A trip inside the heart and mind.
Archive for March, 2006
Dedicated Interlude
Mar 31st
Dedicated Interlude (3/31/2006)
All these useless conversations are a little disrepectful
Just say it to me straight or is it all too stressful?
The niche that we both nestle without waivering conviction
Is confusion that I wrestle while in vain and contradiction
Cause you face no opposition, so I’m guessing it’s too easy
Was it something that I said that paved the way to lonely freezing?
The complacency you’re seizing is so fucking unpredictable
One minute we’re all fine then the next it’s all unfixable
And I hate how it’s all twistable and how it’s never physical
It’s confusing to the slightest and approaching inexplicable
Are we meant to be this miserable in this current situation
Or is this shit all cyclical? I lack the information
But here’s the aggitation, the shit that we leave boiling
Let’s spin the world around like the heart with which you’re toying
From the start you’ve been avoiding any kind of dedication
And I need a reason why for your silent reservation
Cause in spite of preservation, I put myself out on the line
Being honest and so open, always speaking from the mind
Concealing whispers of the heart that would eat at me inside
Even with my inner voices always beating me with pride
Now you’re cheating me of life by being unsimplistic
And nothing feels intrinsic when we walk against logistics
We’re silent, we’re terrific, then we’re nothing then we are
Can we make a damn decision on our place beneath the stars?
Cause I hate to make the charge, but I’m afraid to face the scars
And I’d hate to see it fade without a trace inside our hearts
But the place in which we are doesn’t seem so very logical
If we can’t make it to the start, then everything’s impossible
Notes: Fred Durst recently posted a brief interlude on his myspace and it got me thinking that doing something similar may be something to get me out of this damn writer’s block. So, here it is. It’s about 2/3 as long as my usual stuff, but it’s meant to be short and to the point.
Update: Nevermind. By the time I posted this, more came to me and it became a full length poem. I’ll keep the title just for the sake of it. As for the meaning, I think it’s pretty obvious. The flow is a bit “jagged” and needs to be read a little slower than usual, but my vocabulary is definitely better than usual.
My Neck Hurts
Mar 30th
I have been putting off writing a journal entry for a while, but I know the world is waiting for one and I’m not one to disappoint.
As the title suggests, my neck is causing me a bit of pain for the past two days. Thankfully, it’s a pain that’s derived from a good experience. Some crazy kama sutra position? No, but from the next best thing: Head banging like a maniac at the Korn concert this past Tuesday. I still haven’t figured out how I hurt myself more when I’m in a seated section instead of on the floor, but such is life. Let’s talk about the show, though.
10 Years opened and they were decent, at best. I actually wound up deleting them from my Winamp playlist when I got home because it all seems a bit forced and uncomfortable for them. The lead singer sings and writes like he wants to be the next Incubus, while the band looks like they’d be more comfortable with a burning cross above their heads. It’s just blended so poorly. I couldn’t help but be disappointed.
Mudvayne was next. I don’t know what people see in them, but damn they suck. I’m all for some screaming and grunting, but when every song sounds exactly the same and none of it is understandable, you no longer interest me. This time was spent eaves dropping on the couple next to me and discussing, with Joe, the fact that the couple next to him was ready to do it right there in the arena. Nothing like rabid screaming to turn a girl on. I could only imagine how wild she’d get if she heard a moose in heat.
Finally, Korn hit the stage. Now it was my time to explode and I did. I screamed and headbanged for almost the entire performance. They had a really great set. They even played my favorite Korn song, “Dirty”. The way they transitioned to it was amazing, too. Munkey had a good 3 or 4 minutes alone on the stage playing a solo and then Davis came back out in his trenchcoat and they went into the song. I honestly don’t think many people recognized it, but I went nuts for it. Later on in the set, Davis solo’d for “Tearjerker”. The song is beautiful, but I was a bit disappointed in the crowd. Only a few people had their lighters or cell phones up. Overall, though, the set was amazing and I had one of the best times in a long while. My neck is sore, but I felt so alive that night. I wish I could feel like that more often.
A Process of Writing
Mar 26th
A Process of Writing (3/26/2006)
I sit and try to rhyme but there is nothing in my mind
There is nothing there for saying almost every single time
So I say that things are fine and I ramble on the verse
That never paints a picture and it only masks the hurt
But if I only had the nerve to express myself again
I would cherish every moment and get myself a pen
The ink that helps defend, that can also help me mend
The flow I chose to carry even when against the trend…
And there it goes again, I just lost my train of thought
But I refuse to give this up and I will never say it’s lost
The spirit lies in frost and I just need to warm it up
Though there seems to be no fire that stays lit long enough
But I want to give a fuck and I want to beat this shit
I want to perservere and rekindle what I did
Cause in this foggy mist, I feel so damn lethargic
And the crawling pace of thoughts make me feel like I’m retarded
And I can not get it started so I begin it all the same
“And” and “But” and “Yet” and “Though” are driving me insane
So I wonder what has changed, did I really need the pain?
