Revolution at the Food Court

What punk means to me is this: all those kids who didn't have any friends because they were nerdy or weird or quiet or dressed funny....you have a seat at our table. Anyone who didn't quite fit in, you can hang with us. Punk is the haven for all the misfits and weirdos, all the kids who weren't allowed to sit at any of the other tables in the lunchroom, or else had an entire table completely to themselves. The ones who could look forward to a daily swirly in the gym locker room toilets, or had calluses on their shoulders from being shoved into their locker in the hallway.

The main difference, to me, between punks and hippies is that hippies seem to insist on seeing the world as the way they wish it was, the way they think it should be, and are not hesitant to try and impose their views on everyone around them, and pass judgment on those who believe differently. It's like the old joke about how do you know if your friend is a vegan? (Answer: don't worry, they'll fucking tell you.) Punks, on the other hand, tend to view the world as it really is. They recognize that there is room in the world for beauty and hope and love, but that more often the world is a cruel and ugly place. They understand that all hope and beauty and love is only won through a hard fight. Where hippies think they can change the world through sheer force of will, by expanding their consciousness in their living rooms and signing petitions, punks get that to effect true change you have to take to the streets and mix it up. True change never comes without blood. And punks understand that that blood, more often than not, is ours. If you want that tree to grow in Brooklyn, you must first break up the concrete before you can plant that seed.

 Punks recognize strength in numbers, and that no one really goes it alone. That's why there's such a sense of community between punks in their respective scenes. And sure, there's a legitimate complaint against mall-punk and kids who buy their clothes at Hot Topic, a commercialization and distortion of what punk has always represented (revolution in a shopping mall, anyone?), but that was bound to happen anyway. The revolution, at some point, is always (has to be?) made safe for the masses. Gil Scott-Heron was wrong, the revolution will always be televised. That's how you know when you're winning. A revolution makes no headway until it goes mainstream.

Lumos

Like old, great friends who haven't spoken in years, but somehow seem to pick up the threads right where they left off, let's just go ahead and dive into this thing, yea?

So I'm talking via text with my cousin the other day. One of my proudest accomplishments being that I have successfully been able to get him hooked on the Harry Potter series, and he's been tearing through those books like wildfire. He's currently starting book 6. So anyway, the other day, he's at some art festival or whatever, and feels something drop on his foot. He picks up a business card that has landed on his shoe, and asks the guy next to him if it's his. The guy responds that he thinks the girl who just walked by dropped it. So my cousin looks at the card and notices there's a small sticker attached to it with a handwritten "D.A." Now, if you're familiar with the Potter books, you know this stands for "Dumbledore's Army". He texts me the story along with a pic of the card,and we laugh about it.

But here's the thing:

Secretly, inside, I was a little upset. Because all my life I've had to hide the fact that I love nerdy, geeky things like the Potter series, Doctor Who, comic books, and video games, among my many other nerdy pursuits. I got nothing but made fun of for my interests. And now here comes my cousin, who never shared any of my interests and would good naturedly tease me about them, and he hasn't even finished reading the series yet, and he's already getting hit on by Harry Potter nerd girls.

I mean, what the fuck, right?

Now, I do not begrudge him this bit of flirting. It's not his fault, he didn't ask for it, and wasn't planning on it. But I can't help but feel a bit pissy when I think about how all I've ever wanted is a girl who shares at least some of my interests, and it seems like they're extinct anywhere I go. And now, even though he doesn't even go out looking for this (he already has a girlfriend), it just falls right in his lap. And, by his own admission, he is still new to the whole geek life thing! I mean, honestly.

And I don't want to really mention it to him, because I don't want to make him feel bad. He's had to deal with a lot of my bullshit lately, and I don't want to add to it. But I can't help but feel like someone is just twisting that knife.

I don't know. It just feels like lately I have all this anger and this pain, and it's all just right under the surface these days, ready to come flying out at the slightest provocation or excuse.

I honestly don't know if I'm ever going to be okay again.

The Alchemy of Alphabets

I have often mentioned to my friends and family how I dislike writing. Without any exceptions, they all respond with the same statement: "But you're so good at it!"

I have never bothered to really let anyone in on the secret of exactly why I dislike writing. I will acknowledge that I am better at it than the average bear, though I stop short of saying that I'm "good", whatever that may mean.People seem to have a hard time understanding that just because you're good at something doesn't necessarily mean you like it.

