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| acanadiangod's Blog
| | Long time, no see |
I haven't posted in here in almost a year. To be honest, it's because I have so many negative memories and behaviors from that time period. To say I'm a better, happier, and more social person now would be an understatement. Sure, I've traded in the tight jeans for polo's, the pretentiousness for humor and sincerity, and the prozac for partying, but it was all worth it.
Rather than ranting and moaning about what you don't have, go out and fucking get it. After years of blogging about "problems" such as abuse, self-esteem, and friendships, 90% of them were in my control. In other words, the key is not being overdramatic and serious. It's simply not worth it.
Obviously AP.net is a music site, and I still read it even if i don't post almost everyday. It's amazing have a new mentality, new friends, new experiences, and new places with the same old tastes in music with some tweaks. Over a year ago, my favorite band was Thursday. I still love them for everything they've done for me, and still break out Full Collapse once in awhile, but just like my old self, it's too negative. Too personal. Sure, call me fake or abandoning my roots, but now it's bands like The Wonder Years and my childhood heroes, New Found Glory, that speak to me more and more. It's because of the fact you don't have to bring out a thesaurus and philosopher to decipher their lyrics. They're plain a simple, don't get too introspective, and focus on the present and what makes you happy. | |
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| | I've never seen a which |
It's not even worth the effort. I've exhausted all of my mental capacity, forcing what's not there into artistic outlets I'm mediocre at.
Sure, I can paint a picture that's applauded by art school kids but I couldn't tell you a damn thing about depth perception or lighting. I can write you a song but I can't explain music theory or chord progression, or lack thereof. It'll just be another amateur produced GarageBand track consisting of 4 chords with redundant loops behind drum beats I didn't make. I can write you a story that might make you smile for awhile, but you'll forget about it the next time you stumble accross another angst-filled rant with words you can't pronounce.
I'm not an artist.
I'm not a musician.
I'm not a writer.
Infact, I laugh at myself when I'm called those.
Rather, I'm a medley of the three, endlessly seeking to create a masterpiece.
It's hard to have an esteem in the arts. I mean take music, I look at a band like Lydia. Their album, Illuminate, is one of the most riviting, inspiring, and innovative album I've heard in years. How can I call myself a 'musician' when I look at an album like this? It's perfect. I'll never be able to top it or even come close.
How can I call myself an artist when I see pieces of art created by geniouses that live down the street from me? I mean they're serving my food to pay for their tremendous talent; without recognition or fame.
How can I call myself a writer when there are the Vonnegut's, the Hemmingway's, and the Bukowski's? Even AnAmericanGod, a member on this very site living among us. I'll never move people people the way he does.
You're probably thinking "why are you self-deprecating and unconfident?" Well, I don't know. I wish I could be free and just create without erasing, deleting, and re-recording, but I can't. I'm a perfectionist.
Perfectionists never create a masterpiece, nothing's good enough for them. | | Tags: rant, art, writing, music, lydia, |
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| | Fate Fell Short This Time |
"have a nice summer because i most likely won't be talking/seeing you ever again."
If nothing else, it's embarrassing how she couldn't have said that in person. Insulting. Fifteen words bound together into a cesspool oozing of passive-aggressiveness that's incognito for "hey, fuck off" is all it takes to make me do just that.
(Insert pop-punk lyric to parallel the fact that I'm not the only guy who has made a mild mistake that triggers a girl to go on a rampage, much like if Rosy O'Donnell was a monster on her period trying to destroy a conservative town.) | |
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| | Destination: Nothing |
Do you ever realize how empty everything is after something that brings you happiness? After the sun sets. After the alcohol metabolizes. After the green turns to ash. After the break up. After the graduation. What's that constant?
I need to find it. | | Tags: rant, wakeupblondie, full, collapse, |
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| | This is the story so far |
| It crushes down on you, to say the least, when you realize that your happiness is contingent upon the future, and if that's all stripped away, you're left with nothing. I need to live in the here-and-now, everything else is irrelevant. | |
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| | I've been waiting for so long |
I'm not sad anymore, I'm just tired of this place.
The above is sung in The Wonder Years' The Upsides. It caused me to have a revelation, an epiphany more or less. I take a look at my peers, everyone's so fucking depressed. It makes me depressed. Half my friends are on Prozac and drown in self-pity. I'm no stranger to that, but there are the upsides. Don't let them go unnoticed.
