Time, I Guess.

If I had become comatose six months ago and I woke up next August on my birthday, I would most likely not realize that it was my birthday and, upon finding out that it was my birthday, I would think I was turning 27 rather than 28. What would this mean to me? I don't know.

The year on the calendar today has changed from what it was yesterday by one digit. The 8 has turned into a 9. 364 days from now, the 9 will become a 0 and the 0 preceding that will become a 1. Phenomenal.

Now for your job. Figure out the point of this post and get back to me. Please.

Thank you.

I Used to be a Writer

I've walked this ground for a while now
So yesterday I laid me down
And I looked up into the big ol' sky
And searched for our father's big blue eyes

Figured I'd give him another shot
Since I haven't heard much from him lately
Goddamn if he didn't look right down at me
Those eyes as empty as eyes could be

Let me inside your brain. Not all the time, only when you're reading something I wrote. Specifically, lyrics. I want to test a theory that lyrics lose their impact without music. Lyrics are not to be confused with poetry. Poetry has a different flow than lyrics. Poetry is written to be read, leaving the reader to provide his or her own emphasis and inflection, whereas lyrics are written to be heard with specific inflection, tone, and emphasis provided by the singer.

Consider the lyrics to a song I wrote a few years back:

"Devil's Net"

This blood flows cold
Through veins of steel
In these eyes
Burns the face of death
Lucifer

This mouth
Preaches words of doom
And these hands
Will steal the life out of all
Who stand before them

Short and sweet, no? But the impact is all but lost without the music, inflection, and tone to back it up. If not lost, definitely changed.

My point? I want what I write to impact whoever reads it. I want to impart what I feel. I suppose that's the point of any type of art. Unless you're just trying to show off.

One Day

I have seven published blogs so far and six that I have either scrapped or not finished, but saved as drafts. Some are too negative, some are too personal (and maybe too negative), a couple either suck or didn't interest me enough to finish/publish. I'm guessing that eventually I'll have more unpublished drafts than published blogs. Perhaps I will then publish them all in a collective essay titled "Crap: A Retrospective" (a title I stole from Beavis, slightly altered and not as literal).

In Tow

Born head first
With one foot out the door
The writing on the wall
Reflects upon the cracked wood floor
Thinking backwards
Realize that it's O.K.
You could turn back the clock
These things would happen anyway

To obsess over what I possess
Just leaves me distressed
And feeling oppressed
And a little depressed
But I'm sure you could guess
That just having less
Reduces the stress.

Sketchoes

Gonna start posting drawings and sketches. Okay, doodles. Some drawn with my feet, some with only my mind. You figure it out!!

Oh, so profound!

This is where I live.

You can't come in.