If you have ever taken the time to read anything on the actual craft of writing, the actual "how-to's" of getting ideas onto paper (or onto your computer screen, as the case may be), you'll note that at some point the author will talk of getting "into the zone". That magical place where his hands take over and he doesn't have to think about what he's writing, like the words just seem to flow from his fingers. And when they come back to reality after however much time has passed, they see they've written 3 pages or whatever it is while not having any memory of having put an effort into having written that much. A lot of writers will say it's like the words write themselves; like what a musician must feel when they get lost in the music. It's like being plugged directly in to the universe, in a very real and visceral way, and acting as nothing more than a conduit for the words, a catalyst for the words to form and appear. I have been lucky enough to experience this zen-like flow of words once or twice (maybe more times) in the course of my writing "career" (such as it is). It's an incredible feeling, leaving me feeling slightly dazed and spent, like the comedown of really good ecstasy or a particularly powerful orgasm. It really is an amazing feeling, and everyone who creates in any way should be lucky enough to experience it at least once.

As amazing as it is to be plugged in like that, I still dislike the act of writing. And the reason behind that is because, for me, the words only tend to come for me when I'm experiencing some sort of emotional turmoil or pain. The only time I find I can write is when I'm hurting. And frankly, the fact that I've been feeling the drive lately to start writing words again is distressing to me on a personal level. I have come to associate writing, and the urge to write, with bad times. Whenever the urge to write comes, it's usually in conjunction with some sort of emotional/mental/physical crisis. And now is no different.

For a short time, when I was a younger man, I harbored secret dreams of writing for a living, making money with my words. But back then, I was pretty much always sad and depressed, and hadn't yet come to associate writing with anything negative. That came later, after I had experienced happiness and contentment for the first time in my life. But now I've lost that happiness and contentment due to my own fears and insecurities. I'm not sure what it is I'm looking for by starting to post here again. Maybe it's just a way to siphon the poison out of my heart, let it out in some way before it kills me. But the truth is, I've never cared to hone my craft, even when writing was more enjoyable for me. I've never taken the time to sit and practice and become really good at this. I've just let this talent I may or may not have lay fallow, never harvesting it and seeing what I can grow with it, never bothering to plant any seeds on the page.

I started this blog with the intention of maybe using it as an outlet for my thoughts and ideas, and as a way of tricking myself into practicing my writing a bit more, maybe improving on this little hidden talent. It's also an emotional vomitorium of sorts for me, a place where I can let loose all the demons running around my head and let them run around free for a bit before trying to get them back in their cages. And in the process, if my luck is in, maybe the words will help to exorcise them.

After all, what's the worst that could happen?

Despite Evidence to the Contrary...

I believe true love can save a life.

I believe that music can change everything.

I believe in romantic comedies.

I believe there is a certain magick in the night.

I believe socialism is not such a bad thing, in a limited fashion.

I believe the world becoming a "global village" isn't such a great thing.

I believe the sun will come up tomorrow.

I believe you only hurt the ones you love.

I believe movies, books and music have skewed my perception of love, life and reality. And not necessarily for the better.

I believe reality is subjective and nothing more than a matter of belief.

I believe in altered states of consciousness.

I believe electronic dance music could have done so much more than just provide the soundtrack for car and shaving cream commercials.

I believe Jersey Shore was the beginning of the end of America.

I believe there is untold amounts of wisdom in Lewis Carroll's Alice stories.

I believe it's time for something new.

I believe the old ways are the best ways.

I believe that timing is everything.

I believe in proper grammar.

I believe the grass is greener.

I believe everything really does sound more profound when it's in Latin.

I believe everyone deserves a second chance.

I believe youth is wasted on the young.

I believe that our story is not over, and that we still have a faerie tale to make together.

I believe that I want to believe.

Surface Tension

Sometimes, it sits right at the surface, not quite breaking through but rather hovering in that space between under and above, the top just barely holding on to enough tension to create a mask that covers nothing at all.

Things I'm currently Jazzed About...

1.  Chris Isaak - Forever Blue 

I've been really digging this record. No one does bummed-out love like Chris Isaak, and I dig the Sun Records/surfing vibe he does so well. "Graduation Day" and the title track in particular stand out for me. This album just perfectly fits my mood right now.

2.  Star Trek (2009) 

I just recently saw this movie, and I have to say I really loved it. I'm definitely not a fan of sci-fi generally (Sunshine and the original Star Wars movies being two big exceptions), but this movie kicked all kinds of ass. I'm totally stoked for the sequel.

