For some reason I'm not being creative.

We never hated ourselves more, we never cared for anyone less.

The World As My Ocean....

Canonball!





Christmas is getting closer. It's one of my favorite holidays, but as it gets closer I find myself getting much more depressed. I want to enjoy it. I know I'll still be excited when I go to bed and wake up at the ass crack of dawn only to find that Santa had been there. I wish I was still a kid. Yesterday I thought about it. Legitimately thought about it.

To the dudes who kept the truth in Promises Kept...

Tucked back in the corner. That's where I lived, tucked back in the corner. Never partaking in the local extravagance. Never stepped out of the box, that white walled box that kept me prisoner. Not since Freshmen year. Not since, I felt like I lost everything. I met a man named Russ freshmen year. Opened my eyes to new ideas. To what passion of music was. To what passion for life was. I'd say he was a good friend, but he left as quickly as the seasons changed. He left as soon as he could because he couldn't live here anymore. I felt that urge. To leave. To not come back. I kept it inside. Is that what you meant when you said the fire still burns? It still burns. It still burns in me. I weaved through the crossroads as aimlessly as an animal grazes, not seeing the truth in front of me. Not seeing the world in front of me. We all age and We all die, but we are never lost. Enjoy this day, enjoy this day, let your heart be new, let your soul be free. For years I lived through my nadir. For years I lived through the lowest of times until these months when I've lived. When I've truly lived. So for those that have kept truth to promises kept, for those who have saved me from my quiet corner of solitude, to those who taught me how to live again, and to those that have stood by me, may I always stand by you, because my heart still holds true to promises kept.

Live the warmth

Demons in the City of LOVE

Sadly, so sadly, I mended that bridge just to be safe, I still wanted, still wanted, her touch against me, still wanted, still wanted, her lust against me. For all the world to admire. For all hearts to be mired. She was the fault line, and I welcomed the seismic activity. Ever so softly I said, don't be so anxious. Ever so softly I said, Respect is not earned through submission of flesh. If I ever love again, give me the strength to walk away. If I ever love again, give me the strength to know the difference between sheep and lamb. I still am, and am not, who I am.


my back hurts from the accident.
misery is all that grasps me.
a burden is all I'll be.
deep breathes.
count deep.


Sincerely,
hollow.
earth.

Ch 7. The Symetry of Difference

My biggest fear is being misunderstood, misinterpreted, and losing my mind. I don't so much care what other people think but if I'm into what I'm doing I'm happy. I just don't want people misconstruing it, regurgitating it, and ruining it. If that makes sense.

At four in the morning I was shaking. At the edge of my bed I was sitting staring through the darkness at the only illumination in the room. The TV spread it's glaring pixilated eyes across the floor. I hadn't been to sleep yet. I wasn't going to be able to either. I was too nervous. I looked down at my unpacked things. Layed out neatly on the floor so I could collect an inventory before I left. Make sure everything I needed was there. I had my toiletries, deodorant, body spray placed into a clear bag. I rolled the money I had left from my savings account into a wad. I placed it into a sock and placed that into my rucksack. I began putting my rolled up tshirts, shorts, socks, sweatshirts, long sleeves, underwear, shoes all into my bag. It fit to the brim. I didn't know what else I could bring other than a few books that I felt were essentials to read while I was away. I was going away. I was leaving for good. I was searching for purpose in a life filled with fear. I was finding home in a van on the road. Maybe that's what I needed. Maybe I just needed to get away and find something more fitting. I knew that if I stayed here I would be constantly reminded of Teddy and I would wind up in the plot next to his. I would have overdosed on pain killers. Slit my wrists in a warm bath that had had the contents of a bottle of bleach emptied into it. I would have hung myself with the sheets on my bed. One side tied to the leg of my bed and the other around my neck. I would have been found waving in the wind like our nations flag. It wouldn't have been pleasant in any event. With no anchor man is meant to drift with the current, to find a home.

The horn outside of my apartment signaled that it was time to leave. My apartment was still filled with all my furniture. All the clothes I didn't want. A bed that left me with a bad back and an ache for comfort. A blanket that was ripped partially and a Television set that had seen better days. Everything of value that I wanted I moved back home for the summer. I had finished my lease and didn't sign a new one, so it couldn't stay there. I just left a note on the door in hopes that the landlord may find it. "Give it to good will," I wrote. Then I left. I locked the doors and slipped the key under the door in an envelope. I placed my things into the trailer and brought my backpack with personal items up front that I would need in case we stopped or in case I needed something immediately and couldn't go back to the trailer. These things were what I called "immediate's." Deodorant, tylenol and advil, ear plugs, hand sanitizer, a few bottles of water, my wallet, cell phone charger, two books, a pad of paper and pen, a CD booklet and some change to do laundry. The things that I couldn't live without.

I popped open the front passenger side door and climbed up into the cockpit of our aviation station. We were clear and ready for lift off. To where we weren't all too sure. The directions to all our destinations sat next to me in a binder. An entire month of basements, elks lodges, parks, vfw's, run down clubs and backyards. I looked over to Jerry who was sitting at the steering wheel smoking a cigarette with big thick aviators gracing his face. He lowered his head to see me over his eye wear and asked, "You ready to go?"

"As ready as I am to die." I replied.

Jerry looked at me and just shot me a shit eating grin, " So you're as ready as the rest of us." He popped the car into drive and we headed for I-195 to take us out of New Jersey and to Maryland for our first show. Baltimore was first on our "hit-list" as we called it. No prisoners, No pain. I looked back and saw that Greg and Tim were sleeping in the back. They had been up all night as I was, nervous for different reasons. They left behind family, close friends, females, love. It was all left at home in hope that it would all work out well. In the pilot seats towards the front was our best friend Darrel who was playing Smitty in some video game for Xbox 360 that they had hooked up onto our small televisions set. Darrel, a self described "cliche punk rocker" was a red headed outsider born in Russia. He moved to New York at a young age and never really got to know his home country so he didn't miss it much. He is however a big fan of Ivan Drago from Rocky IV. Wearing a Black Flag t-shirt and sporting a fiend tattoo, he became our merch man from hell. For the next month he would be the butt of all jokes. He would move equipment, sell merch, handle cash, do sound and get very little credit for his work. But he gets to see the United States. Fair Trade? Maybe.

The drive to Maryland was rather pleasant. We listened to classic rock and Metallica albums the entire way. Deep down inside we were a speed metal band waiting to happen. At least that's the joke. The sun began to sink low in the sky as we pulled into the Ottobar in Baltimore, Maryland. I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the van and saw a small gathering of people waiting outside to get in. Greg checked in with the promoter and we loaded in without incident. I never get nervous before we play, even in front of crowds of people we don't know. I get antsy but I never get nervous. The way I look at it is they're either going to get it or not. I wasn't worried.

Jerry set up his drums and began warming up in his usual fashion. He started by stretching and drinking some water and then loosening his wrists by playing on a rubber pad made for quiet drumming sessions. The rest of the band had been meandering around checking out the people who were there, enjoying the night. The first band that went on was a hardcore band from Maryland called IRON. They played fast aggressive hardcore infused with some metal breakdowns. It was intense, the crowd seemed to be really into. As the night went on and different bands started to play, more kids showed up. About fifty in all. We went on fourth out of five bands and just had fun with what we were doing. We opened up with our usual sermon. Baptism of blood as we called it. "We are no one from nowhere and nothing. We are heartless souls wandering money less through the capitalist system, baptized in the blood of undeveloped nations, we are Hollow Earth." I shouted across the low hum of chattering friends. We caught everyones attention when the first drone of heavy ring out chugs swept through the ear canals of our listeners.

As we played I felt this emptiness inside of me. Something I didn't expect to take hold of me and tear at the lining of my stomach, in the middle of our set I threw up off to the side of the stage. I barely missed the shoes of some poor girl who just looked at me and said, "ewww, are you alright." I looked at her and nodded and went back to what I was doing. Was it Teddy or was it nerves. I don't know but it was hollow. It was me, it was my Kingdom of shit and I had to deal with it.

People came up and talked to me after the show. I answered the usual questions regarding what my musical influences are and listened to someone tell me about how they want to start a band and tour. They asked for my advice and all I could say was, "Find the right people and just do it." It was that simple. You can't create chemistry, it just happens. Find a bunch of people you think you could live in a van with and just pack up shop and leave. Don't worry about life after you're gone just do it. Just make the trip, you won't regret it.

"God I need a shower." The grossness that is me is covered in sweat and praying for a rain cloud to get some relief from the sticky feeling on my skin. The one day I want that rain cloud that follows me everywhere to be there, it's nowhere to be seen. That's how the world works. When you need something, it's not there. It's both a burden and a gift. A burden for obvious reasons but a gift because it allows you to do things for yourself. I soon feel a finger poking me in the back. A tad annoyed, thinking it's one of my band mates, I turn around to find a kid who's no older than 17 who looks at me and says, "I have a place where you can shower and sleep if you want."

"That'd be awesome."

