I seem to notice a few more things lately. I notice while sitting at an airport bar next to about 3 other people, no one seems to says hello to anyone anymore. Just the other night I was at a bar near my house. I was sitting having a few drinks. I was waiting for someone. While I waited I found myself talking to a few people. One of which was a man, obviously about 50 or so, just killing a few hours on his way home from work, or instead of coming home to his wife. Another was a woman, about my age, pissed off about her husband, or boyfriend, or whatever label it was they've placed on each other. The others were well, boring so i do not recall what they were like. it hear i realize that there are no more groupings of people wanting to surround themselves with humanity. It seems ironic i complain about such a thing in the middle of the airport waiting for the woman to call my flight, on a macbook, while surrounded by people I do not know, and could use to get to know. I am sure they have stories. BUt to be honest the only one that seems interesting is the woman that sits next to me. She sits writing in here book. I've glanced a few times to see what it is she's writting. I cannot completely figure it out. It seems to be a story of sorts, about her and something she's done. Though she is surrounded with her family. Her father sitting a few seats down from me, her mother across from him and her brother about 2 rows back. I mean seriously if it isn't for the family using of today holding us to a point that we could hold society to a standard of then who is it that we can go to later. I am not saying my family is fantastic, by any means. Though is there a reason that we cannot seem to entertain ourselves for more than 3 minutes without some sort of electronic device. Yes again, I know there are too many ironies. Though seriously. Can we worry about something other than our phones charge, or our laptops weight, or what song is playing on our ipod. I don't know. I guess i find myself wondering where it is that we stand in a society filled with beeps and batteries, when we cannot sit still within ourselves. I find my self listening to other peoples conversations and wishing i did not have to hear the silly mundane simpleminded things they are saying. We are wonderful creatures. We can ponder a great many things. IF we say took maybe a small amount of the time we place into worrying about the crap we do, like what tv show we are going to watch tonight, or what kind of thing we are going to place on our shoes in place of the holes in our crocs, or what kid of small piece of information about our favorite actress or actor we are going to fill our minds with, what if we thought about how to make a battery smaller? What if we thought about how to play an instrument? What if we thought about how to create something that we spark thought in another human being? Would that be far too much to ask out of a group of people complacent with sitting alone? Would that be too much to ask from someone that cant' handle just sitting alone in a room for more than 5 minutes without checking a myspace page? Honestly I think it will be. I think it has come to a point that our children will be no more than mindless walking media-lites, yea i don't know if that is a word but i use it for a nothing of a person that is just able to sit and watch tv and believe what it is they read in the paper, and see on the screen. I find it too often that i see too many people that cannot think for themselves. I hear people talk about what they saw on tv last night and it becomes their vision. I hear others talk about the latest video they saw against 9/11 and how it MUST be true because they saw a face in teh cloud of smoke on said video. I often wonder where the search for knowledge is in these people. I am not saying i've found these answers. I am not saying that I know where they are, and I am FOR sure not going to say that I have began to look for them in anyway. Though I will say that the questions I want answers to, well. I am on my way to finding out, or I have already answered. I myself know that in this day I can say that there is nothing that I do not know that I want to know, that I do not plan on finding the answer to tomorrow. I am sure there are a few things that will elude me with int eh next few days. I am sure there are ever more things that I will never know, but that is more than ok. Those are the things I leave for AJ to figure out.

So, I am not one to think about war, or politics that often. I know that's wrong for the most part, but for some reason i don't tend to think about things that don't have a direct impact on myself. That is until i became a father. Things like the war, who is our president, started to matter a little more to me. I've had friends in and out of Iraq and there abouts since this war started. There is a song, by Mike Doughty below that just makes me think about those things a little bit more. I mean really who am i, but i thought i'd just share this out there.

blame me
blame it on
male pattern baldness
blame it on
a weak left foot
blame it on
a shirt i love to wear
on music i don't like
on books i don't read
on television shows
i don't watch
blame it on
my musical substance
gone to
the wayside
for better
days to come
blame it on
me

Till what you ask.. well.. till my head will be clear. I have made a lot of choices lately over the past years 11 to be more on point, with other people in mind namely women. So today i've made a choice, a decision, a mission for myself. I will not envolve women in my life, or decision making for 6 months starting in 32 minutes. The will no longer cloud my head, my life, my judgement. I have stocked up on enough porn to last me the time in order to refrain from sex. I have stocked up on enough low self esteem to keep myself working out to keep occuppied, and I have given myself enough of a reason.. to make it last. There is one female in this world that needs me, and she has to be the one and only, and she will be.

ok.. so here it goes again... scars scratch scared.. i like that phrase.. i have a poem somewhere about my scars that might make you understand it a little better.. hold on i'll get it...

