I really need to start writing in this thing more often. I think one of my problems lately is the fact that I don't remember things. I need to "write shit down", as the sticker says. So I'm doing that now.

It was a very interesting weekend. With the surplus of free time I have now, I'm making a concerted effort to go out more. That means spending more money at bars, but if I stop spending money on pot, that will even out.

Friday night I met Jason and Katie at the Dead Mule, and we drank and played this awesome Hebrew card game, kinda like rummy and spades, and I won, which is unusual. I'm pretty bad at card games I am just learning. After we left there I had an important mission: to deliver a garbage pail kid to Angela, who was over at Linda's. The atmosphere was not very lively, and it didn't seem like anyone had had a good night, be Angela seemed to like the card, and gave me a hug and whatnot. So that was cool.

Saturday night, Jason was playing with a really really awful cover band in a really really awful club, East End. I was there with Katie and we were drinking heavily and attempting to provide moral support for Jason, who wasn't having a good time, but would have had a much worse time if we weren't there. Something cool happened.. I did something out of character. Not long after we got there, I spotted this cute girl, and I thought I caught her looking at me a few times. So, instead of not saying anything like I normally do (don't), I went over and talked to her and we hit it off. She was there to support a friend in the band, too. I bought her a drink and we talked for a while. I was pretty drunk and it was loud so there was some miscommunication. I found out when she left that she was moving in two days, and I was bummed. I was going to ask for her number, but I got the (wrong) impression that there would be no point in that since she was leaving. When I got home, I did another thing out of character for me, I made a drunken, wistful craigslist post in the missed connections section, lamenting what had happened. Then something truly unexpected happened... I got an email from her. Apparently her roommate saw the ad and showed her. Long story short (more like really long story long) we've been talking, and she's going to be in Southern Pines this summer, and Creamers have been trying to play there. I think there's a better than average chance that I will see her again. It's pretty cool.


Ok, that's it. I intend to start writing a little bit every day. Honest, I do.

New Day Rising.

It's the name of the greatest album by the greatest band of all time, Hüsker Dü. It was released in 1985 on SST Records. It contains some of the most powerful and moving music I have ever heard. It is raw and visceral, throbbing with manic and depressed energy. It is harmony and dissonance, love and hate, pain and joy. It is every shade of grey. It aggravates. It pacifies. It is pop that is trying to tear itself apart, a gyroscope increasingly out of balance, knowing damn well the center will not hold forever, maybe not much longer at all.



But it's more than that to me. It is a credo, a lifeline, a desperate hope. A reminder that even in the darkest, most painful, most uncertain nights of my soul, the sun will come up again, and I will get another chance to get it right. Even when it seems like too much damage has already been done.

It's easy to say. It's even easy to remember. But knowledge is not the same as belief. When I attempt to examine why I am the way I am, my lack of faith in myself or anyone is a big part of my struggle to confront and conquer the fear that keeps me from being the person I want to be, and live the life I want to live.

Fear is a corrupting influence. It turns freedom to bondage. Self-truth to self-abuse. It's a cold, wet blanket over my soul. Dark, distorted lenses to keep me from seeing clearly.

But I know, I believe it is not all-powerful. I know I have weapons against it at my disposal, but to this point, I've been afraid to use them. Afraid to take a stand. Every new day has given me the opportunity to fight my fear, and so far I have been a weak opponent. That must change. The more new days I waste, the fewer I have in front of me. And I know that if I don't start making progress, there will be even fewer than that. One thing I know for sure is I don't want to be remembered as a man who let his fear defeat him. Whatever legacy I leave behind to whomever, it can't be that. It just can't.

To seize the new day, to grab my own reigns and steer myself in the right direction, that is the only goal I have. And I don't have to do it alone. Someone I love is just as lost and just as scared and just as screwed up, but I have to believe in her. For us to have a chance, we have to believe in each other, give the best and the worst of ourselves to each other, to fight the fear together. I need so desperately to believe this is possible, despite the fact that we haven't accomplished it yet. I've been waiting her to give me something to believe in, but that is the wrong way. You can't wander around lost in the dark and hope someone comes along to show you the way. You have to make the way. There's no secret formula, no magic shortcut.

I know the truth, but I will never be who I want to be until I truly learn to believe. To have faith. In myself, in the people I love, in the universe to provide the tools I need. To believe that with the proper adjustment, that gyroscope can spin forever. To believe that there is a path between where I am and where I need to be. To believe I can find it. That we can find it together. That we can replace the dark with light.

That there is a new day rising, and we can rise with it, and leave harmony where we found dissonance.