Rule number one of living out of a van. When ever someone tells you they have a place for you to shower and sleep, DO NOT PASS UP THE OPPORTUNITY! After talking with the kid who offered us a warm shower and floor to sleep on, I found out his name was Nick. He was a nice kid. The one thing about people you meet on the road is that they all have stories. Some people find that listening to someone talk about there past is just like listening to complaining on a low volume setting. I myself find it to be interesting. I like knowing where people come from. I like just hearing people's stories. Turns out he was 19 and was the product of a broken home. His mother and father were addicted to Meth. His father would get high and come into his room and make sexual advances on him. One night while he was sixteen he had enough and reached back and packed his fists with every ounce of pure rage and frustration. He grabbed hold of every tear, every drop of boiled blood and began swinging. He felt his fist crush his father's nose as he hit him repeatedly until he came back to life. When he finally realized what he was doing, it was too far gone. His father being out cold and bleeding on his floor, he made a move for the phone and called the police. His mother staggered out of her bedroom and began chasing the love of her loins with a kitchen knife. Luckily the cops made an entrance before anyone else got hurt. A few months later he was legally emancipated by the state. He found a job, worked full time and slowly but surely he put away enough money to get a small studio apartment in Baltimore. Since then he's been pretty normal.

Sitting on the wall outside of the club with our legs curled under us, he began to divulge the ache that was in his heart. "I kind of have to at least put up the front that nothing is wrong, but at times it's hard. Try growing up without a mother or father. I mean they were there, but they really weren't. I never saw love in their eyes, just empty hearts that had long lost their souls. I'm sure if they could they would have sold them already for a quick fix. You can't go through your life being miserable and bitching about what life could be like if you had a better hand dealt to you. I mean life is already out to fuck you, if you give it up you make it too easy. Trust me, I've been fucked enough and I don't want to be anymore." An awkward smile and half hearted laugh followed.

How could he be so open with me? I couldn't quite grasp how someone could really give them self up like that to someone they don't even know. I don't deserve an explanation but yet he let me in on something so personal. Could he feel that deep down I was destroyed just like him. Did he somehow know that I too have had substance abuse ruin the people I loved. I couldn't help but run these questions through my head not knowing that he would answer them all in time.

Staring straight forward into the parking meters and cars on the side of the street he spoke, "I know I'm telling you a lot but I've read your lyrics. I feel like you understand how I'm feeling. I feel like you get it. You guys just get hardcore, you get how the world hurts in so many different ways and I felt like if nothing else you'd understand. Understand why I am the way I am. I'm a black sheep. I'm the outcast that no one has ever loved until I came here. The people here shared their love, their passion, their views, their lives. You share so much in your music, I wanted to share with you. Not to be weird, but just...well I don't know. Just to let you know that we all hurt with you." I smiled the first legitimate smile since the accident. I wanted to reach out to Nick. I wanted to tell him about Teddy. I wanted to tell him about the gun in my mouth. The taste and feel of metal in your mouth, grinding against your teeth. How vulnerable you are, how you don't want to live sometimes, but I didn't tell him that. I didn't want to cause him anymore pain.

The equipment was packed, the promoter had given us our guarantee and we began our trek to Nick's house for a warm shower. His studio apartment was more than sufficient, it was small but he was making it. He was living on his own. Loving on his own. Being on his own. Deciding who he wanted to be on his own. I could not help but be jealous of him and fear for him all at the same time. We passed out, tired from the commotion and awoke the next morning to coffee and bagels courtesy our host. We couldn't stay long and I had so much I wanted to tell Nick. So much I wanted to confide in him. He was just like me. He was an outsider. We all were. I handed Nick my contact information and told him to call me if he ever needed anything. I wish we weren't leaving.

"See you where the sidewalk ends Nick." I uttered softly from the back seat of our van.

"What was that?" asked Greg from the front pilot seat.

"Nothing dude, just going through things in my head."

"Sounds interesting." Greg turned to Tim and said, "Off to more white dashes and solid yellow's." Tim merely scoffed as the rest of the band settled in for another long drive. I just sat there, trapped inside my head thinking that I've never been happier living in an ocean of pavement, finding comfort in white dashes and solid yellow's. Sink or swim, we all either sink or swim. Nick chose to swim.

Neither one of us will make it down this hill alive

It seems that you've been praying for change these days, but do nothing to improve your situation, how do you expect everyone else to do it for you? Maybe it's all for the wrong reasons. Maybe white dashes are more important. You have nothing, because you have everything. You have everything because you have nothing, and you can't see it. You continue to take because you feel it's owed to you. Well maybe that's your problem. Maybe you're the problem. I'm sorry you've been given a raw deal. I'm sorry you got the short end of the stick but I'm tired of hearing complaints without any action to change your stance. I would rather find faith than religion.

We are all set in mud.
Steady hands reaching forward to grasp sincerity, how the bottom fell out of the middle, and the center is broken, and hollow earth divides. I grasp all things. I am all being. although we are violent, we are built to define. The slow slur of vowels that leaves us subjected to malnutrition, leave my tongue in a biting fashion. Gain hold on you and me, Gain hold on you and me. and the preacher laughst ha-ha-ha. and the wise man laughs ha-ha-ha. But they know not of the divide. So I choose to laugh louder. I thought I felt our bond. I thought I felt our warmth. Settle your grasp, steady your hands, stop me from shaking, stop me from shaking. There surely is a life beyond the divide. There are more things beyond the divide. We are all set in the mud. We are all set in the Mud. We are all set in the Mud. We are all set in the Mud. Remove these legs, from these binds, I have love, I have love, I had love. And along came the dessert to save me from myself. and I, dream of time, I dream of time. We are still all things. We are still all life. We are still all breathe. We are still all that is beating. We are still......

Endings:

Possibly. I know no one really reads this thing so it'll be easier to get my thoughts out here without a million questions. I've been stuck in the same routine for years. Well, lack of routine. It's not like I haven't been excited to develop expression and have fun doing what I'm doing. I never wanted to make it big or make tons of money, (although it would be nice so I could pay my bills and my parents wouldn't have to help me so much). I have too much shit going on to leave for months at a time. Things just change I guess. People are moving, things are getting more spread out, life is starting for some people, for me it's been started and hasn't stopped. I have a lot of responsibility with baseball and things getting crazier. I had to give it up sooner or later I guess with myself going to graduate school but I thought it'd last for a little longer. I wanted to live my youth forever. Never would I have imagined that I affected so many people. That so many people would appreciate what we do. That young people would come up to me while I was out and say hello and know my name. That people would know the words to our songs. That it would last so long. It's awkward at times but I really did appreciate it. I've been on cloud 9 for the past five years and haven't come down. If there's one thing that I can say about it that I regret, it's that I didn't appreciate it enough while it's here.

In a small hole, tucked deep into the pine barrens, beneath a rotted out oak....

Baseball camp. It's been keeping me sane as of right now. I just love working with kids and teaching them about the game I love. I've been attempting to work on this paper but keep getting sidetracked. I've been trying to read some of the book that a coaching friend of mine bought me just to say thanks for helping them with the American Legion Baseball team they put together. It's called three nights in august and is an amazing story of strategy used by the great Tony LaRusa of the Cardinals. It really is interesting.

Last night was amazing though. For the first time in four years, since graduating high school, I played in my first competitive baseball game at third base. I coach an American Legion Baseball team and we only had eight kids show up in Jackson. It seemed that all was lost but luckily the coach of their team said I could play third but I just couldn't hit. So I played, with no cup, trying to protect the family heirlooms. I had five put outs and started two double plays. It was just a rush. I don't know if I put the nails in the coffin for my lust to play the game yesterday or opened a new can of worms. It felt so good to be there, to be part of a team, and to play hard. I love to work physically. It keeps me comfortable. To sweat is to feel joy. Haha.

Today was also pretty awesome. I went to get food with the baseball coaches I work with at the baseball camp to celebrate the fact that we finished the entire three weeks. When we got there and walked in I realized that the hostess was a old friend of mine who I haven't seen in ages. She looked awesome and was the same as I remember her. I had such a crush on her from seventh grade until, well I guess now. I've always just enjoyed her company. I talked to her for what seemed like a few minutes but was really a few hours and got made fun of by the guys for kind of ditching them. They were alright with it though. I was supposed to go out tonight but I'm too tired.

P.S. Missy rules. She keeps me sane. I analyze everything too much. Sometimes things are just simple.

If they ever tell my story, Let them Know I walked with Giants

What a tough weekend. Three hours up the parkway on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The July heat boiling beads of sweat down my forehead. The entire time I was just thinking, I can't believe it's over. The song in my heart kept playing, the record never getting old, only getting louder with age. The band however, halting. Sticking it's heals into the dirt to bring it's marvelous ride to a dead halt. The band itself will forever hold a place in my heart, and the people who were part of it will always be like brothers. Older brothers who would tell you to keep your chin up when you didn't want to take your eyes off your awkward feet. Who told you to work harder when you failed. Who gave you advice when it seemed like the world was all falling apart around you. "Don't be afraid to Wake the sleeping Giant." All lanes now open on the George Washington Bridge heading into New York. Looking over the edge, down into the water. I bobbed my head to the current, to the rhythm. They had made so many waves, they had changed the landscape of the noise, they had exposed the flaws of so many mediocre bands who tried so hard to be them, they changed the outlook of an anger filled adolescent searching for a purpose in a life filled with fear. We are all strong enough to bare change. This a lesson learned.

I looked into the rear view mirror and saw only my reflection. My cheeks were flush red, just like the first time I saw them and shared with them what their music meant to me. I stumbled to find the words to convey to them how they inspired me as a musician and as a person. How I had been thinking about dropping out of school. How I was so scared of failing that I had thought of ending my own life. How when I heard their record, "...and still our time" I was uplifted with a feeling that no other music group had ever done to me before. They had inspired me to be better. How sometimes we are tested in the most awkward of ways and we must always prevail and push forward. Our van rumbled through the parkways and thruways of New York. We were minutes closer to our destination and I still didn't know whether to smile or cry. Every time they came through our area, it was a celebration. It was a reason to strap your smile on wide and throw shoes on your feet and take a road trip with friends and family to see them. A reunion where you knew you were going to hear some new stories.

