hey jesus.

happy birthday.


i mean, god only knows how or why your fanatic, obsessive, even cult-esque behavior inspired so many to build yet destroy; love and yet loathe, preach without practice, et cetera, ad nauseam.

but, for 2,000 years, it's worked, so i guess you did something right.


ones that love us least, the ones we'll die to please.


been an interesting sort of week so far. happy, happy birthday indeed.

one thing i can say, although i have weathered years upon years of generic (and not-so generic) heartbreak, i will always, always have my friends... some have come and gone, of course (sometimes i was the one going)... but goddamn.

sometimes all this poor me, nobody-loves-me bullshit makes me lose sight of who and what is really important to me.

the ones that really matter, i hope they know. i know i probably don't say it enough. but i hope they know.


the mean reds

"does he lay awake listening to your breath. worried you smoke too many cigarettes"


always shifing the feelings from one person to another. the names, the faces change, but the sentiments do not.

sometimes, sometimes she forgets which one she's talked to that day; she'll wonder if her cute and charming anecdotes have already been mentioned to that one or not? did she call him by the correct name, even? and does he suspect a thing???

oh god. this is how bad she's become. she's become her father, she's become Ian fucking Curtis. all those horror stories, the pain her mother felt, and the betrayal; and now she's no different.

"i will not weep for those dying days. for all the ones who've left there's a few that stayed"


how do you turn it off? where's that fucking switch that makes you stop caring?


a blindness that touches perfection

courtney love once said of her doomed paramour, "kurt cobain makes my heart stop. but he's a shit"... goddamn blonde, blue-eyes-like-dinner-plates, piscean men.

i read that, and i knew exactly what she meant. that stupid, stupid feeling in at the bottom of your stomach... it's not nausea, but i am loathe to use the term 'butterflies'... maybe instead it's just the dread, the anxiety of knowing that this guy has the potential to, and most likely will, break your silly heart.

oh, maybe that's a little overdramatic. but for all the heartbreak i've given and received, the ones dispensing it have always been cold, Teutonic, emotionless ghouls.

maybe i am just as clueless as miss parker (see previous post). maybe i feel like it's some sort of game; let's see if we can make this one work. instead of accepting incompatibility, it becomes a challenge.

a challenge i'll always lose.

i am really, really down today. it's been a steady pattern of that for a while now. and what timing, too. happy birthday, indeed.


the direction you don't take

i just watched this, and i do predict a sudden, overwhelming fascination with the 1930's... great depression... gun molls... lives cut short... and other such nonsense.

and let me just say... wow. bonnie parker was really pretty. which is puzzling to me, why such a petite, pretty, and poetic young thing would willingly meet with such a horrific fate... i mean, is that really the draw, the pull of 'true love'?!?



just about another week, and i will no longer be eligible for that silly club.

although, in their terms, i would have had to been famous, or at least somewhat famous, or at the VERY least, contributed SOMETHING to the pop culture landscape. and i hardly think a glorified livejournal counts, sooooooo...

maybe THAT should be my hint, or my proverbial kick-to-the-rear, to get something going. maybe it's just the fear of getting older but i am starting to feel a sort of panic, a tightening in the chest whenever i start to think about how much time has passed and just how LITTLE i've actually done and seen. the clock is ticking, damnit.

'life's going by, but it's just begun...' and look where it got them. not members of the 27 club, but surely they've found a place in the rock and roll mythos. at least, i fucking hope so (although they aren't found here, i stumbled across this in my "research"... really, an amusing read if you have the time. go here for the ha-ha's).

oh! but i digress. i always digress. maybe THAT has been the problem all along.



I just got referenced, or cited, or whatever the word is, as a late seventies/early eighties punk/music "expert" for a college newspaper! and a real college too, not just a community college! mwahahah.

oh, excitement. tra la la.


predict earthquakes!