The last two years for me have been less than ideal. I've fucked with drugs, Rx and ones that have landed me in sticky situations. I used to be like that, of course we're all sad at times; that's human. I'm alive, I'm going to a good school, I have the best friends in the world, I have a passion. I see so many people mutter about their insignificant lives. I'm not going to make this a philosophical/ straight-out-of-high-school-religion-class babble, but life's fucking good. Of course I can say this from a vantage point, considering you have to hit rock bottom to know how good life feels. I'm no narcissist, but I love life.
December 29th, 2009 I was almost dead. I knew I was doing something wrong when I was found passed out on countless drugs, some of which I don't even remember, on my floor babbling incoherently.I learned the next morning I was about 1 pill/ 1 drink away from being pronounced dead, as well as certain medications are the last thing that should be taken with a drink. That's not the way I want to live my live. I was a selfish little kid, self-absorbed in getting that high. I know I'm wired to be an addict. I think about drugs more than sex, but I've been sober for three months.
New season. New music. New friends. New city. New school.
I don't want this feeling to fade. | | Tags: wakeupblondie, rant, fuck, thursday, prozac, the, upsides, cunt |
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| | Half Collapse |
| In my head, there's a medley of nostalgia and regrets swimming around in my murky brain. I can't separate who I was from who I am from who I want to be. | |
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| | I still ain't over you |
This happens to me so often, I've convinced myself this is as good as it gets. Boy meet girl, date for a couple months, fall in love; heartbreak ensues. There's so much contrived bullshit in our society that portrays fictional relationships as an idealistic, perfect bond. I wish I could obtain that. Married to a beautiful woman that loves you unconditionally. Sadly, that's rarely the case. My whole life I've heard stories, and I emphasize stories, of love. The only that reaffirms that, doesn't exist: movies, books, and other word of mouth tales. I feel like we've all been tricked, convinced that love is always a day away, that it's inevitable.
I love being seventeen, I'm void of all seriousness because of the cliches that cling to that number. | |
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| | God of Wine |
Do ever sit around and think about how fucked up your life is, but then you turn on the TV or flip through the newspaper and see unimaginable tragedies? I feel like this quite often, of course someone's always going to be worse off than you, but it's getting to point where I don't give myself any credibility for the shit that happens. Our problems are mainly internal, which I don't accept. The only legitimate 'issues' or 'problems' I don't laugh off are external; something you can't control. A friend's death, a physical injury, etc.
Drugs? Almost fucking destroyed me. I hate drug users, but not myself. I'm in the biggest sea of denial you've ever seen. But it's something I did to myself, thus, it's not a problem. | |
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| | Take This to Your Grave |
Don't give yourself more credit than you deserve, everyone knows you're a fraud.
Darling, you fucked up. | |
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| | Waiting |
| A disheveled man of fair complexion and a beard longer than his balding hairdo stumbles past me. Smoking a Marlboro, I could see the poverty in his eye. His clothes are frayed, his eyes are watery, his soul is incomplete. The small, rolled up piece of paper is the highlight of the day; it's what he lives for. To him, it's an even trade off. Between spewing babble and waving to the city-folk, the cigarette burns for 11 minutes, the same amount of time that will be knocked of his menial life. | |
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| | Paris in Flames |
My words are too pretentious and my thoughts too philosophical. I've ignored the fact that simplicity isn't an easy thing. All of us are so afraid of being so, we over compensate by filling our mouths with mindless babble that's deemed 'intelligent.' It's not easy to be simple, that's a fact. I always have to prove myself, more or less attest to attest to my intelligence. What if it's the complete opposite? Simplicity is envious to scholars.
Today I recieved a compliment about how i word myself; my vocabulary eclectic, my syllables precise, and my sentances standout. I laugh it off with a mere grin and shrug of the shoulders. If I have the slightest inkling of a positive comment, my ego shoots through the roof and gravity flings it back down in 60 seconds.
"I'd read your book if you wrote one", she said nonchalantly, as if I'm an exception to the aspiring writer's unwritten rulebook. My best friend, negativity, seeped through, reassuring my shit low self-esteem that the book would collect dust and have a bookmark on the second page that will never be pulled out.