Then, there next Indianola Records release, "Ignite and Rebuild" and it captured everything that was good about hardcore. The positive mentality while still being slightly aggressive. Whether you believe in God or Jesus Christ at all, as Life In Your Way does, you have to realize that they are putting forward a positive message with a moral code. Many musicians do this lyrically but they don't put it into practice in their everyday lives. They just want to fit into the genre that they think is cool. As people the band is a group of the nicest most positive outlooking people that I have ever met. They constantly put forward a model of decency and love for all of us to learn from. Many people would say, "do as I say not as I do." Not Life In Your Way.

I picked my head up from the deep thought that I had been in on the ride to the show and noticed that we had entered Connecticut. Home of the Sleeping Giant. Home of Life In Your Way. I still didn't want to believe it. This was the last road trip I would ever take to see my favorite band. My favorite friends that I only see when they tour through. I just pray that I see them just as much if not more now than I did before. Right when Waking Giants was about to come out, I hadn't seen Life In Your Way play in quite a long time. It had been too long. Too much had changed for all of us and when they finally came back through to support the album, I got the bad news that Dave and James were leaving the band for other projects. Fearful that, that would be one of the last times that I got to see them, I lost myself in the music. I talked to john after the show by their trailer and started tearing up like a baby. I just didn't want them to end it that way. Not having an older brother my entire life, I feel like the guys in Life In Your Way filled that void. And I didn't want to see my older brothers fall apart like that. They openly listen to me and all my bullshitting. I know sometimes I can be a handful to deal with and I'm glad they deal with me, but I digress. Waking Giants came out and I've never been so excited about an album and it did nothing but impress me more than I ever thought imaginable. The progression musically and lyrically. The growth of their style individually. It was all magnificent. I couldn't stop listening and still can't stop listening to that album.

We rolled into Danbury at around 4 pm and just mulled around for a while. Bands were already there and about loaded in. Kids started showing up by the dozens. The show was sold out. 400 pre-sale tickets were sold prior to the show. Kids were being sent away at the door with glum expressions on their faces. It was a family reunion vibe around back with all the bands and friends of the bands. Everyone knew each other. I remembered almost everyone that I've met over my years. The guys in Wrench in the Works, Jay, LIYW, all the dudes in Our Last Night and Gray Lines. All old and new members of all the bands. If one thing seemed the same amongst all of them it was that they all felt as if they couldn't believe it was over. They wanted to be sad but couldn't. They were leaving on such a positive note. They were finishing on their terms. We were all just so proud of the band and all its accomplishments. We rejoiced in all the good that they had done in our lives. All the bands played through all technical problems and fantastically. But the night wasn't about any of those bands. It was about Life In Your Way who played probably about fifteen songs. The beginning of the set was plagued by sound board problems but was quickly replaced. Talking outside with Daryl from Wrench in the Works during the intermission, we discussed how Life In Your Way always had these problems. How Life had a way of testing all of us. Why should the end be any different than the middle and the beginning. The character built from the moments of great distress will make us stronger individuals. Will prove our worth to the world. From here I could go into a detailed synopsis of each song, how it went, how they killed it. How they made it pop off. How every voice in the building was singing along. But you already know what happened. The important part is knowing that the band was alive. They were saying goodbye. They were rejoicing in the night and thanking all the people that have supported them for years. They were unselfish until the end, but everyone there knew that it was about them. We were all there for them.

We walked outside and just talked to all our friends. We hugged and laughed. Some of us cried, which was fine. We all respected each other as people. We were one big family. All those that bared witness to that night will forever remember it and will forever have a void in their hearts where life in your way once sat. The ride home was quick and silent. The cool summer nights air blowing through my hair. The noise of cars passing by on the distant side of the parkway. Headlights and white lines. The Rear view mirror showing the thousand of miles of hard road behind us and the thousand miles of hard road ahead of us. I wouldn't want it any different though.

I leave you with this thought: Talking to John Bradley outside by their trailer in a similar situation as last time but before their set he said to me, "Bob, thanks so much for coming. Not because we want to be selfish and force you here, and not because you felt like you had to come, but because you needed to be here, otherwise it wouldn't feel right for me." Brotherhood. That's the only word that comes to mind when thinking about what all the guys of Life In Your Way meant to me. The strongest bond among the human race is that of friendship, of love, and "Love is here now that you're at your end."

There are so many stories, so many people with different experiences. Mine is just one.

It's like you're never good enough. It's like people just mock the things that make you unbelievably happy. It's like no matter what you're never the best you're always somewhere at the bottom struggling to keep afloat. You work and work and work and nothing gets better. I drive around town from time to time late at night praying for a car to veer into me driving at a high velocity, take me from myself. Take the life I have yet to live from me. Sometimes I pray for some estranged disease to overcome me and take me to the bottom of a six foot hole. I am no one. I am nothing. I'm not even a good person anymore. I just want or need something to prove my worth. Something to test me. I ask for it everyday, but nothing comes. I'm tired of living the way other people want me to.

Building Cathedrals

Long winters spent on Sunday mornings praying at the alter, praying for the fear of heart to subside, I dig deep into the literature written on my hands, and all it says, “fear not the others.” I was branded young during the age of inconsistency, left alone with a desert blanket to keep me from the cold, I decided then that I was going to be an outsider, to walk a million miles of hard road, but we’re all tested, in our own ways, are we worth the skin we inhabit? Some questions will be left unanswered, those that prove themselves will be given armor to lead legions against the oncoming wave of rising tides.

This feeling stays with you, the feeling of emptiness. You will never get rid of it until you go out and search for the means of filling the hole. And all I choose to ask is, does fear still drive you? The wrong answer can put you a million miles away.

I've been busy so I haven't been able to respond to this one yet. I think people believe that no one relates to them for one of three reasons. The first is because they want to believe that they are the only ones that are feeling a certain emotion and want to be significant in some way. This in turn leads to the second reason, to want to be noticed. I've noticed over my years that usually people get attention through claiming to have it the worst. If someone else is in the same boat as them, they lose their significance, so they pretend and believe that they are the only one's who have life tough. The other reason is that they may have some sort of chemical condition that actually makes them feel or makes them believe that they are the only ones feeling a certain type of pain or depression. Ultimately though, I think when people are depressed they feel like they are on a different planet. They don't seem to feel as if they have anyone to relate to, so they stay isolated. If they looked to talk to someone or to look around them they would easily see that they aren't the only one's who feel that way.

To answer questions regarding what I mean by work:

I think most of the work that I need is mental and physical. It's important to be strong and feel strong (yes I did just steal that line from Into the Wild but it's true). If only the saying, "it's not what's on the outside that matters, it's what's inside," was true. Unfortunately the first thing people see is the person on the outside. The persona, the thing that people get to see but never get to really know. This leads to preconceived notions about a persons character and worth. Not only that but people are judged on their looks which is adopted through the adaptation of societal norms and changes with each culture. It's natural selection, our bodies are our peacock feathers. The nicer it looks the more likely people will get to know the inner self. But I digress, to be physically strong in a world that is stuck on this concept of beauty is to promote mental sanity. To be physically strong is to give confidence that I may be able to overcome any physical obstacle put in front of me. Maybe it's my "super-hero complex" but I feel in life we are tested to prove our worth. Will we be able to rise to the occasion or fail to act in moments of great controversy. Which raises my next question, do you believe that we go to hell for the things we do or the things we don't do? Or is it both? I do believe that it was Martin Luther King who said, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and conveniences, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."

Moving past my vanity, Mentally I must also sharpen my mind as to create a better understanding for the people who are around me. Through the study of cultures, history, literature, math, science, religion, etc. I can then begin to understand how the world works. I then can have a better understanding of how to treat my fellow human beings because I better understand how they act and why they do the things they do. To be mentally strong is to be able to discuss any facet of life, no matter how controversial, in an open forum without fear of persecution, alienation, and physical force. How am I going to tell someone their wrong if I've never been in their position, grew up in their world. The only way I can come close is to study the history of cultures and current cultures, create opinions, and be open to others opinions. Through this open forum we can take two opposing opinions and possibly come up with a synthesis and start to create harmony or just realize that we just agree to disagree and move forward from there. To be mentally strong is to come to grips with my emotions, my physical surroundings, my body itself and build a strong foundation so as to create stability within my life. My self-esteem has personally be low for my entire life, well since I stepped into a social setting and was reminded of it everyday. People are a vicious breed with sharp teeth to cut us deep. So you either have to let yourself sink and drown or learn to swim really quick. Still to this day I'm reminded that I'm not tall enough, I'm not funny, I'm chubby,not fast enough, not athletic enough, my writing sucks, I'm a terrible student, I look terrible. Regardless if these analyzations on my life are correct, they have a great impact on my mental view of myself as a person. Everyday I wake up and wonder what I'm doing with my life. I wake up and ask myself, "Bob what are you going to do today to turn it around?" I go to bed at night wondering why I sat and did nothing. Why didn't I make the change. Why didn't I do something different, that wasn't routine. So needless to say I'm just mentally not strong enough for life or maybe it's just because I haven't been tested to my limit. But until then I have to improve myself in order to prove myself down the line. Basically, I still need a lot of work, I'm not perfect means that I just need to get strong, feel strong, be strong. Everyday I wake up I have to make myself a better person in some way. Otherwise, what's the point of even waking up and living. I've already died. Hope that answers your question.