this scar
itches
people stare at it
i want to scratch it
they ask "how does it feel"
i want to scratch it
"how do you deal"

i scratch

"why is it there?"
I scratch it some more
"will it ever open"
I hope fucking not
I scratch and scratch at it

I've delt with this scar for
a year or two
it hurts like hell
and it bleeds
just like you
but i have no
choice
I did it to myself
and I hate
me for
it



i'm not sure why i thought of this.. but well..i did.. and that's that.. so there it goes.. a thought of a thought about a thought... there it was.....

i spent today listening to music, watching movies. Pretty much doing nothing. Though i did it with my daughter. The amazing little ball of joy she is. i sat around today with her in my arms for most of it, watching tv sharing a bag of rice cakes. she sat there with me on the rocking chair just vegging out at scrubs and then a few comedy central stand up shows. it's been really hard with her lately. i only get to see her a few days a week and well those days seem to be getting shorter. i listen to songs like sting "i'm so happy i can't stop crying" and miss her while she's gone. i try to let it go, knowing she'll be back in a few days and ill get to play with her again but those little things i miss with her. I miss her being there with me all the time. I miss coming home from work everyday and seeing her there. I miss her.

there it goes.. another night another day.. gone.. easy.. wasn't it?... fuck i hate this shit

ok .. so i asked myself a question today, well actually it was kind of asked at me of a situation. What is normal? I've thought about this one before but lately it's been hitting me a little harder than ever. So here's the deal. I get a phone call that starts soemthing like thist "Where are you? Can you come here?" After a few minutes and a couple of words later I hear this " I just feel so blank, so empty so nothing" I was shocked. There it is, there's my feeling that I can';t seem to figure what the hell is going on. The conclusion that I came up with is that this person is taking medication. Some other form of zoloft paxil or whatever the fuck her Dr gave her. So I thought about it for a while there. I sat silent on the phone thinking about how the great ones, I mean the really fucking great ones (; SRV, Hendrix, Brad, Shannon, Janis, Hemingway, Picaso, Van Gogh, Buk, Tchaikovsky, Plato, Newton, I coould go on and on...) were all fucked up in some way. Some of them with severe mental health issues, severe problems that caused them depression, anxiety, and some suicide, some drug addiction, some turned to what we know them for. They turned to music, art, poetry, thinking, things like this exsist because we can not go forward without being pushed from behind. We are a society that has become complacent in sitting in our fine little mess. We thrive on being held to a sub standard. If you feel true emotions, where you cannot get yourself out of feeling so sad and so unhappy and so depressed about life in general, or because a woman left you, you find yourself nothing to do but sit in your shit ( now im not saying that medicatio isn't for everyone there are some people it truly helps) if you take pills you no longer feel depressed you feel fine, you feel empty you feel NOTHING. Think about this.. think about if Louis Armstrong was on medication ( i'm not saying he was fucked up, but it's just that this fits really well and I kinda think that artists tend to feel emotion on a grander scale than everyone else)and he didn't look at the world the way that he was on the day that he wrote one of the most uplifting depressing songs i've ever heard. "What a wonderful world" That song to me has always made me think that while he was writing that he was sitting there looking at people dying, killing each other, children starving, people living on the streets and thought to himself there's got to be some good out there, and somewhere in that found the love of his family, (daughter in my little vision of the song) and thought, it is a wonderful world. Now there are so many other examples I could use. For instance, what if Van Gogh didn't feel the heartache that he did for the women, and that ONE woman, that he didn't paint some of the most amazing things we've ever seen. Take ANY blues artist, listen to some song about how a woman left them. My point is this. I know meds are good, i know they do good things for people I am just scared to see what this world is going to come to when we are all on some form of mood changing legalized medication that makes us all feel the way someone else thinks we are supposed to feel. I know for myself that when i was on medication I hadn't wrote a poem in months, my guitar playing days were slim and what came out when i did, was shit it was nothing, it was things that anyone could have wrote anyone that didn't feel emotions. SO, i guess this is just my way of saying, in a REALLY long way? What good is being normal, when you can't feel what makes you different? I just don't know. I have recently been asked to take some pills that are supposed to make me stop feeling depressed about my life. But you know what, my life is depressing, yes there are some GREAT things in my life, but there are also some really shitty points to it right now, and that depression, that self hatred is what makes me look at myself every day and think "I am going to get the fuck up and change this" and if i can't do that, i grab Sonya (my strat) or Jessica (my jeep) and let everything just kind of go away, or i grab a pen and i write it all down and someone is going to read that shit one day and like it.. even just a little... and if THAT doesn't work. I drink. I wake up the next day hung over and try again. It's not a flawless plan, it's not something that i can say would work for everyone, but you know what? It's my plan and i like it. So here's to Sonya, Jessica, and my pens. Thank you ladys for all that you've done.

