wow. a live journal entry
i just lit a sloppy ass bottom-of-the-bag bugler.
it's 3:02 a.m. november 25th, 2008 (despite it saying 2009 on the official live journal date. i fucked it up a long time ago and never figured out how to fix it). here's how this came about: i was searching on youtube for this video of a weird skinny guy holding a midget, because i was showing wolfie creepy shit. i typed in terrifying, some shit about the end of the world came up, and i started to freak myself out. so i thought maybe looking back on old live journal entries for the first time in ages would be therapeutic. which is was. so much that it made me want to write one. now that we're up to speed...
so much shit has changed since i was consistently writing entries.
i'm two years out of high school. what do i have to show for it? black, tarred lungs. extreme insomnia. an album's worth of songs, or so. not bad.
its funny how things happen. i was reading some of my old entries from when i was in let her die gorgeous, and it brought back how many good shows we used to play. and how many people would come to our shows. i'm in a new band now. boldface. with my cousins. i love the music. but we're lucky if anyone comes to our shows at all. i understand its a process and you have to work your way up from the bottom with every new band you're in, but its just like damn. it seemed so easy back then. i had 600 people come to see me at bogarts when we were in the finals, but now i'm lucky if the sound guy at a venue is even going to honor my request of turning my vocals up a little bit. not that i'm the main reason for everyone coming. i'm just speaking from my perspective. it wears on me. i'll keep pushing though.
erin and i were playing with the ouija board tonight and i asked it if i'd ever make it in music. i know its dumb to ask questions about my fate, but, alas i did. it said no. just the encouragement i needed! so, i asked if not music, then what? it said my job would be joy. still not sure about what that means. thats what i get though.
speaking of erin, she's become my best friend. we share great laughter about things only her and i would, and there's an electricity between us that is very real. very strong. i'm very much in love with her. always have been (hence pages and pages of past entries about her).
my family life is a non-stop rollercoaster of emotion. at times i laugh my hardest. just recently i cried harder than i ever have. my sister, being the un-filtered, tough ass that she is told me i was fake. that i act fake and everyone agreed. it made me burst into tears. i try my hardest to be a good person. to be compassionate towards people, to listen and understand. to be the mediator between my sister and my mom when they are literally at each other's throats on the daily. and then to call me fake. it just got to me. and as my sister was calling me out erin spoke up and told her i am one of the realest people she knows, so she (my sister) obviously doesnt know me. which made me want to cry harder. one because erin spoke up for me when i know its hard for to. and that meant a great deal to me. and two, because it made me wonder if my sister or my mom really do see me? do they not see that i'm not out partying. i dont do drugs. i dont drink. i rarely cuss. i spend the majority of time either hanging with erin talking or going on missions to waffle house, practicing with my band, or hanging out with my family. i'm always home. i always try to be respectful to them. i was a mess for a minute.
things have cooled down over the last few days though. at least everyone's talking again. my mom not so much though. it seems like shes only happy when she's on her way out the door to 'do her thing.'a lot of times i'll ask her a question and she'll ignore me. i'll ask it several times and she'll just stare at the tv screen. it makes me sad. she was talking to me tonight though, which i guess i should just appreciate and quit bitching.
then there's my dad. he stops by every once in a while. if he's sober when he gets here its not long before he isnt. but i've become immune to that. its been the story of my relationship with him. i used to wish that it would change but now i see that its just the way things are. despite his severe addiction to alcohol i really love him. he's very silly, and oddly philosophical in a way that perplexes me. i see where i get my goofy sense of humor. the type of goofy that you can almost hate, but its so ridiculous that you ave to love it. or something.
i'll be twenty in about 3 months. its been scaring me, the thought. no longer a teenager. i dont feel twenty. i dont feel 19. i feel somewhere between 10 and 75. so i guess twenty is pretty accurate.
i'm pretty hungry. there's not really much to eat here right now. there's some chili that my mom made. i think i'll have some of that before i lay down. for the past few days i've been trying to do at least 40 push ups a night. i think its day 3 or 4. my arms are on fire. they hurt. i'm going to keep doing it though. why not.
erin looks warm all wrapped up on my bed. i need to go join her. chili. water. push ups. maybe a little more chili. MAYBE one more bugler, or actually, cigarette butts rolled, and then i'll try to sleep. this was nice. nice talking old friend.