'you pin a dragon to your hats... you're up in the attic with the bats'

i'm stuck on this self-defeating behavior kick. can't make the flesh do what the rational mind knows is best... ohhhh, but the flesh... the flesh is listless, it's tired, it's waiting for its next release...

nothing quite like the newness and the promise though... the possibility, i guess, the anticipation and the flirtation with something, someone... nothing like it to take your mind off the rest of the mess you call your life.

but that's no way to go through life, is it? one frying pan to another. the faces change but the sentiments don't.


i'm kindof an asshole, huh?


like a frantic inept Lazarus

and i go home having lost her love. and write this book

my pessimistic nature already had prophesied our doom. speaking nervously in dark parking lots i had mentioned my theory on the whole sad courtship debacle, people love love love the chase but when they have it, they realise they don't want it.

that, or people tend to fall in love with the idea of a person, before they truly know them - not that anyone truly knows anyone else anyway, but that's a story for another day - they invent their own backstories, project their hopes and desires, and when reality hits, it's a crushing, lonely blow. it's the proverbial jump-the-shark moment, no one wants to see the end result of courtship, they thrive off the tension and the 'what ifs', will-they-or-won't-they, neatly packaged between the commercials. our nielsen ratings took a dive that first week, and we just never could recover, could we?

if you have a choice of two things and can't decide, take both

yes, mister corso, that's a grand idea and i see what you're preaching, but it's not so black-and-white. we just want it all, and what we cannot have, always pursuing the unattainable and attempting the impossible. something that should always be encouraged in matters of life, career, or education, but in the ways of the figurative heart, it should be a big, blinking, neon "NO". do not attempt, do not pass go, or some such nonsense.

it's akin to those that only want/need the person that will treat them miserably. it's not the same, but it's pretty damn close. WHY on earth do we waste our time, when the rational, sane parts of our brain know that it isn't a good idea? or not even necessarily a bad idea, but just something that essentially does not work? two different expectations, two different sets of desires?

ah it's the morning; and the mourning it is dawning on me too; i had no warning; just a condolence card to tell me that we're through

but really, let's be honest here and admit that it's not the person we mourn, it's not some grand shakespearean tragedy. it's much sadder than that. it's realism: it's knowing that we couldn't make something work. it's another failure to add to the list, and that's what really kills.

i'm sick of these tragic little vignettes. my lexicon is stuck on song lyrics and obscure film references, gushing forth in an overcaffeinated, manic timbre. i can't seem to write about anything else lately. but maybe catharsis is necessary at this point.

"she can't understand suddenly what has happened because she's lost her mind, her usual recognition of self, and feels the eerie buzz of mystery, she really does not know who she is and what for and where she is, she looks out the window and this city is the big bleak bare stage of some giant joke being perpetrated on her."


only the good die young, but in your case we'll make an exception

so in an attempt to make something of myself, once and for all, i have been writing more. blogging more. not that i really consider blogging 'proper' writing - but at this point, i will gladly take anything i can get. if the creative juices can only produce a mere, sporadic blog post every few days, that's more than fine for me. and if someone likes it, bully. and if someone likes it enough to publish (keep your fingers crossed), then even better.

i know that it's rare to actually end up where you originally planned. i know that, and yet, i'm constantly mourning my dreams and aspirations... instead of actually doing anything about it. for the most part, i'm pretty positive... but for some reason, it hasn't been so easy, lately.

usually, all it takes is the love and encouragement of my friends and family; good conversation, hanging out, connecting - usually, that's all i need to make me happy. but on the other hand, i've noticed lately that i haven't been taking care of myself, emotionally speaking at least - allowing myself to be in these unhealthy situations, when i really should know better.

deep down, i know exactly what i want out of life, out of a relationship, out of my limitless future possibilities, but for some reason, i've been wasting my time with people, places, and things that are NOT good for me, that are quite honestly detrimental to my health and my happiness. so what the fuck am i doing?

i don't really know the answer to that. but i do know that i am starting to wake up from it, at least. whatever "it" is.

i want to write, i want to get myself out of this financial hole, i want to travel and really live and be with people that WANT to be with me. and be with me completely - i'm sick of just being someone's monday night entertainment. i'm sick of being with someone on their terms only, emotional immaturity, et cetera, ad nauseam. fuck it.

time to do something. give some meanings to the means to your end.


more "benefit" than "friend"

San Francisco is seriously begging, pleading with me now.