i wish she wasn't
so goddamned stubborn
she wants me
to leave when i can't
and come when it
just won't work
but she makes
me feel alive
it's a lot to
be said now
for me anyway

alive is barely
an adjective
i would use
for myself
[(bored is better)tired even more so]
it's not that i don't
love her
she knows that
it's not that i don't care
it's that i'm older
my bones are begining
to ache and she
hears them
and is worried
for hers
but for now
we lay here until
i
get up
and ask
for her
to draw me
a bath

and she realizes
im old again.

it seems as
if all
the women
come by now
and then
and they take
what they
want from me
they all say
the same thing
"I love the way
you talk, you
have such a
way with
your
words"
but they want
me to keep talking
about me
about my job
about the music
about my pens
and when i stop
they leave.

well all my
ideas are done
and my ridiculing
of modern
society
have
come to an end

(for the time being)

they leave,
and that's
when it gets
interesting.

i watch her
sleep sometimes.
it eases me.
i listen to whatever
song, we fell asleep
to
as she holds
on tight to
the warmth
my arms
gave her wrapped
tightly around
her tiny back.

she won't be this
tiny for long.

it's times like this
that most
people find,
thier gods
thier faiths
thier hopes
thier dreams
thier inspirations
thier love
and even
thier tears.

i guess i'm
different.
i find sleep.
i find peace.
i find absence of god.
i do find love.
and i
figure, the
best i can, that's
all that matters
for now.

so i sit
with
no hope
no faith
no god
no inspiration
and the
only dreams here
are all hers
but i sit with
love
and a good love
song
or two
and what is left
of my coffee.

and her.

im not going to
stop until
this book
is full
and my hand
cramps
my fingertips
bleed
and i've shit
all i can
covering these
pages with
glorified sewage
hoping someone
will read it
and tell me a
lie, about how
it's profound and
one day someone
else will see
inside what
i write.
there was one
once
that read them all
and got
wet and bit
her bottom lip
i could smell
how she tasted
sometimes
when i
wiped the shit
from page
to
page
thinking of
then

i should call her.

"Hey are you OK?"
i hate it
when she asks me that.
it's not like she cares
she just wants to knwo if
i'm going to ruin her
house again, yell at
her kids, and piss on
her new
russian designer throw rug
it's all a game again
she'll let me stay until
my fits come back and
i throw my guts
at the wall
or handle my brain
at the kitchen sink
or even take my
heart out and
put it on the
19th century dining set
we all sit around
she will kick me out
again.

so i say "YES!"
and we go on
waiting for me
to empty
my chest
again.

she digs
old school punk
rock-a-billy bands
and greasers

i'm not too sure where
i fit in sometimes
i stick out
amongst people
who are trying to stick out

i've made a very
conscience, effort
over time
to just blend

i don't like people,
when they ask me
how i am,
i always say,
"things are going great"
it's easier that way
no body ever asks you "why?"
when you say that

for some reason people don't want
to hear the truth
they don't want to console you
when they hear you say
"well, things couldn't, be
too much worse for me right now".

it's then they feel the need
to console you
or to talk to you about it

no one ever asks you because they
care, it's just become
a common question
to ask
to avoid any
real conversations
with someone
or to avoid
people,
no one every expects
you to say anything worse than
"good"
it's such a stupid thing we do
why, would
we choose to
make our pillar
of conversation
with someone
we haven't seen

(because if they did see you, they'd know things were shit)
a question we
really didn't give
a shit about the answer to

it seems silly
it seems like something, someone
i don't want to know
would ask.

she's never asked how my day was
never asked me if i was ok
never asked me if i wanted to talk
never asked me to ask her either

she told me
he's an old
soul
i didn't know what
that meant

but she kept saying it
like it was something
grand, but
she said it
with a sad face.

"but not you,
you make me feel
alive"

i never understood that
if he was
dead inside
why would that
make her feel
anything but alive

i was alive at the time
i really was
i had it all
my job was going great
i had it all
figured out
i knew where i was going
when i was getting there
and just when i would leave

now i live for payday
i'm not sure where i am
and i've got more bills
than i've had before

but i'm still alive
i've got that

she doesn't come around
anymore
in fact i saw her
the other day
with the old soul,
vibrant and laughing
dancing in a street around
the car, playing
a more mature
version of tag
as they
came out
of a little shop
on the corner
of Main

it's better that way
not many people
can take really being
alive,
it hurts.

"I'm not much of
an
over the phone person."