Adapting to Damnation

I man made of fear and flesh, stand before the light, with guilt to stain my teeth, I speak truths. Driving at 85 miles per hour, my head is pounding, heart racing, white dashes, white dashes, you have no idea how this feels, should I take it off the beaten path, and plow head on into oncoming traffic, this is the unbearable, this is the death of kin, I am made of only flesh, and for this reason I bow my head to misery, the constant crutch that catches me, is the smile you emit when I'm around. The only crutch that's keeping me here is the mornings I wake up and you're well, we are dying to care, we are dying to feel, burning the candle at both ends, rather burn out, rather run out of track, but for some reason I can't quite get that far.

Picking my brain

I tried to write this yesterday and I posted it but nothing happened so I'm just going to assume that no one can read it. I actually sat down last night and discussed these very questions with a lot of old friends. I came to the realization that I'm not happy with what I've accomplished so far because I've held high expectations for myself from the very beginning. I guess it's my Napoleon complex. I want to conquer the world and nothing less than that will be satisfactory. I do know that I'm content with where I'm at but I'm not satisfied. I want to keep driving to do better things. I've been able to tour up and down the east coast and meet a lot of new people but I feel like that I haven’t yet been able to do exactly what I wanted on my terms. Don’t get me wrong, I love every second of it. I want it to never end but I need a lot more. I’ve also had the privilege to coach baseball and work with some phenomenal baseball coaches and players but I don’t want to be placed in a mold. As for how I personally feel about myself, I think that I’ve rounded out to be a decent human being who is filled with a range of emotions that sometimes get the best of him. I still need a lot of work, I’m not perfect. I’m no one special, just a loser who was in the right place at the right time and got into a band that became semi-popular in New Jersey. The only regret I have is that the relationship that meant something to me got bogged down with distance and the band and fell apart and I’m still not a peace with it, even after two years. But things happen for a reason I guess.

Plans for the future. Wow, I have a hard enough time deciding what I’m going to have for breakfast in the morning, let alone to tell you where I’m going to be in the coming weeks, months, or years. I know for certain that I will be graduating in the Fall with a BA in History and then heading to Graduate school for my Masters in the Science of Teaching. I know what I want to do and that’s keep progressing while making music, constantly writing and analyzing the world around me, coaching baseball, and adapting to the constraints that slowly squeeze me into a mold. I want to hopefully walk a portion of the Appalachian Trail, work a Summer at Hole in the Wall Gang Camp, Keep touring, start teaching, and find someone to start a family with. Although most of it seems like it may never happen, I’m going to keep pushing to make sure that I keep progressing and keep bettering myself as a person both mentally and physically. I hope that Answers your questions and I hope to hear more from you soon. I wish I had more to say, It’s just a tough question to answer without completely opening up and letting everyone know where I’m 100% at, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment yet. But I gave you about 80% and as time goes on It’ll be less and less. Talk to you soon.

-Bobby

I still am.

ch 7 in the future.

Losing self to self

I tried to cut you out like a cancer but you keep growing back. I just can't seem to rid myself of the feeling that I made a mistake. That I wish you were still part of my life, like you wanted. I wish I could have been a better person, just at the time I didn't think I could be friends with you. I loved you too much or maybe not enough. If that makes sense. I just didn't want to see you with anyone else. I wanted it to be us. I understand though that you needed to try new things but I just wish I still had you in my life. Somehow I think it'd be better if you were. You made so many attempts to reach out to me and I just shut you out of my life. I'm sorry for that and I understand why we don't talk anymore. I guess we're just too far gone. Life hasn't been good since you left.