It's too much caffeine, and no real source of nourishment. It's the inside of a song, it's time for your William Tell act...


...homesick blues

it's like leading a double, no, triple life. and yet there's no real satisfaction in any of it.

"work was my dominant thought, not love-- not the pain which impels me to write this even while i don't want to, the pain which won't be eased by the writing of this but heightened, but which will be redeemed, and if only it were a dignified pain and could be placed somewhere other than in this black gutter of shame and loss and noisemaking folly in the night and poor sweat on my brow--"

i'm dreaming of the west coast again. pacific heights inn, beat alleys, onceloved and manic... fuck this scene anyway.

my heart just isn't in it anymore.


little white lies in matching suits and ties

we are in this supposed age of enlightenment, where we can have 'arrangements', unromantic encounters, oh, we're so mature, pretending that it doesn't matter. we pretend so fucking well that it starts to become truth; and you just don't matter anymore.

you're just a warm patch in a cold bed, keeping place until the next body comes along.

and she, she's become too good at this. she's beating 'em at their own game.

(i'm like, half kerouac, half pamela debarres. i speak in confessionals. i breathe rockandroll and heartache. trust me. i've already had a few lifetimes' worth)

but i must say, when you can find someone, someone that you can have a true, honesttogod, 'nsa' (just typing that makes me cringe) agreement with, it can be fun. comforting. gleefully naughty and honest.

but on the other hand... if you have any shred of emotion left for that person, then you're fucked. i definitely do not recommend it, unless you've had a good year's worth of distance.

how do i know this, you ask?

well... let's just say i've experienced both ends of that spectrum, in my modest lifetime. it's enough to make you sick, really. and sometimes i beat myself up about it, having become this cruel, soulless thing, leaving a trail of bruised egos in my wake. but for all the damage i've done, it pales in comparison to the hurt inflicted upon me. or, well, maybe i'm just too sensitive.

at any rate... i'm ready for the rollercoaster to end. enough of this emotionless bedhopping and feigned interest... i want something with substance. no more of this foolishness, either. no more blindly falling head over heels, and enough of the mister good-for-rightnows. i'm done done done.


why is it that teen tragedies are so much more newsworthy than their adult counterparts?

why does the daily hertribfucktimesblah have to spew sadness and injustice about some poor kid getting struck and killed, and yet, YET, they do not deem it newsworthy to spew similarly about a 31-year-old losing his life in the same fashion?!?!?

enough about that. from sadness to anger... why do the good die young, and assholes live forever? i don't mean that literally, but, without naming names, can you tell me how certain people get away with mistreating the people around them? without consequence?!?!

oh fuck it. who cares about protecting the not-so-innocent. in the next couple of days i will be calling OSHA, or whatever Illinois labor agencies there are... i'm going on a rampage. people have to realize they cannot, or will not, get away with mistreating their employees.

i know that bar is on its last legs, which makes me wonder if that's why she's lashing out. she knows she doesn't have that much time left. i can't even imagine how many vendors, customers, etc., she's already owed and/or alienated...