"fine
so come over
we can talk"

"no, you still
love her, what
else is there?"

i said,
"yeah, but
not like you think
it's not like that"

"fuck off vince,
this is it, come here
or we're over, I can't
do this anymore"

those were the
words i heard from
her last

she sat there
and cried from
what her
friend told me
they talked for
hours that night
about me
about
how i'd never
come,
about how she never
could compare

i never understood though
what made that night
the one.
the night
that i fought with a
cabbie,
over the
fare
to her place
laid down half way
there
with a fifth
that was supposed to be for us
and got woken
by some
hag in a
house gown
and a broomstick
trying to sweep me off
her lawn

i never understood
what that night held
that i couldn't see

a few more nights
like that
have passed
they
all end
the same way
a different lawn
with a different hag
and a different cabbie
but everytime
they end the same way

they end.

i wonder sometimes what makes people who they are. where they came from? or who brought them up? or thier religion? maybe something happened to them when they were a kid that makes them the selfish fuck they are, or the inconsiderite person they tend to be, or even the kind hearted sould they are. today's been a good day so far. it's about over, but i find myself in a decent mood. life doesn't look so dark. i don't know if it's the people i've come to surround myself with or if it's just that in the recent weeks i've done nothing but go over the last 11 years of my life with a fine tooth comb. over and over and over replaying mistakes, triumphs, downfalls, both happy and sad times. I've come to a few points in those times that i might have changed a simple choice or two, but all in all i've come to one conclusion. i really dig me. it's a really hard thing for me to accept, it's a hard thing for me to admit, and even harder to write or say outloud, but you know what. i'm not an asshole. i've done a few asshole things, yeah, but who hasn't? i've done a lot of great things too, a LOT of great things. i've accomplished things in my life that some people will never get to do, yeah they may seem trivial to a lot of other people, but they are profound, i know things about myself that some people take to thier grave wondering. it's been a long time since i've felt accepting. it's been a long time since i've felt accepted, by some, but mainly by me.

Here it fucking comes.. this is goign to be my first uber happy post... "Why are you so happy Vince?" you ask.. well I'll tell you... tomorrow April 28th is my 28th birthday... when i was a young lad someone told me that every odd year seemed to suck for him. He didn't know why, it just did, so right now i'm 27 and yes this past year has suck major ass, like really dirty skanky sweaty ass.. but now.. now.. tomorrow.. is the start of my 28th year.. and well.. it's got to get better.. i can feel it.. you know when you walk outside on a sunny day mid summer and you see the first drops of rain drop on the pavement in front of you and you smell that rain smell and then shortly there after comes the downpour.. yeah, like that.. so .. cheers to me for getting out of this fucking funk.. because.. it's coming. i can feel it.. i can smell it like i can smell that amazing parfume that i love... here it fucking comes! WOO HOO!

come and save me please
i cannot do it
please
i've tried, i'm here
begging, to be saved
i know it hurts you too
i know it makes you feel
like i don't care
i do
you asked me
to fight
but now i need you
to come and save me please

you know where ill be
even though
you think it's somewhere
else
with someone else
the only one here
is me and oh yeah, me
and they are not getting along
time is running thin
im just waiting
for you
to come and save me please

the walls are around
me, closing
and the bridges are getting higher
while the streets seem full
i think
of how
i could, but no
there is a way
that maybe, just maybe
only if
you could
come and save me please

ok, so i've said it before, but there comes a point in your life many times actually, where something significant happens, something amazing, something wonderful, something shitty, something horrible, something mundane, something... i guess what i mean is, every so often in your life there is something that changes your life dramatically. i dont how it will end up but as of now, that's kinda the point that im in. sometimes things just fuck with you. lets just say that if you had something so wonderful, so amazing so truly astonishing that you could put it on a shelf, place it in a plastic box label it and leave it on the shelf for all of your days and never turn on the tv, or read a book, or go outside, or use the phone, but just sit there and stare at it, in amazement that it's there, with you.. giving it all you can, making it truly happy making it amazingly content, having a great time dancing around, playing all the right songs for it, giving it everything you have while you are there, truly giving it you're all, no matter how little that seems to be, but for some reason, unbeknownst to you, the one thing that it needs and wants so badly you cannot give. what do you do? do you selfishly sit there with it knowing it will forever be lacking something but not give a fuck because it's the one thing in your life that makes you happy, or do you let it out, place it somewhere that it will get what it needs even though it's not from you, and forever live in regret, again? or do you ride it out, waiting for the day it will figure a way to escape looking back on better days when it was out free, roaming the earth where it wanted to getting everything that you cannot give?

I guess the right answer would be to take it out of the cage, and see where it wants to go, like that old bullshit if you love something let it go, if it comes back, then it was meant......

i just don't know sometimes things just make perfect sense, and others your mind gets so wrapped in the common everyday self hatred of who you are and who you've become that the one part of you that you truly aknowledge as yourself seems to suffer.


I'm sorry