Is misery the energy I need to make my claim?…
Damn, another time, I just lost the coming line
I just dropped another rythm and I’m fucking up the rhyme
And I’m heating up inside and I’m ’bout to flip my lid
And throw a temper tantrum just like a little kid
Cause I’m growing so damn sick of all this fucking shit
Give me some damn focus, man, give me wrists to slit
Give me one more hit of the rhyming skillful Chris
Show me how to grow it everytime that I get pissed
Then give me all your shit and tick me off again
Punch me in the face just like the best of friends
Cause I don’t want this to end, I refuse to up and quit
Like a square peg in a circle, I will bang it ’til it fits
And then I’ll hang it on my wrists, the bracelet always fits
Crimson for the anger, but still funny for the kids
In this end, I’m pissed, and I really don’t know why
The same feelings that exist everytime I fucking write
Notes: It’s no secret that I’ve been having a rough time writing in the past few months. This poem is a depiction of the struggle I go through with every piece. It actually started off as something else, but I got stuck, so I just went with every thought that popped into my head. This is the randomness and lack of focus I experience every time I write, lately.
Doubted Children
Mar 22nd
Doubted Children (3/22/2006)
It’s always seems we’re joking and we never have our problems
But sometimes I think we’re hoping that somebody else will solve them
That someone will take the burden and relieve us of it’s pressure
And suddenly the weight upon our shoulders will be lesser
Though, I think we wronged the measure and we need to think about it
Our ignorance is bliss though we should really go without it
Let those other people doubt us while we find our motivation
Then we’ll drive it to the end, directly through our own frustration
And then through our own causation we’ll be everything they wished for
A perfect presentation, son and daughter that they live for
The everythings they give for and everything they’ve wanted
A perfect case and sample and a chance for them to flaunt it
Or we can just ignore it and go on and take our chances
Walking through this life and simply taking what it hands us
Letting passion grab us, living lives of risk and spite
Making our mistakes, but then making this shit right
I’m just growing so damn tired of seeing people be so critical
Never seeing what they have and then receding into cynical
I know I’m one to speak cause I know I’ve got my issues
But some people need a break or they’ll leave and never miss you
Then that’s another issue and just more damn imperfections
When you look inside her beauty don’t expect your own reflection
May I make my own suggestion? Just love her as her daughter
And let her find her way and direction and her order
Cause the more you try to sort her, the more you’re missing out
On a very special person who could clear the sky of clouds
The light inside her eyes when she’s left to be her person
Is something so damn special, so you need to drop the curtains
Notes: Very much inspired by a discussion I had with Maria, but I want people to be able to interpret this however they wish.
Silent Ben
Mar 22nd
Silent Ben (3/22/2006)
I love how people stand up and spray shit when I’m honest
Labels placed from faces who regurgitate and vomit
It’s always the same nonsense, it’s always playing constant
So I’m saying you should stop it, I’m playing it like a prophet
Cause everytime, I dock it, I let it stew and simmer
Then I show off all my skills, then I redeclare the winner
The rhymes that glow and shimmer and make you fucking quiver
They’re everything I live for and they get me through the winter
But, so you caused a fissure and upset the fucking balance
You tipped the fucking chalice and so now I lay the challenge
Here we go Ben, I got my rhymes and flow and passion
It’s time for you to step up and decide your course of action
And, of course, the satisfaction is only mine for taking
Cause your site’s a little empty, though I know your mind is raking
Searching for a method to match my own abilities
I’m anxiously awaiting and man this wait is killing me
But, damn, it’s such a thrill to me, I can’t wait to see you rhyme, kid
You seem a little quiet, I’ll be patient, I don’t mind this
I’ll take it that your silence indicates you rhyme with talent
Perfect, no mistakes, is the way to win this challenge
See, I’d love to rhyme and fight you, but I’m betting I’ll get silence
More nothings from the bitches who are just a little rhymeless
This hobby that’s so timeless, the one I use for violence
Is too much for you to grasp, you stare and then you’re blinded
So I guess that’s how we find it, all your ignorance and bullshit
Always check your line, kid, before you go and pull it
Cause I’m anger to the fullest and I love the people like you
The people I can walk on and then that I can write through
And use the words to spite you, while you question “why’d I try you?”