I've always wanted to write a book, a life goal per say. Having the luxury of being 17, I have a plethora of cliches and stereotypes that void me of being taken seriously. I might not have experienced a lot, been in a war, have a friend die in a hideous car wreck, or seen much of the world. But I can offer my insight and confusion, I'll assume that valid and reader-worthy. | |
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| | New Best Friends |
Sure, I can combine absurd amounts of sarcasm and a touch of pompousness to hide my insecurities, but that just digs deep this hole of shit I have to deal with.
I could be a starving child in Africa with AIDS, or whatever the worst case scenario is nowadays, and have the luxury of a cozy home, good (physical) health, and access to this very blog, but at the end of the day, isn't it all the same? Externals aside, the human brain can override everything else.
It's shitty, to say the least, to have to live like this. More hours than not are spend worrying about nothing; I'm a slave to my thoughts. Some call it Anxiety Disorder, I call it hell. Skipping classes, drinking, and weekly doctor visits are some of the remedies of this lifelong illness. It concurs everything, it takes over your life. You have to succumb to what your gut is feeling, or lack there of. Sleepless nights and forgotten meals are some of the noticeable, explainable effects.
In and out of the doctor's office and experimenting with countless mass-produced drugs are just a sample, something tells me this isn't how i should be living, it's not 'normal.'
Don't get me wrong, I'm not some teenage punk complaining because his parents didn't let him go to the Bring Me the Shitrizon show, no. I'll have this when I'm 80, but hey, at least it gives me something to write about.
Sadly, a few close friends and anonymous strangers on absolutepunk.net are the only who know the truth, and not even all. I have my problems, but who doesn't? I always feel obliged to put on this fucking facade, to cover up that which is mentioned above. | |
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| | College Essay, comments appreciated! |
First and foremost, please excuse my rather Gonzo Journalistic writing style. I believe writing is from the heart and soul, not from some artificial thought instilled in the brain that encourages the writer to succumb to the acceptance of a reviewer.
Every person has a figure that he or she idolizes to the extent of obsession or infatuation, which ultimately leads to inspiration. For some it is a fad of their era; perhaps a boy band, a video game, a movie, or a transient figure. For others, it’s something that has been programmed into their brain to influence every action of their daily life. It’s something that can’t go unmentioned for more than an hour and more-or-less defines this person. In short, this person is a loss for words for this ‘figure.’
A group of six average Joe-Schmoe’s from New Jersey formed a band in 1997 called Thursday. To say they’re my favorite band, or put meaning in my life, is an enormous understatement. Trough wearing Thursday T-shirts, schools essays, and countless hours of intense musical discussion, I have attempted to conjure up my obsession, to say the least, with this band. It has yet to happen; I keep emphasizing my often un-gatherable proclamations about Thursday.
I guess I could trace it back to the reason why human beings listen to music; a form of art. I have no degree in music theory, I have no Grammy, I’m only seventeen. With this being said, I only have a bird’s eye view of music appreciation, but I can offer you this: The heart of music is love. Oh, such an ambiguous term, but isn’t love the epitome of emotion? I think it is. You’re probably asking yourself, what do music and love have in common? Everything. I believe love is something more powerful than you, something you’re willing to die for and can’t fully comprehend. That’s Thursday for me, which is why I’m at a loss for words.
Date back to circa 2003, Thursday is a veteran of infamous Victory Records and has shaped the Do-It-Yourself music scene and is a near household name. I’m an innocent sixth grader, still caught in the trance of girls and newfound appreciation of Playstation. At the time, I thought the extent of music was a turn of the radio dial to turn on the new Britney Spears song. My then 15-year-old brother popped in a CD called Full Collapse. The band is Thursday and the first song is “Understanding in a Car Crash.” My life was changed; I knew this was something life-altering. This wasn’t like the new Backstreet Boys song I just heard, this wasn’t a new experience; it was something unexplainable. Before this day, I thought music was a time-passer, or another cheap source of entertainment. I thought the extent of its purpose was so cause a finger tap or a smile; I was far from being right. My life was completely reconstructed after hearing this song. Emotional intensity in music was an far-off thought, let alone in general.