I have to believe.

I'm having one of those days in which I'm seamlessly shifting between anger and depression but I don't feel very strongly about either one. The knowledge that I'm only feeling like shit because I want to feel like shit is no comfort. It only makes me feel shittier.

I've got a song stuck in my head. It was written by this guy:

Some words from this song go like this:

"I am dreaming of a life and I am dreaming of waking up
there's this anger rising cancer in me standing like a wall between
the waking world I seek and this infected plane of sleep"

The guy is Blake Schwarzenbach. The song is "Morning New Disease". The band is Jets to Brazil. The song the guy wrote for the band is on an album called "Orange Rhyming Dictionary", and it looks like this:

Blake is an inspiration to lit nerds who want to be professional musicians and musicians who want to be professional lit nerds. I'm not going to give you a bio, you can find that yourself if you're interested. I'll just say M. Schwarzenbach has had a great influence on me as a musician and a songwriter, perhaps second only to Bob Mould.

My life is dominated by two things right now, a relationship and a band. I'm really irritated with both of them. Usually it's one or the other and I'm fine, but when it's both, there isn't much that will make me happy. Even when the Vikings win a game they're not expected to, as they did yesterday.

The problem with being angry/depressed, as I am now, is it gives me an almost compulsive need to turn off my brain. I do that with drugs and alcohol. Give me a bong and a six pack and a moderately entertaining video game and I will watch the hours disappear, thinking about nothing the entire time. Sounds pretty awesome, you say? It is, except when it causes me to neglect things I actually need to think about and/or do, which it almost always does. Another thing this does is cause me to spend money on beer/drugs/food, which I cannot really afford to do right now. But, it's better than brooding, I guess, and I usually feel better the next day, but without even attempting to come up with a solution to any of the problems that made me feel shitty in the first place. I recognize the fact that this is not healthy, but it's who I am.

It's looking like this is going to be one of those "few and far between" kinda blogs. That's ok. I don't really expect anyone to read it but me, so I feel no outside pressure to be more prolific.

This past Sunday, my personal savior, AKA Adrian Peterson, AKA Purple Jesus, set a new NFL record for rushing yards in a game with 296, in only his 8th career game. For those of you who don't follow football, trust me... that's a lot of fucking yards. And the Vikings won, which was even more surprising. The path of a Vikings fan is a difficult one to tread, with all the constant disappointment and whatnot. But Purple Jesus gives me real hope that the Vikings will win a superbowl in my (or anyone's) lifetime. Now all we need is a not-quite-as-shitty quarterback and a not-quite-as-shitty coach (preferably one who does not look like a bald Dale Earnhardt). Below is a picture of Purple Jesus, in mid-shred of the Chargers' defense.


In other news, things are kinda weird. Well, perhaps it's not things that are weird, but that I feel weird about some normal things. Actually, that's not right either. The thing is, change is coming, and I'm scared shitless by it. For the last three years, I have lived in the same house, which has never happened in my life before. I have enjoyed an unprecedented stretch of stability that is going to come to an end soon. Not only will I need to move before too long, but my whole life might change radically. It's what I've wanted ever since the first time I picked up a guitar, but the leap of faith required is also unprecedented for me. And it all comes down to money. It always does. If I make this leap, am I going to have enough money to pay for the things I have to pay for every month? And what about health insurance? I have sure needed it this year, but I'm facing the prospect of rolling the dice on my health as I have done before. It's scary. And it's coming.

No time for typing lately. Too much stuff going on. Getting ready for tour. Got shows to play, songs to learn, futon mattresses to pick up, a 30-year-old RV to get running, my day job to do, posters to mail to clubs, bands to find for shows, and a scrambled brain to do it all with.

Aside from that, things are going pretty smoothly. Went to the beach. It was awesome. One night's not enough, but it's a lot better than a night at home. Spent way too much money, but it was for a good cause.

Looking forward to going up to NYC for CMJ next week, but not looking forward to all the stress that will accompany it. But I am as equipped as I've ever been to deal with it and get through it, so I've got that going for me, which is nice.

Here is a picture of a painting of a dog fucking a cat.

Gotta go back to the Milestone in Charlotte sometime. It is perhaps the punk rockin'est place I've ever been to.

Ok, that's it for now.

It's been a really difficult week, and it's not getting any easier with the weekend.

There will be plenty more on that later, I'm sure.

I'm still not really sure for what purpose I'm going to use this blog. Confessional? Outlet for my angst? A forum for bitching about my favorite sports teams and the perennial disappointment associated with that? Music reviews? All or none of the above? We'll see.