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.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, May 16, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
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.
Friday, April 4, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
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.
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.
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