...then again, if you want to run your business into the ground, i guess that's the way to do it!


sweetheart of the rodeo

in honor of Joe Moe and his recent sexy eighties danceparty mix, i will counter that friggin' fantastic compilation with something from the absolute other end of the spectrum.

for your listening pleasure, i give to you:

the kimmy t, breakin' hearts and takin' names mix.

side a

1. The Good Life - Lovers Need Lawyers
2. Brand New - Jesus Christ
3. Interpol - No 'I' In Threesome
4. The Undertones - Get Over You
5. The Exploding Hearts - Rumors in Town
6. The Beach Boys - Here Today
7. The Shangri-Las - Remember (Walkin' in the Sand)
8. Lesley Gore - Maybe I Know
9. Ray Charles - Unchain My Heart
10. The Supremes - You Keep Me Hangin' On
11. Gene Pitney - Town Without Pity

side b

12. Buddy Holly - It Doesn't Matter Anymore
13. Death Cab For Cutie - Someday You Will Be Loved
14. Bhopal Stiffs - Bottle it Up
15. Joy Divison - Isolation
16. Naked Raygun - Treason
17. Muse - Our Time is Running Out
18. The Spill Canvas - Lust a Prima Vista
19. Buzzcocks - Ever Fallen in Love
20. Bob Dylan - Positively Fourth Street
21. Violent Femmes - Kiss Off


It'd be like sleeping with Talia Shire in Rocky if you weren't Rocky

Wow. Not all the time, but especially when it comes to work, I can be pretty goddamn surly. Not something I'm necessarily proud of, but it's a character trait nonetheless, something I can either be ashamed of, or repackage as something 'endearing' or 'charming', depending on your sense of whimsy...

Not sure what made me think of it, other than the drudgery of your average workday.

What else do I think of when my ADD-riddled brain gets a chance to wander, you ask?

Well. My gentleman friend's father, apparently, has a penchant for juggling broads (not his words, but mine). At any given time, he has at least two, if not more, girlfriends on the roster- they're all personal trainers, too, for some reason..

But wow, do I digress... Point is, no one in his family seems to be offended by this at all, and I think that's the most eyebrow-raising aspect of it- more than the act itself, it's the welcoming, or at least accepting reaction of his family members.

Not that what he's doing is inherently wrong, either... but I guess that would depend on who you are asking...

...which does bring me to my main point. Is what he's doing really wrong? I mean, the only thing that would be bad i guess is if the women didn't know of each other.... which they probably don't, in all honesty.... but as long as they were, at the very least, aware of each other, is it really so wrong, what this guy is doing? What is he really guilty of?

I'm not trying to advocate polygamy or anything, not like those sisterwife jackasses- but this guy, he isn't married, isn't trying to get married, he's just casually seeing these women, enjoying their company, and isn't that the point of life anyway?

...that, or I just really need to keep my mouth shut sometimes.


This is fucking hilarious.

This is something that I recently discovered in an old notebook, scribbled and unpublished, from 2/20/2009:

The Breakup Routine

(as practiced by myself and several colleagues)

I know everyone is different. And every breakup is a different situation. Some feel relief, some just accept it, and others go batshit insane... I'd like to think that I've never experienced the latter, but come on, who am I trying to kid?

At any rate, below is our list of post-breakup, therapeutic rituals:

1. Make a mix tape.

Even if you don't give it to the person, compiling your best, angriest songs can sometimes better express the gutwrenching pain you feel.

2. Watch High Fidelity.

Actually, while I'm at it, read Jack Kerouac's The Subterraneans too.

3. Throw a 'party'

(ed. I don't know what this one even means, and I didn't have anything written below it, so we're going to leave it as-is. on to the best one...)

4. Drink to excess.

What else needs to be said? Go out with your friends, have drinks with stupid names, dance and make a fool of yourself. Or stay in and watch lame movies with a bottle of wine by your side.

And while I'm not totally proud to admit this...

5. is Go out and get a rebound.

And whether that's just making out with someone in a crowded bar, taking them home for a one night stand, or picking out china patterns with 'em, the best way to get over someone is to find someone else. Generally, it's smarter to just surround yourself with your family and your friends, but you're gonna have to get back on that horse eventually. Hah. Just remember what the great Gene Pitney once sung: "Only love can break a heart, only love can mend it again".

Of course, I'm sure he wasn't referring to picking up poor unsuspecting rebound bar chicks... then again, maybe he was..

