in a short time, and then a lot of off-time for my other commitments. The job also provided me with the opportunity to travel and spend a lot of time in seclusion; the perfect chance to write the lyrics that I hadn't been able to compose in my home environment.

On my way down to Florida (where I was stationed to work at the time), I stopped in at Korey's and stayed for about a week. I can't help but think that my time there helped influence his decision to come home quicker. It's pretty safe to say that he was almost as miserable as me, and in a relationship that should have ended a long time ago. I did my five weeks in Florida, avoiding the very worst of the Ohio winter, finished up three out of the five lyrics I set out to do, with a good start on one of the others, and then stopped in for another couple days on the way home.

I must mention that while I was in Florida, my license went under suspension (for points) and I drove illegally for the duration of the 1000-mile-trip home (think about it). I left comfortable North Carolina, turned off the A/C in Virginia, threw on a hoodie in West Virginia, and it started snowing as I crossed the Ohio River. When I got home, I bought a brand new Fender Super Reverb and I was ready to start playing again, with vocals and all, and Scotty broke the news to me that he just wasn't into it anymore, and he was just going to do his other project, Annabel, full-time. I really can't grasp how he made the decision to go from playing guitar in a complex, emotional, powerful rock'n'roll quartet, to playing bass in a talented but relatively simple pop band, but I respect him and when he said that the feeling was gone, I knew he was saving us all the time and effort of diving head-first into something that was so dead to him already.

And that brings me back around, full circle, to where I said that Korey came home at just the right time. My band was over, I had no license (I still don't), and I had to find some new feeling in Ravenna, Ohio, the town I've always lived in but never lived in. Luck would have it that I do have one other friend here, James, who is also a huge part of my life, and hell-bent now on moving to California. I'll admit that I was getting pretty sick of him, too, until Korey got back. Korey is one person that I never have been and never will get sick of. We feel the same about almost everything (at least everything important), and, although we spent almost three years apart, it was like any other day getting out of school and going over to his house to chill when he finally returned home. Being together, I think, really makes us shine. I wish everyone could roll with us, just once, when we're really on fire. He makes me comfortable and able to really pull out the most extreme, defining parts of my persona, and then accentuates them with him with his own craziness and sense of humour. He really can make me feel like nobody else, a genuine happiness, however fleeting it may be. When we're vibing, I can remember what it's like feeling like it's all good.

Since he's been back, I've started hanging out with all sorts of people that I grew up with (the high school kind of "growing up"), people he was close with that I was just on that "acquaintance" level with. This directly lead to my first experience at Brokeback Cottage, and just having a kickass time hanging out with Chris Prosser, who is one of the weirdest (in a good way) people I've ever met. Things are kinda' looking up, I think.

It's pretty crazy how far from Thriller and 1984 this blog has gone. I was really just so hyped after watching the Cavs rip Detroit a new one to win the Eastern Conference that I had to do something. I've dogged on watching sports for my whole adult life, and I still stand by that, except for Cavs basketball... they're just so fucking awesome. I get so much out of every game, way more than you would expect; it's a lesson about friendship, teamwork, and about caring about the big picture more than yourself, but still doing what you can to stand out and be a man. It helps me look at my life from a fresh perspective. I have to achieve something, but I can't do it alone, and when I do it, it won't be for me, but for everyone. When my friends take strides and do great things, I share in their glory - we all benefit from each other's successes. Jamie's move to California feels like Daniel Gibson dropping all those three-pointers on the Pistons' punk-ass faces tonight. It's great for him and it helps me, too. It makes me think that if my people and I can all achieve a little individual greatness, then we'll finally be able to reach that undefinable goal in life, that apogee we're all striving for so relentlessly.

After all these years...

2007-06-02T14:37:00.000-04:00

The only people that can really infuriate me are Christians. When it comes to race, sex, etc., I have no biases whatsoever; but when you make a conscious decision to completely ignore logic, reason, and you blindly accept something so blatantly untrue, I will never have any respect for you. Every time, I give you a fair chance, a clean slate, yet you inevitably say something to reprove my point.

It's pretty easy to tell a Christian from a secular person.
Just watch out for things like:

Understanding, or at least an attempt at it

The pursuit of knowledge, for the sake of gaining knowledge alone

Acceptance of other people of different sexualities, etc.

Displaying the use of logic in everyday life

If you notice any of the above, you are safe: You are not dealing with a Christian.

Now, I understand that many people fear death and want something to make them feel as if death is the not the end of your "spirit" or whatever, but I'm sorry, this is just not logical. You are just a pussy. It is a scary thought, sure, but living in fear is no way to live at all. The best you can be is unsure, and that is called being agnostic. This is, essentially, a declaration that you do not know and you will never know for sure what happens after death, how the universe was created, etc.. I think that is pretty reasonable, because there are some things that our minds cannot and will not ever be able to comprehend. The universe is a pretty big fucking place.

Nonetheless, when I come across an everyday person who is completely content with life, I have to assume immediately that he/she is a Christian. These people have deceived themselves so thoroughly that they actually achieve some sort of sick happiness, hollow as it may be. They really believe this to be true happiness, in most circumstances that I've come across. These people are very easy to recognize in person; they often have a blankness, a lack of depth, to their eyes, usually showing that they've never experienced personal struggle, accepting bullshit relatively early on, and, most of the time, have a shit-eating grin plastered on their faces.

Occasionally you'll see a Christian who doesn't exhibit these physical attributes, and this can mean a few different things. Most often, it means he/she is fighting with a significant other, mother, father, pastor or whatever. Religion is great way to keep families close, so it makes sense to me why some deranged parents will feed this to their children from birth. We will stay together and bask in our ignorance forever.