CH. 6 No Anchor

Friday Morning. A week and a half spent in a constant blur. I woke up sprawled out on my bed, nothing but the sound of a box fan rumbling are heard through the early morning hours. Two weeks had passed by and school was coming to a close. The semester was almost over. I've been waste deep in research for the plethora of research papers that I had to still write. Misery just isn't the word. You can find me in the Library drudging through the isles. Searching for books. You can find me in the corner of the third floor shelving unit between classes and until midnight, nose deep in some boring textbook. I can be seen in front of computers, zoned in, black rings under my eyes, searching library databases for newspaper articles and declassified documents to prove my thesis. I've finished two papers thus far, only one more to go.
In a half asleep state, rolling out of bed, I stumbled to my bathroom to take a piss. From the bathroom, I heard the high pitched buzz of my cell phone reverberating off the book on the floor next to my mattress. Fumbling back to my room, I saw it was Greg. I snapped the phone open and mumbled what I thought was hello.
"Huh?!" shouted Greg, "Come too and talk like a fucking human."
I cleared my throat and repeated much clearer, "Hello?"
"Get Home, Practice in three hours, no excuses, show Saturday." Greg hung up without getting a response. That's how things were for him. He didn't like you to say anything. It was his own joke that made you laugh out of hate. It's hard to describe, it was hilarious because you knew he was doing it but it was aggravating at the same time. You couldn't say no. You couldn't get a word in edge-wise. Greg liked to surround himself with people who were the most obnoxious people on the face of the earth. That described our band. A collection of douche bags ready to make people the most aggravated they'd ever been or ever wanted to be. It's not like we wanted people to dislike us, it was just our humor. We got it, that's why we were friends.
My dirty laundry, my clean laundry, my messy room, my world of filth and sorrow. I was leaving it again. It was my salvation from the outside world, a home I never wanted but never wanted to give up. Every thing's packed. All the stuff I need for the weekend packed in a rucksack I had purchased from the army surplus store two towns over. Into my rusty piece of shit car and off home.
Through the same front door. Up the same steps. Through the awkward silence and the stench of misery. Into the room I've come to hate. The room that gave me shelter and brought me steps closer to the edge. I placed my things on my bed and walked into my dads room to see if my mom had left any of my laundry on his bed. From the corner of my eye I saw it. It was barely visible, I had almost forgotten that he had had it. I stepped into my fathers closest and grabbed the lock box from the top shelf. I knew where the key was, with everything else that was important in my fathers life, rolled up in his sock drawer next to his rosary beads that my grandmother had left him. I picked it up and rubbed it between my fingers as if it was the answer to every question I've ever had. Like it was the only thing that could save me. I placed the key into the slot and turned. The mechanism turned over and allowed the top to pop open a little bit. I slowly picked up the top and peered in to see that my dad's handgun was laying dormant. You could see the violence in the barrel, pent up and ready to explode into anything that was dumb enough to provoke its anger. I picked it up and admired it's beauty.
I ran my fingers over the metallic gray silver. Safety is just a trigger away. I take one bullet and place it in the chamber. I put the barrel of my fathers gun into my mouth and took a deep breath through my nose. I let the air fill my lungs. In my head I pulled the trigger. I let the bullet exit through the back of my skull shattering some of my teeth on its way. Slowly I crumble to the floor and in mid drop I blink slowly and see the world turn light. I'm back and the guns still just in my mouth. I pull it out, I didn't want it. I didn't want death. Not that way. I wanted to fade out and have no one remember me. I don't want to leave the world with the burden that I have come to carry. I remove the bullet from the chamber and place it back into the case. The gun placed safely into my fathers safety deposit box. I re-lock it and place the key back into his top drawer for safe keeping. I push the lock box back on the top shelf of his closet and walked away. I close the door behind me and lean my head against the wall next to the door. "Show Time." I tell myself.
I headed over to Greg's parents garage where we'd been practicing since we first met. That garage has seen so many musicians and so many styles of music, so many personalities. I punch in the garage code that I know by heart and walk in, half a ghost, with my black notebook tucked under my arm. Jerry is sitting behind the drums as always except he's not smiling as usual. He looks a little dazed. His shirt was off because it was hot with all the amps running. He was tall and lanky with blond hair, yet he insisted on shaving it. You could see his tattoo across his chest that read, "DEAD ENDS" along his collar bone. He nodded at me and said hello. Smitty was sitting on an old stool we found in the garbage with his bass in hand. His hair was much longer but he tucked it behind his ears and usually kept it under a backwards Chicago White Sox hat. He was hard at work trying to learn the last part of what seemed to be one of our new songs. Tim was sitting across from him struggling to keep his patience while trying to show Smitty the new part. They were always like that. At each other's throats. They really did love each other but were both really stubborn and in search of perfection. Well as close as you can get in a hardcore band. Greg filtered in behind me from the house with a grape soda in his hand. He put his hand on my shoulder and breezed past me. He plugged in, turned me on and handed me my microphone. My 400 watt Peavey speakers buzzed in approval. We made sure we were all at a reasonable level and then there was a pause. Greg looked at me and said, "We want to play a few of the new songs tomorrow if you can get them down today."
I responded, "No Problem, lets start then." We clicked in, "...Two, Three, Four!" Everything came in real heavy and grimy. It had so much heart behind it and at the same time it had no heart at all. The first words that came to my mind that seemed fit to open up that song lyrically was, "ADAPTING TO DAMNATION!" It seemed to work perfectly. Everything else seemed to settle behind it. After a half an hour I had lyrically put that song to rest. I stored it to memory and we moved on to the next song. The next song started really fast, real punk sound into a spiteful drive that was reminiscent of integrity. After four hours of impressive material I had finished putting together the last of the material we had. I was surprised how fast it all fell into place. Granted I'd practiced them a few weeks ago with no lyrics, I felt like I came in knowing what I wanted to accomplish. The band was real driven too. We then pressed through the rest of the set and packed up shop and packed our trailer for tomorrow. We couldn't practice during the day because Jerry had work until 4 pm.
After the load in we all sat around, we didn't really say anything for a while, we didn't have to. We were all on the same wave length. That's how the day ended. Us sitting together like always in Greg's living room, zoned into the TV. One by one filtering out. Tomorrow was our first show back. You could tell that everyone was really anxious to see what was going to happen. Was I really going to be a time bomb waiting to go off. Will the noise save me or kill me. One never really knows with these things. They just happen moment to moment.
Saturday arrived with no accord. I was just struggling to process the sun. I just wanted it to go down. I did nothing all day but watch TV and eat leftovers. Things were sort of returning to normal in my house. As normal as they were going to get at least. My mom and dad returned to their normal everyday routines. They just didn't seem like they wanted to do them anymore. Teddy was still on everyone's mind. As if he would ever leave, they were all just dealing with it better. I seemed like I would never pull through. Everything was as gray as normal with small bits of black to fill in the dark areas. I arrived at Greg's house at around 4 to print directions and head out. It usually takes us a half an hour to pack everything after we fuck around but everything was already packed so we didn't need to worry about that.. Everyone was already there and we just fucking around and throwing a frisbee around. We jumped in the van after I printed out directions off of the worst online mapping system, maptrip.com, and headed out. The guys did there usual routine pre-show ritual of listening to old rock and hair metal. Bruce Springsteen blared through the speakers and graced our ears with "Born To Run." It's funny how a man can be so famous and not have one number one hit. They sang along and rejoiced in the world they were part of. I sat in the back, removed from the group. I layed down on the back seat and just let myself drift in and out of conscienceness. Part of me was saying, you need to do this, the other part was saying, it's too soon. Maybe I should have just stayed home but I was past the point of no return. We were already on the highway doing 75 watching white lines pass by us.
6:00 pm rolls around and we had arrived at our destination. It was the first show we've played at home for a long time. By home, I mean New Jersey. It seemed as if there would be a decent number of kids there but I was surprised to see that there were more than I had imagined. About 300 kids packed into a small elks lodge excited to see the bands. The energy that I once felt when I was younger was exerted from each kid from wall to wall. When We were so much smarter then we were now. Everything was fun. Everything was chaos, passion, blood, sweet, violence, peace, love, and war. Did I change, or did the music? Is it the same or is it different? I find myself asking that question everyday. Regardless, I spent the majority of the show in the van while the rest of the guys went out and fraternized. It was no disrespect to the bands playing. I've personally supported all the bands with all my heart. I just couldn't face the world that me and my brother had shared for so long. Now I have to bare the cross alone. I have to carry it alone through a crowd of people who have no idea what's it like to lose everything and be expected to act alright. I couldn't face that reality. Just a few more minutes lost in my headphones, with a pen strapped to my hand and a pad of paper to calm my wandering mind. I just kept trying to write lyrics. I wound up spending all my time writing catchy one liners to put into songs. Nothing substantial, just pieces to the puzzle that were bound to fall into place sooner or later.
Smitty and Tim came out and told me we were on next and we needed to load in and begin setting up our drums and other equipment so we could quickly move onto the stage and play our 9 song, 30 minute set. We unloaded the trailer rather quickly and began piecing together Jerry's drums. People kept staring at me as if they had just seen Jesus Christ himself risen from the grave. The "GOD FREE YOUTH" would have become believers right then and there if that was the case. Friends all came up to me just to say hello. You know they wanted to talk about it but I tried to avoid it as much as possible. I appreciated them coming out, I just didn't want to go on stage upset. The last thing I wanted was that. I tried to keep to myself in the back as much as possible, trying to keep my eyes down to avoid any unwanted conversations. I heard the music stop and knew it was our time to set up. We pushed our stuff out to the front of the stage and moved it up. The stage wasn't anything phenomenal, it was probably about a foot off the ground but it was something. We had our things set up and began to sound check. Kids filtered in from outside. They had put out there cigarettes and came in to enjoy the noise,the chaos, the emotional breakdown. I turned around and looked at all the eager faces. Some of them old friends and some of them new friends. Some of them people I've never seen before in my life. I looked at the rest of the band to make sure they were all ready and got the signal of approval to go ahead and start. I felt the pit in my stomach finally hit the bottom and I just said the first thing that came to mind, "From the Heavens above to the balance below, We're HOLLOW EARTH" ....two....three...four....The guitars slammed in hard and heavy, the crowd erupted and pushed to both sides. Kids began jumping off tables that were lined up on the sides for bands' merch onto people. All crawling along the crowd, surfing there way to the front. Kids were front flipping, running back and forth. They pushed for room as it all made sense of itself. As it built up, everyone started pushing to the front. Kids jumped up and tried to steal the mic as I began yelling my head off, "We are the hopeless, the outcasts, the outsiders, the faceless, modest men who's country birthed them for hatred....." You could barely hear me over them. Twenty to thirty kids crowded around trying to be the most dedicated. I've never felt anything like that before in my life. I almost lost it halfway through our set when someone yelled from the back, "We love you Teddy!" It took every ounce of being to hold back the river of tears that began welling up in my eyes. I just wanted to disappear but I for the first time I felt relief. This was my therapy. This is what I needed to keep me balanced. We played our last song and it ended in pandemonium. Every kid was screaming at the top of there lungs at the end of the song. "I LIVE A LIFE OF MISCONCEPTION AND MISERY!" It was all well and good but it was missing something. It was missing Teddy. The most dedicated. The greatest.
We finished up and we packed our trailer, collected our gurantee and I just sat in the van until Greg came walking out. He looked at me and said, "We just got offered and month long tour of the United States. It's already set up, we'd leave in a month. Everything is paid for. Can you do it?"
I looked him in the eye, unsure of what I was going to say and just blurted out, "Let's do it, there's no anchor on this vessel anymore." He left ecstatic. I felt like I needed to get out. I had nothing keeping me here anymore. No job, schools over soon, Teddy's gone. I needed to go out and find myself again. I felt this was the best way. I'd either come back better or I wouldn't come back at all.

Time to drift.

CH. 4 These Crossroads, Neither Shall Lead to a Center

I walked most of the way home and stopped to stand in front of "The Hill." It rose fifteen feet above the even earth nearby in Kroeger's sand pit. As teenagers we would battle for rights to the top. Me, Teddy, and whoever else wanted to play. It was like we were preparing for the war that would be the rest of our lives in a playful manner. We somehow knew that life would be a struggle. We would have to be strong and push for supremacy or roll down the hill with shame imprinted on our faces in the form of loose orange sand. For many this game would teach the importance of being on top. We never wanted that though, we just wanted to have fun. If one of our friends knocked us off, we were fine with it. We carried the lessons we learned on that hill with us the rest of our lives. We were innocent then. I sat on top watching the sky turn red and purple. I watched the sun sink low behind the pale pine trees. Life seems to be much more real in the dark. Don't ask me to explain it, it just is.

Under the street light out front of my house, there was a puddle that had formed from our neighbor's sprinkler system. I caught a glimpse of myself and didn't recognize the face looking back at me. It was hollow, as if my body was merely a shell. I had lost the features that many had admired. People always told me that I had a way of brightening a room just by smiling. It just didn't seem like it was there anymore. It may have been the lack of food or the immense depression but I was losing myself in something much deeper then any addiction. I was being consumed by grief. It didn't sit well in my stomach. I've been put at these crossroads, knowing that neither path shall lead to a center. I can go right or I can go left and add some wear to each path. I chose to stand still. I would sit at the fork and wait for something better to find me instead of going out and finding it. Was this what I was becoming? Ultimately, the answer was Yes. I was becoming misled by grief.

I grabbed my keys and headed for my car. I needed an escape. I needed to get out. I needed to be with other human beings. I needed social interaction. So I left, feeling optimistic for the first time in a week. In hope to find freedom. To rid myself of these chains that had been put on my wrists by a supreme being. I'm not blaming God for everything that's gone wrong with my life. I would like to think that I have some sort of free will to decide my own fate. I'm just blaming him for taking my brother away from me. He didn't have to. He could have brought him back. What happened to three strikes you're out. What about nine lives? What about second chances? You couldn't be lenient for once? That's my only qualm. Usually in life you're given a warning by a parent, teacher, or superior before you're severely punished. No warnings were given at all. It was just *poof*, he's gone.

It was raining by the time I got halfway to my destination. A small storm passing through the County, a slight drizzle, gusts of light wind, wind shield wipers and headlights. There was a chance. A chance I could meet you. Hydro-plane and head straight into a guard rail. If only it would be granted to me. I am not to be so lucky. I arrived at Seven Tavern, a small bar at the edge of town. Some say the infamous Stagger Lee once walked through there but we all doubted it. Nothing ever happens in our dead end town. The place that you live is never that exciting, it's everyone else's territory that seems exciting because its new and fresh. Even with that insight, I never really learned from it. Anyway, Seven Tavern is a bar that a lot of the locals visit during the weekend. I didn't really want to see any of the locals but I wanted to just be near them. I wanted to absorb some of their vibrancy, their life. I hoped that somehow it would make me feel better to know that someone on this earth was happy. If only I could somehow slip in unrecognized and find an open booth and just listen to the house band and order a coke I'd be fine.

Marching through the front door is always a hassle. Even though I'm twenty-two I look like I'm ten. The Bartender, an old friend I went to high school with, recognized me and came to my aid. "He's alright boy's." He told the bouncers with a grin. "Not breaking that fine line you walk are you? Not resorting to the bottle? I would hate to hear that, although it puts money in my pocket."