Hilarious, right? And oft times, true. Yeeeeeeah.





Be there or be one of these:


I bet that you love me like I love you
But I should know that gambling just don't pay
So I look up to the sky
And I wonder what it'll be like in days gone by
As I sit and bathe in the wave of nostalgia for an age yet to come

I always used to dream of the past
But like they say yesterday never comes
Sometimes there's a song in my brain
And I feel that my heart knows the refrain
I guess it's just the music that brings on nostalgia for an age yet to come

Ah nostalgia for an age yet to come
Nostalgia for an age yet to come

About the future I only can reminisce
For what I've had is what I'll never get
And although this may sound strange
My future and my past are presently disarranged
And I'm surfing on a wave of nostalgia for an age yet to come

I look I only see what I don't know
All that was strong invincible is slain
Takes more than sunshine to make everything fine
And I feel like I'm trapped in the middle of time
With this constant feeling of nostalgia for an age yet to come

Ah nostalgia for an age yet to come

About the future I only can reminisce
For what I've had is what I'll never get
And although this may sound strange
My future and my past are presently disarranged
And I'm surfing on a wave of nostalgia for an age yet to come

I look I only see what I don't know
All that was strong invincible is slain
Takes more than sunshine to make everything fine
And I feel like I'm caught in the middle of time
And this constant feeling of nostalgia for an age yet to come


tom waits, on tom waits:

Q: What's heaven for you?

A: Me and my wife on Rte. 66 with a pot of coffee, a cheap guitar, pawnshop tape recorder in a Motel 6, and a car that runs good parked right by the door.

i should be married to tom waits.


scratch that. but it is the cutest fucking thing ever.


there's no fucking way this is real. right? i mean, really?

original post can be found here. yeah.

so much for actually writing anything lately. well, anything of worth. i am, however, currently working on lyrics for Astronauts in Love, a side project with my lovely ex, Joe (yes, i said lovely, and surprisingly, we do get along swimmingly) - who is also the main man behind Hey Man Far Out. so check 'em out.


This is fucking rad, combining my love of photography, old/vintage/antique artifacts, bygone eras, and that staple of 1950's/60's teenage Americana, bowling. Yes, bowling.

Love it.


goin' faster than a rollercoaster

it's not a crime to know exactly what you want.

it's a crime only when you waste others' time.

so from here on out, you're gonna get only the bare-bones of my soul, naked and vulnerable.

if you're not willing to risk it, then you're not doing anything worthwhile at all.

...oh god, there i go again with the cliches. the next post will be about something fun, i promise. like mixtapes and thrift stores. fall weather, warm sweaters and that butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling. hahah. i promise.


"Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk — real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious." Yeah, Kerouac. Sing it.

Recently, someone mentioned something about missing high school... how going back made him yearn for that time, or what-have-you, and I really just do not understand that feeling. Why yearn for something that has already happened? Why not make your present someplace you really want to be?

You can either yearn for better times, or you can try to make the best of what you currently have.

But god, how schmaltzy... How cliche! Honesty can be such a letdown. I'd rather be that walking contradiction; partly truth and partly fiction.

The biggest letdown is always when you give in, when the game stops. It's the tension that keeps people interested. The movie always ends once the central characters get together. What they don't tell you is why- because once they end up together, the magic is gone. The shark has been jumped.

Or maybe I have no idea what I'm talking about. Maybe it's just been the wrong people, all this time.


why be half of a weak embrace?

(there aren't enough "i told you so's" to even cover the situation)

but this managed to make me smile (spoken in reference to the situation):

"pretty girls bounce back"

they always do, don't they?


Don't ask what happened;

The truth is known to sting. But really, it's like, we know the answers, but don't want to admit it to ourselves. And what is the definition of insanity? Repeating the same actions and expecting different results? Something like that, anyway.