I was met my Geoff Rickly’s honest, raw voice in this sacred track. Here was a guy who crawled out of a near poverty in NoWheresVille, New Jersey and was singing about relatable, down-to-earth issues. I had this preconceived notion that music was this glamorized aspect of the media; Mr. Rickly proved me wrong. He sang about what was actually going on in his life, and sharing his happiness, sorrow, angst, and countless other emotions with the world.
Fast forward to 2005. Thursday combined these three forms of art into a neatly-bound CD for me called War All The Time, released in 2003. Keep in mind I was Thirteen years old and possessed something that would influence me for the rest of my life. Music more or less defines me as a person, and this would not have come about if it weren’t for this band. Tearing down all clichés, stigmas, and pressure in the music industry, these guys orchestrated to me the meaning of music. No effects, no voice auto-tune, no egos, no reality TV shows; just honesty. A raw guitar over a pitter-pattering drum set with a thumping bass got me sold to the instrumentals of this band. However, singer Geoff Rickly’s angelic voice and message combined with these basic instruments somehow caused a revelation. His smooth, almost meditative voice laments his struggles, as well as exclaims his joys, leaving the listener with a multitude of possibilities. At the appropriate times, his scream, more of an angst-filled-voice, brings out the emotion that is neglected too much in the mainstream; intensity, passion, etc. These ‘screams’ are emotional highlights to the song; they bring out his pain, his happiness, alive to the listener in 3D form.
How this ‘figure’ has influenced me? In a nutshell, these six guys are the reason why I write, listen to music, play music, and appreciate life. I dabbled with guitar, writing, and singing for years; Thursday was that reassurance I needed. I’ve been through a lot In my life, but I’m trying to keep it short. We’ll just say I’ve had more than my fair share of up’s and down’s, struggles, and triumphs, all of which have led me to be the person I am today. Getting past the idea of Thursday, or what they represent, and getting onto their lyrics and music, I started to really write and compose music because of them. Spanning topics from hopelessness to happiness, from women’s rights to war controversy, and from ideas about the future to a friend’s suicide, Thursday stressed the versatility writing encompasses. No matter how significant or trivial a thought is; it’s worth recording. I beat around ideas of journaling here and there but never had the courage to act on it. After hearing something as powerful as Full Collapse, I’d be an idiot to no recreate this feeling for myself. Since then, no matter what, I have jotted down strands of words here and there, compiled into hundreds of pages. They explain my past, where I come from, and why I’m here. If it weren’t for these journals, I would make the same mistakes over and over again, and I would remain sedentary and have a lack of direction. Thursday gave me that direction, that spark of motivation, that reason for getting up for another day. | |
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| | Not FDA approved: |
One day, I think, there will be drugs created that have the efforts, short term, of Marijuana, Cocaine, Heroin, etc without the detrimental effects that can lead to poor health, stupidity, overdose etc.
Basically, the short term high, or the reason why people compromise the know consequences for the ultra buzz, is the only thing that effects the mind and has no consequences. Yes, I know weed is an arguable drug, I think it a plant and not a drug, but of course smoking anything is bad for you, so taken as a pill or something.
I think if this is capitalized, our world would be a much better, safer place to call home. The reason the violence factor is so high in the world of illegal drugs is because of the legality of their 'business.' There are no authorities or officials to go to if you are fucked over in a drug trade; you'll both get arrested. Violence, stealing, and murder are effects. If you worked for say, a car dealership, and a buyer didn't pay his or her monthly payment, you'd file a claim. You can't do that with illegal substances involved.
Keep in mind these idealistic drugs have no detrimental negative effects on your mind or body, none. Assuming all are legal, the violence has diminished to nothing; no more gangs, no more murders, no more overcrowded prisons; clean. Due to a couple years, maybe even decades of intense, expensive scientific research could make our world, people, city streets, etc much better. Without dependency (keep in mind, no effects, so no follow-up; addiction), no infections, no loss of brain cells, what is there to loose?
I think this is why government research is to legitimately put a solid effort into creating these, why can't we?
Food: They'll be able to create food, artificial of course, that has the taste of commonly known 'junk' food; French fries, cake, candy, etc., but have the nutrition of healthier foods, such as lean meat, fruits, vegetables, etc. Obesity will be close to non-existent, at least that which is caused genetically. Less people in the hospitals, less stress on a national health care plan, and overall better lives. | | Tags: politcal, rant, drugs, marijuana, heroin, cocaine |
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