"No, Just give me a coke when you have time. I just want to be alone with my thoughts. I'll stop by down the line and we'll catch up." A bartender might as well have a dual profession. He's a psychiatrist that prescribes you bourbon, scotch, or beer.

He nods and as I try to slip him five bucks for his trouble he places his hand out to stop me from insulting his hospitality any further. "This one's on me." I shot him my best attempt at a smile and went to a booth in a dim lit corner and sat by myself. It was so loud that I could barely hear myself think. If the band wasn't playing people were chattering away. They were laughing, enjoying the spirit of the room. I found that I wasn't absorbing their lust for life. Their exuberance, there joy. I had nothing. Nothing left to give. Not now. Not Ever? I just continued to sit and take in the world.

I sat for an hour in my corner, nursing my third coke. Not moving. Not acknowledging the lives around me. I was contently insignificant at the moment. Yet it was all soiled by the massive pile of wasted potential who had had one too many lager bombs. It was Todd Johnson. Our high-school's quarterback who blew his chances at a Scholarship to a bigger University to play football because he was caught taking steroids and kicked off the team before his Senior year. You know the type, the real cocky typical jock who finds himself abusing a bottle of self tanner and decided that he would wear beaters all year round, regardless of temperature. He was one of those guys. Since the steroid scandal, Todd has been a patron to local bars since he was old enough to drink. He works long days doing carpentry but ends his days down at the patron saint of spirits cathedral praying for his youth back.

I watched slowly as he strolled, or more like stumbled, his way over to where I was sitting and addressed me. "Aren't you that kid I went to high school with." Yea, I was one of the 750 of our graduating class. I merely nodded so as to not encourage his antics. He then continued on, "How about you buy an old friend a drink."

"I think you have had enough to drink." I said. I wasn't trying to be facetious, It was obvious that if he had anymore he was going to pass out and choke on his own vomit. As much as I didn't like Todd, I didn't want to be responsible for another man's death. I didn't want to be responsible for feeding his addiction. I was standing my ground.

"I'll tell you when I've had enough, unlike your brother. I heard he couldn't just say when. He wasn't like me, I have a strong will. By the way, how's your brother doing? Worms keeping him company?" Every ounce of hate boiled beneath my skin. At that moment I wanted to hit him. Not just hit him, destroy him. I wanted to hit him until he stopped moving and even then I'd only stop when I was punching nothing but floor. I wanted to make sure that it was a close casket funeral. I wanted to snap every bone in his body with my own two hands. Make him suffer and pray that hell come take him. I wanted to slowly cut through his fingertips and take each one piece by piece. I wanted to soil the earth with his blood, his tears. I wanted him to beg for his life at my hands. Every ounce of pain mounted into a full fledged attack. Quicker then I could reason I was up from my seat swinging for the fences. One strong shot left him on the floor but his friends were different stories. For the next five minutes in all the commotion I managed to get hit once in the face and land on the floor. I was kicked in the ribcage, back, and legs multiple times. All I could do was curl my forearms over my face to protect it from any blows that came toward my head. It was broken up by security and the police were called. I was interrogated and when both parties decided that they didn't want to press charges we were all sent home with warnings.

I had enough with being home. I had enough with being real. I left to go back to school. I packed my things and went to a place where I could be only with myself. I kissed my parents goodbye and told them that I needed to get back to school to finish some schoolwork. They understood that, that wasn't the reason but they sent me off anyway. They didn't notice the black eye that was slowly starting to form over my eye. The drive back was the longest ride I've ever taken. It was warm so I left the window down. The sound of traffic buzzing by was a comfort.

I started to think and came up with the following conjecture: With every fleeting moment, we lose our innocence. We rot a little more from the inside. Our bodies are the same as fruit. They age, become tainted, get bruised, and sooner or later the world throws us out. I want to believe that we're more then just an infestation on the earth but I'm not too sure that we aren't.

Cat Power was playing low as I pulled up to the stop light right before my apartment. The buzz from the transformer was heard in the background. Everything was working but no one seemed to be alive. Is this bliss or damnation. I may never know. I was sitting there focusing on the world beyond the physical and visual. A car honked it's horn from behind me. I returned from the alternative universe that I had become entrenched in. The light was green.

CH. 2 Left to the Wind

At 7 A.M. I stumbled into the diner that was right around the corner from his grave yard. It was his now. No one else's. He spent long nights keeping order among the restless ghosts. He kept them settled. He kept them safe. And as the world was rattling at the chain link fence, he kept out the true horrors of death. What exactly they were, I don't yet know but I'm sure we'll meet again in a Kingdom of Sand. That's how I imagined it. That's how I wanted it.

After being seated in a booth at the back of the diner I just sat there staring at the juke box that was built into the table. Someone had been playing a Bruce Springsteen song. It was Atlantic City. It was no more than 45 minutes away. I've seen it a thousand times. I've seen White Trash Vegas in all of its filth and glory. I've seen dead bodies, I've seen the shitty boardwalk where you get the mix of performers and tourists all looking to hit it big. Where destitution meets the rich and famous. Yet, it all brings back so many great memories. Gambling our lives away. Saving up our pennies just to head to Atlantic City when we had saved as much as possible. We were so unintelligent. It was the best.

The waitress walked up and caught me off guard. I had wandered off into the remnants of my mind, searching for Gold. Finding nothing but sand. I wrote that down on a napkin with a crayon as I ordered a cup of coffee. "Watch as I turn Gold to Sand." Everything I do is bound to turn to shit. That's how I reasoned it. That's how I was to forever answer life's deepest secrets. It has a way of shitting on you. My coffee came, two creamers and a whole lot of sugar later, I was able to revive the body that was host to this mind. I didn't want to go home anymore. It wasn't home. It's not anymore. People that I love are there but it's not the same home that I left the weekend before. It's incomplete now and will no longer be a stable home. I had to find cover somewhere else. I went back anyway.

I used to walk in the door and see smiling faces, I now only got half-assed attempts at being pleasant. Like a knife that just keeps twisting and turning, the wound stays fresh. My mom shouted from the back room, "Greg called, he wants you to call him back. He left a message on the machine." No one has been able to answer the phone here because they knew that it'd be someone wanting to talk to them about Teddy. They just didn't want to talk about as much as I didn't want to talk about it.

Me and Greg have been friends for years, starting freshmen year of high school. We started our first band together that wasn't really good and played mostly covers. As we got older we just kept being in bands together. I couldn't picture myself in a band without him. Even at twenty-two, we're still being idiots and playing music together in a band that has a lot of potential. We started it a year ago last month and have slowly been gaining a following of good friends in New Jersey. Fast paced hardcore assault. That's what we loved. That's how we lived. That was something I did with my brother. That was ours. I had to decide whether I wanted to keep doing it without him. I guess that's why Greg called. He knew better then anyone else how close me and Teddy were. His phone rang three times before he picked up. He seemed pretty beat up himself, he loved Teddy. He loved Teddy's band. He loved Teddy being the fun loving, skull cracking, maniac that he was at our shows.

"Hey Gerald, how've you been doing?" came from the ear piece in a deep mundane tone.

"As best as life will allow me to be at this point in time. How about you?"

"I guess I'm doing alright." There was a long silence as if a thousand things were being said without moving our lips. We knew what we wanted to say to each other we just chose not to. If we didn't say it, it wasn't real. It just wasn't and couldn't be. We'd both wake up and laugh about it. Greg then quickly uttered, "Listen Gerald I'm sorry and," I cut him off before I finished.

"Stop. Just call me when the next band practice is. I'll be back next weekend as always. Keep me informed via email and I'll get in touch with you as soon as I'm feeling up to it."

"O.K. Gerald, I guess I'll see you next weekend. We have some new material and a show in two weeks. We all miss you and love you. Keep adapting and I'll talk to you soon." I couldn't say anything else without breaking down in tears so I hung up the phone.

It was here that I realized that fragile lives are left to the wind and I must learn to float with the rest of them. The rest of the day was a blur, nothing mattered. Food tasted murky, water tasted dry. The only comfort I found was in sleep. So I rested.

CH 1: The Downward Slope and the Mountain back to Civilization

They said it was a beautiful funeral. They said that it was a send off fit for the strongest warrior of our tribe. I wouldn't know. I spent it curled up in the fetal position on my bathroom floor. I spent two days on the bathroom floor before I even thought about going home. I know it was like I was abandoning my family in their lowest of moments, something I said I would never do, abandon those I loved, but I couldn't face the loss. I couldn't swallow the bitter pill that your God was feeding to me. I stress, your God because no merciful God of Christian Faith would ever do such a thing to me, at least that's what the new Testament tells me. The Old Testament is a little more spiteful and bitter. I was crippled. I kept telling myself, "Gerald get up, you need to eat." "Gerald you knew this was coming someday, we were all born to expire." I just thought that I'd be first, call me selfish, but I really wanted it to be me.

I called out of work for the next two weeks. That wasn't even long enough but life can't just stop because someone you loved more then anything else on this earth decided to die. Right? I didn't know what I needed. I didn't know if I needed time to heal or for work to keep me occupied. I just knew that I needed to go home sometime to appease my family. To show that I'm coping and that I'm not dead. My phone's been ringing for days now. I don't answer but everyone leaves the same message. "I miss you Gerald, I hope you're doing alright. Call me back and let us know that you're OK. If you need anything you know we're here."

