hi.

zohn and dustin are in napa.

been awhile...

*it is impossible to do anything new, honesty always seems like a scam for this reason. it is best to disregard opinions of lesser characters and follow what remains of your shattered heart.

*between anxiety and allergies I have become a basket case, were it not for my lovely girlfriend and my superior trivia skills I would be losing my mind right about now.

*TDB, the Perpetual Motion Machine, and Molsook have done so much to validate my hard work lately. my current greatest creative fear is letting them down. all i can do is pour my efforts into self sacrifice and hard work to say thank you.


*another dear friend of mine is having a child soon. while parenthood has never been a goal in my life, as the years peel away leaving behind the bruised up, withering fruit of adulthood, I am left with a sleight feeling of failure... odd.

*do elevators scare you? they do scare Jessie... I like that for some reason.

*I am a cowboy.

*were i to kill an animal, I would eat it. that is my way.

*I miss Boston, we may visit soon...I be there on tour this year without a doubt.

*I got a haircut.

*I haven't written or drawn very much at all. it makes me feel like a failure... I do continue to list things obsessively however.

*it is BBQ season. cans of dogs my friend, cans of dogs.

*Nella is my dog too.

*I water plants at work. I water plants at home. Watering is what I do.

Locust Meal

The struggle as a creator is unlike any other struggle man has faced. It is at times one born of need, but more often than not in my life it is the product of fear.

Fear of being forgotten or mundane. Fear of trading in my dreams for a more realistic, yet somehow grayed vision of the world.

In my life I have sacrificed everything from my social life, to quite possibly my sanity in the pursuit of being taken seriously as a creator. It is when times are tough creatively, times such as this, that I must pull the cross off of my back and wield it like a fucking battle axe.

My fists will break your bones, my songs will deafen your ears, my drawings will blind your eyes, my story will break your heart.

There is nothing new.

dying.

I would have died already were it not for Jessie taking care of me. Sick as the proverbial dog.

The fevers have given me some serious visions for future creative works. Expect the best.

Semi short-term expositions include, Litany for the Whale's debut EP Dolores, an art show featuring myself and various other talented artists, a script to a short film, beginning recording Litany's full-length, various zines, more documentation here.

I remain fevered.

The Weakest Points

My knees and wrists have been killing me lately. I think I need to investigate joint supplements. I am getting old.

I had mentioned to a friend the other night that I have been experiencing some form of writers block. Nothing seems interesting enough to be worth documentation, and the words to dress up the mundane are not with me. I don't know exactly what the cure will be. I have been trying to read more, in time I will find inspiration. In the meantime I will list things I enjoy as of late...

-Jessie's incredible cooking.
-Lord of the Rings: the Battle for Middle Earth II on xbox 360.
-working with the guys on new songs for Litany for the Whale.
-the working cover art for our upcoming EP that Chris sent me a few days ago.
-coffee.
-David Wain's "The Ten" (only watched a little bit so far however).
-my new bike, built with love by the legendary Richard Thomas McKee, my first fixed gear in about 7 years.
-Shellac, Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Trap Them, Pig Destroyer, Mingus, Crocodiles, Corridor.
-Kevin Logendyke on the West Coast.
-no roommates anymore.

Wow, that list was far shorter and less interesting than I had hoped.

ONWARD!

Broken Shoelace

Spent about a half an hour looking for the coffee filters before realizing they were conveniantly located atop the perculator.

Bukowski wrote about moments like these, RIP old man.

Vivid Red

I stepped outside for a quick smoke and was almost clipped by pigeon in the back of the head. Startled I noticed as it passed that it was holding a smaller bird. As the pigeon cut through the branches of the tree it released its smaller counterpart, as it tumbled through the branches I approached to meet it on the ground below. I looked down to see the little bird convulsing, bright, almost unreal blood dripping from its beak. Its black eyes open wide with panic, after a quick assessment I realized nothing could be done to restore my friend to health. I made a dash to the shed, returning with the sharpest garden spade I could find, placed it to the birds neck and with every ounce of my combined weight and strength drove the shovel downward.
Without much movement or sound the head was seperated from the body. I considered leaving my friend where it was, in the hope that the bird that had it before would return and eat it, but decided that leaving a decapitated bird so close to the road would only cause dismay for those who didn't know the little birds story.
I scooped up the body and brought it into the backyard and buried it under a few inches of gorgeous topsoil, hoping that the little birds death had not been in vain. I hope to see a flower bloom on that very spot. I hope to see life spring forth from that exact location. I hope the little bird found understanding in its final moments.

Return to the earth my friend, still warm, it took only seconds.

The beauty of your feathers will haunt me. I can only pretend to understand this cycle.

I am afraid.