Aggression and depression are the means by which I fight you
I’ll be waiting on your rhyme fool, I want to see you match me
Or else you’ll shut your mouth and make sure you don’t attack me
Notes: Not a technically amazing or moving piece, but it should make the message loud and clear. If you’re going to start something with me, now’s your chance to finish it. Let’s see what you got, kid. I’ll be waiting…
Backstage
Mar 21st
Backstage (3/21/2006)
I feel so uncomfortable in the suit that I’m wearing
The chain and the muzzle and the skin that I’m tearing
Expectations unfairly placed right on my shoulders
And I can not take this, I keep getting colder
I keep getting closer to losing my mind, kid
The lights are all dimming, they’re losing their vibrance
It’s here in this silence that I’m slowly drowning
Smothered and beaten by the nothing around me
I hate my surroundings, I hate what I breathe in
I love what I’ve lost and I hate what has seeped in
Depression, the feelings, the thoughts of a fuck up
The son who has failed but refuses to suck up
He’s stupid, he stuck up, he’s used all his luck up
He looked for a fight when he knew he should shut up
I’m clueless, I’m cut up, and I’ll never succeed
Your goals never met by the person you see
But, the curtains you see, tend to bring you relief
The mask that I wear to present what you need
Backstage, on my knees, I scream in a whisper
Yet I hold it together to conceal every splinter
And muffle the whimpers of someone who suffers
The anger’s a shell that I use as a buffer
It makes me seem tougher, it brings me attention
It masks what’s inside and conceals my depression
Notes: It’s meant to be read slowly. It’s a honest depiction of how I’ve been feeling lately. I know it’s a bit shorter than usual, but all this has also been killing my desire to write.
The Glory Days
Mar 19th
I just finished watching the 1998 King of the Ring Hell in a Cell Match between the Undertaker and Mick Foley. Wow. Nothing says it better than “wow”. The passion and desire exhibited by Foley is just unbelievable.
Watch highlights of the match by clicking here.
Watching the match reminded me of the glory days of wrestling and how my definition is so different from that of most people. Ask the common wrestling fan and they’ll recall the days of Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior. They may throw in Andre the Giant and Yokozuna int othe mix. However, for me, it was much later on. My cherished times revolve around the likes of Stone Cold Steve Austin, Mick Foley, Ken Shamrock, and the Hardy Boyz. The contempt that a character like Stone Cold had for people who tried ot tell him what to do is something I still hold with me. The desire to finish, no matter the pain, that Foley and the Hardy’s exhibited still rings in my mind everytime I think I can’t go on. The pure chaos of Ken Shamrock harnessing his anger, flipping out, and coming out on top is an image that comes to me everytime I get pissed.
Those were my glory days. The days I could escape and come out amazed. The times spent discussing the latest vehicle Stone Cold drove into the arena (beer truck anyone?) or staring in amazement as Jeff Hardy sent his body flying through the air with no concern for the landing. Those were the days. My glory days of wrestling.
Alas, the “Attitude” era has long been dead and, in some way, so has wrestling. It’s still cool to watch every so often, but it just doesn’t have that passion and fury that it once did. Man, I miss those days.
Neocast News Edition Podcast
Mar 16th
Well, I finally got a chance to be in a Neowin podcast. For those of you unfamiliar with podcasts: A podcast is a radio show, recorded over the internet, that is then edited and saved as an .mp3 file. The file is then put online for people to download to their computers or mp3 players (including the iPod, hence the name). This particular show is a roundtable discussion of recent news in the computer world.
For the record, Don and I were both given short notice since we were last minute fill-ins, but we definitely tried our best. I studdered a bit which is driving me nuts and I know we need a little more energy in our next show, but, overall, I don’t think it went that badly for a first ever show.
Joy Ride Frank
Mar 13th
Joy Ride Frank (3/13/2006)
I’ve been feeling this inside, it’s a vibe I can’t describe
An emotional device designed to hide my pride
It likes to cloud my mind with a fear that’s so contrived
This irrational anger that’s alive behind my eyes
But I keep it so disguised, it’s hidden but not a lie
I can feel it bubble up but I keep this lid on tight
Cause it’s never worth the fight unless you spark the light
Though you’re standing near the switch that illuminates the night
The beams to start it right and to flicker on my aggression
I hold in possession, this lack of self disgression
This verbal progression that can border on perfection
No sense of direction as I spray my lone obsession
Cause you crossed my intersection without taking a gander
And now I can banter and slam you with my slander
I’m the leader, the cantor, the man with this talent
Who’s calm in his balance when he scribbles with malice
And sips from the chalice and dines from the salad
Dressing for the words that I deliver with callous
The words, never fallous, just my honest contraption
To bring satisfaction when I spill out my passion
A response, my reaction, retaliation with style
I’ll even dive in the pile to ressurect the last mile
And to bury this child, who likes to play juvenile
Cause every record’s on file, I’ll desecrate you, I’m vile
I’ll dessimate you at trial, cause I hate with conviction
It’s the latest addition to this hateful edition
This fateful position of always boiling right over
In such a playful depiction as the joy ride is over
Notes: Quick moving, smooth rhyming call out to every god damn guido punk who always tries the same lame game. On a deeper note, it discusses some of my complacency, which has been a common topic, as of late. This time, though, the pure emotion wins out and bursts through over the laid back, uncaring person I’ve been in recent weeks.