I packed the necessities into my backpack and set up shop in the car and headed home. The closer I get to home, the farther away I feel. The entire drive is a fight to keep myself from taking my beat down Toyota into oncoming traffic. I might just push it off a bridge. Maybe head through a guardrail and pick a fight with a tree doing eighty. If the impact doesn't kill me, I'd just hope that the gas tank explodes and sets the car ablaze and I'd just sit there and earn life or death, depending upon what religion you practice or how you look at the situation. I settle myself and hold the straight line, stay in my lane.

I arrived right when the sun was at its highest and I felt as though everything around me was clouded by dark. Every step I took toward my parents house was one more step to my own demise. Like cutting yourself just to know what it is to feel, except I didn't want to feel. I wasn't inflicting this punishment upon myself for some self righteous reason. I had to. I had to suffer like this. This was my purpose. This is what God put me here for. At least that's how I felt. My family met me at my door. No words could really express how I felt and I couldn't wrap my tongue around what my mind wanted to convey to them. How I wish I could have done something. How I hoped that they'd forgive me. I wanted them to understand that this wasn't his fault, it was mine. I'm the reason he was gone, but they'd just tell me to settle myself and send me to therapy. The last thing I need is someone telling me how I'm supposed to feel.

After a tear jerking hug fest, I brought my things up to my room. I looked down at my bag and realized that I had over packed. I always tend to do this. Even when I know I'm only going to be somewhere for two days, I pack one pair of pants, 7 pairs of socks and underwear and ten shirts. It was inevitable, I was worried that something might come up, so I packed whatever I thought was relevant. After slowly unfolding my things I stepped out my door. His room was right across from mine. Right across that dim lit hallway that seemed to stretch farther now then it ever had before. I reached out for the handle but stopped. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to accept it. I ran through his death in my head. How he would slowly inject himself and allow the disease to fill him. How his breathing started to slow while hanging his head, overcome by his euphoric curse. The halo that seemed to surround the top of his head seemed to diminish as the life in his body began to fade. By the time my parents realized anything was wrong they were too late. No one really knew he had a problem but me. They still thought he was edge. Still though that he held true but the truth is, I don't think he wanted to live in my shadow anymore. That's how it usually is at least. That's how all the stories tell it. A deep rooted depression stemming from lack of recognition. He was his own legacy though, he just never realized it. Now his legacy is burned out, dust to the wind. I just wish I could have had the strength to get him help. It was guilt though, he made it seem like I was hurting him somehow. How he couldn't be helped. How it would never leave him now and that we all just needed to accept it. I hope that hell enjoys my company for being such a terrible brother. I did this to you. I did. No one else.

I decided, that after laying on my family room couch for an hour that I was ready to go to his grave. My family wanted to know if I wanted company, I just said that I wanted to be alone but not to wait up. I might not be back until late, so don't worry and don't wait up. I stuffed a Black Flag record into my book bag along with some other items and got into my car and headed down Stratford Road. We used to play wiffle ball as boys with the Johnston brothers and their neighbors on this road. We were invincible, what happened? It seemed like every place I went I was reminded of him. The old first aid building where we would throw rocks through the windows. The park where we would go hang out with our high school girlfriends together every Saturday night and make out until our curfew's. Even the skate park where I jumped the fence and broke my ankle running from cops brought back memories. How he let me lean on him the entire way home. We cut through back yards for what seemed like an eternity just to shake them. By the time I got to the traffic light by Route 72, I was in tears. Nothing had ever made me feel this low. Nothing.

I made the next right onto Route 9 and finally came up to the grave yard. My grandmother and father were buried there as well as some other friends of the family. I parked on a side road and walked up. It took me a while to find his grave but I found it. It was toward the back under a pine tree. There were still flowers all around it. His tombstone read, "Theodore Allen Roose. Beloved Child and Brother. January 17th, 1985 - May 8th 2007." We called him Teddy for short. He was taller then I was. Somehow he got the height in our tiny family. I was five foot four and he was closer to 6 foot. He was strong and at sometimes a head case. Probably one of the toughest guys I've ever met. His shaved head and deep brown eyes won over any female within a mile. He was just the kind of guy who would sacrifice everything to make you happy. I miss his smile. I miss his laugh. I miss him. Everything.

I didn't have anything left when I got there. I couldn't cry. I couldn't smile. I couldn't feel. I was just indifferent. I opened my bag and put some things on his grave. His favorite record, My autographed Don Mattingly Baseball that he always wanted, and some of our favorite baseball cards. It wasn't much but I knew they all meant the world to him, so I left them. I didn't really say much because I didn't' really have anything to say. Just that I love him and that I was sorry for everything. I sat there for hours and then night came and I sat some more. I finally got so tired that I laid down with my jacket under my head and went to sleep. When the Police woke me up and asked me what I was doing, I told them that I didn't want my brother to be alone. Truth was, I didn't' want to be without my brother. They ran my ID and sent me on my way. Home I went, still groggy, still fucked up, still lost, still desperate for answers.

CH 3. What Comes Easy, Isn't Easy.

Morning wasn't the problem finding the will to live was, seemed like everyday was a struggle to gain confidence. Everyday was a day that I could improve my self esteem. Fat chances accompany big dreamers. All I want to do is leave. The only place I feel at home is in a van and on the road. I keep telling myself that, I believe and believe it more and more everyday. I wish I wasn't such a creature. I wish I didn't want to die every hour of every day. It never used to be like that, not when he was still here. I had long days of skateboarding and bullshitting about hardcore bands to look forward to every weekend that I came home from college. I didn't need a crew, I didn't need a crutch, I didn't need a substance and I still don't, all I needed were those moments when we talked and went searching for girls at the mall. We'd drive half an hour just to walk in and out of stores and look at things we'd buy if we had money and we'd walk into shitty record stores to look at vinyl for our collections. Then we'd sit around all day and read the inserts. We'd look through the lyrics, we'd check out the thanks section and check out the bands that they'd thank to see if we liked them. We'd go to shows and lose ourselves. Our bands would play and we'd both lose it. We were a support system, no one else needed to be there, just us. This is our therapy.

Salvation is a warm gun away. Somehow I knew you wouldn't want that for me but the thought never slipped my mind.

I rolled out of bed at my parents house after laying there with my eyes open for twenty minutes. It was still morning but my blinds let little light into my baby blue room. I walked across the cluttered floor and opened the door. His door was closed, I reached across to twist the door knob just to check if I had dreamed all of it. Some sick dream that finally ended. I stood there for a little bit, then I twisted it and opened your door. Just how you left it, clothes strewn on either side of your bed, sheets askew, CD's and records on the floor in front of your record and CD player. Your favorite windbreaker on the floor where you left it. The life was sucked out of me again. I just wanted to disappear.

I started to stumble down the stairs into my parents kitchen. My mom sat at the far end of the table smoking a cigarette drinking her coffee in her robe. My dad fully dressed as usual and both older sisters sitting in there pajamas. They all looked like they've been crying. We all looked like we hadn't stopped crying. "Want something to eat?"

I hadn't eaten since the accident. I couldn't hold anything down. "No, I'm fine." Pale and losing weight. Eyes swollen and red. No will to live. No strength left to die, and I had the balls to tell them that I was fine. "I'm just going to go for a run."

I stumbled back up stairs and put on my gym shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. I laced up my nike's and picked up my ipod. I couldn't be alone in my head. I kept telling myself that I'm what killed him. I'm what made this happen. Somehow, I could have saved him. Somehow.

I was out the door and jogging. At this point in time, I was just trying to abuse my body. I pushed myself to go faster and farther. Three miles in, I wanted to drop. I kept running. Five miles in, I threw up on my t-shirt. I kept running. Six miles in, I finally stumbled to a halt. I leaned against the school wall and lost it. I punched the bricks until they were covered with blood. I wanted to destroy everything and everyone who stepped into my way. We are born into suffering. Empty heart. Empty soul. Theravada Buddhist bliss.

I dragged myself half way home when someone who had been walking their dog, seeing the mixture of blood and vomit on my shirt asked if I was alright. With my eyes staring at my feet, keeping stride, I replied, "No. I'm fine."

CH 5. The Salvation of Lower Class Bondage

The shot heard through the dead of night. I curled my head close to my knees and clutched the pillow that I had been resting my head on. I had no bed frame, no box spring, no mattress. I was just glad that I had a roof over my head. For that split second though, I wished my roof resided in a safer part of town. This is life on your own, no money, minimum wage.

I once had a friend of mine talk about the essentials of life. He said all a man needs to live is running water, a television, high speed internet, a cellphone, a refrigerator stocked with cold beers and a freezer filled with microwavable hungry man dinners. I had none of that, except for running water, and yet I felt complete. I didn't need the essentials because the essentials didn't get man through the ice age. The essentials didn't help man evolve into what some scientists call the "superior species." They didn't hunt food, grow crops, create the foundations of government and they sure as hell didn't instill in us emotions like love and hate, fear and security. The essentials evolved from man's want for easier living. So as far as I'm concerned, the essentials aren't that essential. An unbreakable spirit is the only essential I need. I think it was Frederich Nietzsche who once said, "He who has the why to live can overcome any how," or something along those lines but the premise is all the same.