A less common case is finding someone seemingly very intelligent, but who still claims to be a staunch Christian. These people often look even more fucked-up than the rest of us. They use logic most of the time and therefore know that their Christianity is a complete contradiction to their intelligence, and it drives them mad. My guess is that these people don't really believe in God but will stand by their faith, strictly out of fear of the holy repercussions (though they will never admit this). These are the most dangerous people in the world. They often rise to positions of great power and fuel the fire of the ignorant masses, and and are more likely to lean toward extremism. I could give some examples, but there is no way for me to really prove what goes in the minds of these people, so I won't claim to. This is a fairly opinionated statement, as there really is no way to know the facts for either side of the argument. All I'm saying is keep your eyes open for these things.

Like I said, the only people that really piss me off on this planet are Christians, and I wouldn't write a blog like this unless I had just attempted conversation with one of them. Also, when I say "Christian", I mean anyone that follows some organized religion, not Christianity in particular. I've made much better arguments for the sake of the secular in the past, but I'll admit much of this was written in a rage and is far more circumstantial than I'd like it to be. I've just talked about this subject so much in the past that I often overlook key points in the argument, probably making me look a lot more like an ass, but I don't really give a fuck - this is my journal, and I'm not going to attempt to be politically correct.

I'm sure there are higher powers in the universe, more than we could ever imagine, but I'm not going to fear one that I'm pretty sure was created by an early form of Republican, trying to find a way to police the people and explain things that they didn't understand so that the populus wouldn't fall into a frenzy. There could be things out there that take shits that are more intelligent than human beings, I don't know. If there was a God, I'd like to think He/She/It would totally understand why I wouldn't believe in any of that crap. If He'd send me to Hell for eternity for not sucking His Dick my whole life, I'd much rather burn.

Amen.

Here we go...

2007-06-01T16:57:00.000-04:00

I've decided to start this blog after spending the majority of yesterday (and I'll probably continue on through a decent portion of today) reading Bob Nanna's blog, and downloading all the little mini-songs on his Threadless profile. Somehow, I stumbled upon his last.fm when he first started it, and I was pretty surprised to find how similar our tastes really are. This later led me to check out his other sites, being the huge Braid and all-around Nannafan that I am. He's a lot more real than the other big guns of my musical heritage, but I already knew that from seeing the City on Film in Akron with about ten other people. His realness is probably what drew me to him in the first place.

That was the trigger, sure, but this blog was a long time coming. I've always loved keeping journals, but I just never keep up on them, probably due to the fact that I keep trying to have a sense of uniformity in the journal structure, and my mind works about as far from "linear" and "organized" as possible. I get a great deal of enjoyment out of reading some of my friends' blogs and generally have more respect for people when I get to see the facets of them that I couldn't see any other way. It's also a good way to keep up-to-date on the lives of people who have much more interesting shit going on than myself, and therefore don't have as much time to bullshit with me on a day-to-day basis; my friend Dane, for example. There's a good chance that I'll never do anything as interesting as becoming an English teacher in Korea, but hopefully I'll have some thoughts someday that'll help to make up for the overall vapidity of my life.

So two days ago I went with Chris and Ted to Newcastle, PA to stay the night in Teddy's grandparents' cottage (which was nicknamed "Brokeback Cottage" due to the overall "straightness" of the concept of three perhaps overly emotional young men spending the night in the seclusion of a Pennsylvania forest), and lemme tell ya, that place is the shit. It's this roomy little house about a mile off the nearest road and not around anyone at all, save the occasional fisherman. The house overlooks a wide, shallow creek, ranging from about one to three feet deep in that vicinity. We had a couple beers and played half a game of darts before mixing some whiskey-and-Cokes. Then we stepped in the water and trekked downstream for a couple hundred feet; we were getting overly irritated by the rocks and the "creekweed", and so climbed out and headed back through the woods.

We couldn't get over how perfect this house would be for a huge party. There's enough space for 40+ people to sleep semi-comfortably (at least party-comfortably), a big ole yard, and huge patio where bands could set up and play - all night, if we wanted to. Two firepits, all sorts of yard games and random shit to do, five beds (for fucking), etc etc. I mean, I can't stress how perfect this place is. It's a shame we don't have enough friends to make it a reality. We ended up closing out the evening with an acoustic Saves the Day singing session, blowing all our voices out.

So Ted got called in to work at 3:30 PM yesterday and we had to take off relatively early. It was a bummer leaving the place so soon, but hey, that's how it goes. I'm sure we'll go back soon; the place is so great. I was hyped when we got back, maybe to go to Nelson Ledges, or really just any nature excursion, but I had no one to go with and wound up sleeping most of the day away. It worked out, because it rained and was pretty shitty for most of the time I was out, but I was still upset with myself, and ended up staying up all night, aspiring to accomplish something, and ended up doing all that Nanna stuff I talked about up there in the first paragraph. I still came off feeling accomplished and vigorous, but somehow became furious and spat out that angry rant in the previous post. Regardless of its quality, which I haven't really determined yet, I was pretty excited to see myself produce some decent free verse after a year or more of being stagnant and not producing much of anything in written form. So yea, that brings me to now, and I'm about to head out for the night. PEACE!

Rank your friends.

2007-06-01T08:05:00.001-04:00

When we were born they put hooks in our mouths
and from time to time they relax the line
but they never let us go.
We have to run until they're out of rope;
let them have our lips, and whatever else it rips.
When they finally start to reel in the line,
they'll think we've given up
and we'll just have to imagine the looks on their faces.
Our laughter will resonate,
the echoes will stir them in their beds,
and the fear of our return will drive them from their heads.