All the dumb pop songs in the world can't save you from the inevitable. Rinse and repeat. It's the car crash mentality of our era, can't stop, can't look away.

And mania is just as bad, if not worse, than depression. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Because at some point, your heart is just gonna explode. Sensory overload.

Like shattered glass on blacktop.

they told me he was bad, but i knew he was sad...


goddamnit, every time i blog it automatically updates to my facebook too.

anyone know how to change that?

omg, i can listen to Pet Sounds again.

that may mean nothing to most of you, but let me tell you... it's an awesome feeling.


anything worth doing
is worth getting hurt for


it's not what you think though.

don't even attempt, to try. to guess.

i'm still voraciously and furiously devouring all my books, at an alarming rate. it's... better. different. but better.

...since the last post, i've only picked up a guitar once. once. it's sad. i was and still am completely serious about it, it's just a matter of procrastination. and my eternally self-defeating attitude.

same reason why i don't blog as much as i used to. i get a really good idea in my head, and then... then it just falls flat. i get all these excuses in the back of my head; its already been said before, and better, by someone else, or god knows what else.

my brain is consistently working against me.

oh well.

i've made no mistakes
i'm never learning from that
i got no regrets
i wanna do it again
do it A - G - A- I - N

postscript... i've been thinking lately.... i really, really miss careening down backroads of southern oregon in a blood red late fifties buick super.... i've been listening to all this rockabilly lately, this raw, sexy, pure rock and roll music.. and it really evokes that sort of passion in me.. it's innocent, yet it's dirty, it's sexy..

i'm so not a car person, either. but i miss that buick super. and everything it represented.


Don't laugh.

I think I'm seriously gonna start writing, and maybe even recording, some country music.

Not that Toby Keith, Shania Twain, homogenized shit either. Real, honest, true country music. Like the stuff that Tammy and Loretta and Patsy did. No, like the stuff they used to listen to. Like that 1930's, O Brother Where Art Thou, dust bowl, real mountain music.

And maybe no one will hear it. Maybe I won't want anyone to. But I'll like it.


'what part of an inverse tangent approaching an asymptote don't you understand?'

I was ridiculously happy to hear that industrial outfit VNV Nation was coming to town, only to find out it was another one of their halfhearted DJ sets. Not that their performances are half-assed; infact I'm sure they're quite good. However, i just cannot justify shelling out the big bucks to watch a (relatively) famous person spin records that my local DJ spins week in and week out. I don't know. Maybe they do have an edge on us with their access to otherwise unknown foreign acts, but still, it's nothing I want to spend exorbitant amounts of money for. If I'm going to pay to see Ronan Harris, I expect to see Mark Jackson there as well, along with their synthesizers and wicked backdrops. Hah.

AND while I'm on the subject, why haven't Steve Naghavi and/or And One returned to the United States?

Granted, Mr. Naghavi could take the stage in nothing but a towel and proceed to perform the greatest acoustic hits of ABBA, and I would still be front row. But that's neither here nor there...

It just irks me that these great, underappreciated artists are getting the shaft because apparently, it costs too much to tour the states. Or they get stuck playing venues like VFW Halls and whatnot. In Europe, they can sell out clubs three times over... it;s just frustrating, really.

Then again, it can't be the bands' fault. At least not all the time. Maybe their record labels just don't see the potential of it. Bastards.

Oh but speaking of record labels, Wax Trax! founder Dannie Fleischer recently passed away. So sad. If you read the tributes below this article found in the Chicago Tribune, as well as the posts on their Facebook fan page, it's actually quite touching.

Bonus Astronomy Awesomeness: For the next few weekends at the Cernan Earth and Space Center (part of Triton College) in River Grove, they will be running a planetarium show narrated by our favorite astrophysicist, Phil Plait, aka The Bad Astronomer. Based on his first book, the show will debunk such myths as the "faked" moon landing and explain random scientific inaccuracies... great for the space geek as well as the layperson. Clicky here for more info. Yayyyyyyy