I woke up the next morning refreshed, as if I had slept for three days. I stumbled shirtless with nothing but a pair of pajama pants on through the white walled apartment to my bathroom. It seemed that this place was either a prison or salvation, I hadn't quite made the decision as to how I felt about it yet. Regardless, I began brushing my teeth. I couldn't help but stare at myself in the mirror. "God Damnit Gerald, you need a shave." It's all I can do to keep myself sane. "God Damnit Gerald, you need a vacation and that black eye is atrocious." Moments when I talk to myself. That's the only time when I'm understood completely. The only time where I make perfect sense.

I turn on the shower and wait for the water to get warm. It's cold at first but starts to create steam as I wash my face in the sink. I know its warm now and hop in while pulling the shower curtain shut. As if it matters, there's no one else here. After scrubbing thoroughly to get the crusted blood out from under my fingernails from last nights fight, I take a few moments and enjoy the warm water. I take some time to enjoy the idea that I might be cleansing my soul in those showers. Somehow every morning, I start fresh. I was the sin off my skin and hope that all is forgiven. I soon lean forward, both hands on the moldy tile and I start to cry. Everything catches up to you. Everything winds up catching up with you sooner or later. It's finally caught up with me. I'm finally realizing where I've been, what I've done, who I've lost and it hurts.

I pull myself together and realize that I need to get to work. Work is walking two miles to the local grocery where I stock shelves for $7.50 per hour. Work is stupid fucking people who can't figure out for themselves where the oat bran is. Work is important sacks of douche who bullshit on their cellular phones because they have something so important to tell someone that can't wait until they get home. Life is Work and work is stupid fucking people that give me a bad attitude. Two miles of this, ruining my own day before I get there. I walk up to the front doors and stop right at the entrance. My manager is standing in front of me and shoots me a dirty look because I'm five minutes late. "I Quit!" I shout and drop my apron at the front.

It never stops raining in my head.

I lost my brother and now I'm losing my mind. Wish.....

The Colossus by Museo del Prado, of Madrid

Fighting Solves Everything!

Although I'm not a big fan of the slogan that is the title of this entry but it seemed to be the theme last night. If you've never been to a Muay Thai fight, you're quite frankly missing out. It really is a good time. Church Street is really good, or so I hear, but we went to the Warrior's Cup in New Brunswick. We got there around 7:30ish and sat for five to ten minutes until the fights started. We were just being belligerent for most of the fights. Yelling obnoxiously at any event is fun especially when everyone else who is there is doing the same and no one cares who you're rooting for as long as you're yelling. Sometimes you get so lost in the hijinx that you forget that it really is a dance and an art form. Regardless, I felt like shit for the majority of the fight but I still had fun. I was having tremendous headaches and stomach cramps. Champa fought and unfortunately lost but Anthony on the other hand won his fight by unanimous decision after three, two minute rounds of great action. He got the other fighter in the clinch and kneed his mid-section like nothing else. He's 4-0 now and has another fight in Brooklyn, NY in April. I think I want to try and go to that fight too. We'll see.

I think me and Graham are going to see Crime in Stereo this Saturday but I'm not sure. I know my car won't make it but if he wants to go and drive I'll be there. I just wish I could go to the Blacklisted show in Philly. The new album is awesome. I don't think there is a bad song on the album. The album starts and finishes with such raw emotion and intensity. They have definitely brought something different to the face of hardcore. Best album of the 2000's, hands down. I pre-ordered it yesterday and I can't wait until it shows up in my mailbox at my apartment.

Adapting to Damnation
Ingrained and demanded. Virtues lost. Soul defiled. All hope of life soiled. Adapt. Adapt. Adapt. Adapt. Adapt. I man made of fear and flesh, stand before the light, with guilt to stain our teeth we march. To the center, to the center of a hollow earth. Can you hear me. Can you hear me? To the bottom I burrowed. To the center of a hollow earth. No Answer. No Answers. If this is forgiveness, I don't want to apologize.



The hollow earth theory has been suggested throughout the centuries. Those who believe in said theory feel that at the poles of the earth that there are two holes that lead into this separate world inside that consists of its own sun, center of gravity, and civilization. Now who or what actually lives in the center of the earth is merely speculation. Some believe that its fairies, aliens, leprechauns, or maybe even lost civilizations. This excerpt from strange maps (found at http://strangemaps.wordpress.com/2007/03/) explains in a lot more detail about the hollow earth theory that I've become fascinated with. They also have a bunch of maps with silly features on them that you should definitely check out if you have some free time. Without further interruption:

If the Earth is hollow, where does all that magma spewing out of all those volcanoes come from? Somebody must have a half-convincing answer to that question, presumably that handful of people who still believe the Earth is an empty shell. The idea seems quite ludicrous now, but in pre-scientific times, it at least appeared to make sense: if Heaven was a place in the skies above, where else would Hell be than somewhere deep below our feet?

Harder to understand is why the idea survived several centuries of scientific progress, including the powerful notion of nature’s horror vacui. In a 1692 scientific paper, Edmund Halley – yes, he of comet fame – put forth the idea that Earth consists of a shell about 800 km thick, and of two inner concentric shells and an innermost core with about the same diameter as the planet Mars.

Halley did have scientific grounds for his rather bizarre thought-construct. It tried to explain why compass readings could be so anomalous: each of the inner spheres had their own magnetic poles and rotated at differing speeds. To compound his error, Halley proposed that the inner spheres might be inhabited and that the inner atmosphere was made up of luminous gases that, when escaping outward, cause the Aurora borealis.

Later theorists came up with variations to Halley’s model. In the seventeenth century, Leonhard Euler proposed a single-shell hollow Earth with a small sun (1.000 km across) at the centre, providing light and warmth for an inner-Earth civilisation. Others proposed two inner suns, and even named them: Pluto and Proserpine.

In the early eighteenth century, American John Cleves Symmes Jr supplemented the theory with the suggestion of ‘blowholes’: openings about 2.300 km across at both poles. Symes apparently was utterly convinced by his own theories: he campaigned for an expedition to the North Pole. The intervention of president Andrew Jackson was needed – to stop it, that is.

Quite unbelievably, the hollow Earth idea persisted into the twentieth century, when the study of plate tectonics and the like made it obvious that the Earth couldn’t be hollow. Yet hollow Earth books and theories multiplied, many based on Symmes’ work. In 1913, Marshall Gardner wrote A Journey to the Earth’s Interior, even built a working model of his hollow Earth – and patented it.

More recent theories suggest a hollow Earth inhabited by the creatures that fly UFOs across our skies, or by dwarves, dragons, other ‘lost races’ or ‘ascended masters’ of esoteric wisdom. Some proposed new ‘blowholes’ are located in Mount Shasta (California), Mammoth Cave (Kentucky), the Mato Grosso (Brazil), Mount Epomeo (Italy) and the pyramid of Giza (Egypt).

The pulp science fiction magazine Amazing Stories ran with a fantastic tale called the Shaver Mystery from 1945 to 1949. It entailed a series of supposedly factual stories by Richard Sharpe Shaver, claiming a superior prehistoric race had built subterranean caves, now inhabited by the ‘Dero’, their degenerate descendants. These ‘Dero’ use the advanced machinery inherited from their superior forefathers to torment us on the surface of the planet.

The hollow Earth theory was quite popular in twentieth-century Germany; it’s even claimed that Adolf Hitler gave the Hohlweltlehre credence in so far as that he ordered an expedition to spy on the British fleet by aiming cameras at the sky – a claim without historical proof, however. An even crazier theory holds that Hitler and other top Nazis escaped the Allies by fleeing to the inner Earth via an entrance in Antarctica.

The hollow Earth theory has a particularly strong hold on the imagination of writers (such as E.A. Poe, Jules Verne, E.R. Burroughs, H.P. Lovecraft and Umberto Eco, who have all used the idea in their fiction). A sub-genre postulating a hollow Moon seems to have died out after the 1969 moon landing.

In some hollow Earth theories, there is a city or civilisation at the core of the Earth called Agartha (sometimes spelled Agartta, Agharti or Agarttha). This seems to derive from Aryavartha, which to the Hindus is the place of origin of the Vedas. An alternative name for this city is Shamballa (or Shambalah), which is Sanskrit for ‘place of peace’. Chinese, Russian and Kirgiz folklore all have their own names for a similar place. Sometimes, both names are used simultaneously (as in this map), with Agartha designating the whole interior and Shamballa the main city.

Despite its age, the name of Agartha pops up in relatively recent popular culture, indicating that is was popularised probably only in the twentieth century. ‘Agartha’ is the name of a Miles Davis album, a song by Afrika Bambaataa, and is mentioned in Umberto Eco’s book ‘Foucault’s Pendulum’

There's a girl out in the middle of the ocean,
without a paddle or an oar,
and she sends me encrypted messages,
in a bottle filled with cork.
She knows I'm not a swimmer,
or I'd leave this piece of land,
to save her from her troulbes,
and bring her to my kingdom made of sand.

There's a boy who lives in a castle,
on the beaches that I admire,
off the coast of ivory shorelines,
where I wish I could retire.
I hope he knows I love him,
for it seems that I've sprung a leak,
and this vessel is filling fast,
seems the frame is growing weak.

There was once a girl who was stranded in the ocean,
and I thought she loved me so,
but those bottles once filled with encrypted messages,
I now find filled with stones.
I think she may have found someone new,
someone who could swim, who could float,
who was much better then I,
more Romantic in his notes.

At the bottom of the Ocean,
where the sea floor runs so smooth,
lies the lifeless sailor, the color of her skin
gone from tan to blue.
Seems the Ocean swallowed,
the stranded girl who had not a paddle nor an oar,
who sent her love encoded messages,
in bottles filled with cork.

love floats.