by the way:
http://www.myspace.com/greenplasticwhistle
check em out.
it's 3:02 a.m. november 25th, 2008 (despite it saying 2009 on the official live journal date. i fucked it up a long time ago and never figured out how to fix it). here's how this came about: i was searching on youtube for this video of a weird skinny guy holding a midget, because i was showing wolfie creepy shit. i typed in terrifying, some shit about the end of the world came up, and i started to freak myself out. so i thought maybe looking back on old live journal entries for the first time in ages would be therapeutic. which is was. so much that it made me want to write one. now that we're up to speed...
so much shit has changed since i was consistently writing entries.
i'm two years out of high school. what do i have to show for it? black, tarred lungs. extreme insomnia. an album's worth of songs, or so. not bad.
its funny how things happen. i was reading some of my old entries from when i was in let her die gorgeous, and it brought back how many good shows we used to play. and how many people would come to our shows. i'm in a new band now. boldface. with my cousins. i love the music. but we're lucky if anyone comes to our shows at all. i understand its a process and you have to work your way up from the bottom with every new band you're in, but its just like damn. it seemed so easy back then. i had 600 people come to see me at bogarts when we were in the finals, but now i'm lucky if the sound guy at a venue is even going to honor my request of turning my vocals up a little bit. not that i'm the main reason for everyone coming. i'm just speaking from my perspective. it wears on me. i'll keep pushing though.
erin and i were playing with the ouija board tonight and i asked it if i'd ever make it in music. i know its dumb to ask questions about my fate, but, alas i did. it said no. just the encouragement i needed! so, i asked if not music, then what? it said my job would be joy. still not sure about what that means. thats what i get though.
speaking of erin, she's become my best friend. we share great laughter about things only her and i would, and there's an electricity between us that is very real. very strong. i'm very much in love with her. always have been (hence pages and pages of past entries about her).
my family life is a non-stop rollercoaster of emotion. at times i laugh my hardest. just recently i cried harder than i ever have. my sister, being the un-filtered, tough ass that she is told me i was fake. that i act fake and everyone agreed. it made me burst into tears. i try my hardest to be a good person. to be compassionate towards people, to listen and understand. to be the mediator between my sister and my mom when they are literally at each other's throats on the daily. and then to call me fake. it just got to me. and as my sister was calling me out erin spoke up and told her i am one of the realest people she knows, so she (my sister) obviously doesnt know me. which made me want to cry harder. one because erin spoke up for me when i know its hard for to. and that meant a great deal to me. and two, because it made me wonder if my sister or my mom really do see me? do they not see that i'm not out partying. i dont do drugs. i dont drink. i rarely cuss. i spend the majority of time either hanging with erin talking or going on missions to waffle house, practicing with my band, or hanging out with my family. i'm always home. i always try to be respectful to them. i was a mess for a minute.
things have cooled down over the last few days though. at least everyone's talking again. my mom not so much though. it seems like shes only happy when she's on her way out the door to 'do her thing.'a lot of times i'll ask her a question and she'll ignore me. i'll ask it several times and she'll just stare at the tv screen. it makes me sad. she was talking to me tonight though, which i guess i should just appreciate and quit bitching.
then there's my dad. he stops by every once in a while. if he's sober when he gets here its not long before he isnt. but i've become immune to that. its been the story of my relationship with him. i used to wish that it would change but now i see that its just the way things are. despite his severe addiction to alcohol i really love him. he's very silly, and oddly philosophical in a way that perplexes me. i see where i get my goofy sense of humor. the type of goofy that you can almost hate, but its so ridiculous that you ave to love it. or something.
i'll be twenty in about 3 months. its been scaring me, the thought. no longer a teenager. i dont feel twenty. i dont feel 19. i feel somewhere between 10 and 75. so i guess twenty is pretty accurate.
i'm pretty hungry. there's not really much to eat here right now. there's some chili that my mom made. i think i'll have some of that before i lay down. for the past few days i've been trying to do at least 40 push ups a night. i think its day 3 or 4. my arms are on fire. they hurt. i'm going to keep doing it though. why not.
erin looks warm all wrapped up on my bed. i need to go join her. chili. water. push ups. maybe a little more chili. MAYBE one more bugler, or actually, cigarette butts rolled, and then i'll try to sleep. this was nice. nice talking old friend.
by the way:
http://www.myspace.com/greenplasticwhistle
check em out.