3.  Gran Torino

 Another movie I just recently saw for the first time, and I have to say that for a man pushing 80 years old, Clint Eastwood is still one scary motherfucker and definitely not someone you want to mess with. Great ending, too.

4.  Possibly going to Austin, TX for Psych Fest 3 this April. I have to see if I can't make my bank account cooperate on this one...

5.  Buying a new(er) car to replace my old, beat-up hunka junk. It's still a used car, but not as old, not as many miles, and much roomier. Soon, my pretty, soon....

6.  The East Meadow (NY) Fire Department, of which I am in my probationary year as a firefighter. It's pretty amazing how much I've enjoyed my relatively short time there and what a good fit this road seems to be for me. I still haven't really answered any of the important questions about myself that I wanted to get answered, but I'm starting to get a good idea of what those answers might turn out to be...and I'm pretty happy with that. And starting this June, I'll be enrolling in the EMT courses to be certified as an EMT-B, hopefully just the first stop on my road to being a firefighter/paramedic.

8.  Batman: Arkham Asylum 

Great game. The combat system is really unique and easy to get used to, and it's a really great storyline. I've been having fun with this game for about 2 months now, which is rare for me these days.

9.  Soundgarden reuniting.

It's about time, guys. Definitely about time. I smell a tour with Alice In Chains and/or Pearl Jam this summer.

10.  Alice In Chains Black Gives Way To Blue

I was definitely shocked by how good this album is. When I heard that AIC had reunited with a new singer, I rolled my eyes and wrote them off. But my cousin came home one day some months later and asked if I had heard the new single. I answered "no" with a scoff and considered the matter closed. He then proceeded to play it for me on the internet, and I was totally hooked. Way to disprove anyone who doubted you, guys.

Too Many Words

Every day, I come to my blog here, and I click on the link that says "new post", and I look at all that blank space, and then I think about all the things that I want to say and all the things I'm feeling and going through...and I realize I have no idea where to even begin writing all those things out, and shaping them into words and paragraphs and epigrams and stories. So instead I post the reasons about why I'm not posting.

There's a lesson in there somewhere, I think.

Changes

So I swear in to the local volunteer fire department tomorrow.

I'm pretty excited, as well as more than a little nervous. Some pretty major questions about myself are on the verge of being answered, and now I'm not so confident that I really want to know the answers. That's probably just nerves and lack of confidence talking. I come from a long line of first responders and front line personnel. My dad was a firefighter/paramedic for 25 years, my grandfather was a fighter pilot in WWII, my uncle was a cop for 27 years, my cousin is currently deployed in Iraq...I feel that civil service runs in my blood and that I will find myself surprisingly at home in that world.

At least, that's what I hope. There's always the possibility, of course, that this may go horribly wrong for me. I could freeze up at a crucial moment or otherwise embarass myself. I may find myself too frozen with fear to run into a fire. I may not be able to stomach the grisliness of a car accident. And I know it's supposed to be bad juju to say it, but I may even die. That part doesn't bother so much; I just hope that if that's what's in the cards for me, then it happens in a way that does some good for someone else.

Truth is, I don't really know what to expect. No one does. The only thing I know is that it looks like my life is in for some big changes. But I know what I'm hoping for.

I'm hoping doing this will really let me see what type of person I really am. I'm hoping that doing this will bring me a little closer to my dad and help me understand him a little better now that he's gone. I'm hoping my dad is looking down at me and approves. I hope my dad is proud. I'm hoping doing this will allow me to look at myself in the mirror and not feel disappointed by what I see. I'm hoping I can walk with my head held a little higher. I'm hoping the people I love will be proud of me. I'm hoping I like the person I'm going to find out I really am. I'm hoping doing this will show me a way to let you go, let me move on and have a shot at loving someone who loves me back. I'm hoping doing this will make you realize what I'm offering you and have you come running back to me. I'm hoping to impress chicks. I'm hoping to finally find that one thing in life that I love to do, and do it well. I'm hoping people will take me a little more seriously. I'm hoping maybe you'll notice me. I'm hoping to feel like I'm accomplishing something useful and productive to the world at large. I'm hoping I'm doing this for the right reasons.

But mainly, I'm hoping I don't fuck this up.

The Limits of My Imagination

It's so difficult to think about putting my arms around someone else. I can't imagine it would feel the same as when I put them around you. And people say it will be different, but it'll also be better. I can't fathom anyone feeling more correct and right and true in my arms than you do.

I can't imagine wanting to put my arms around anyone other than you. When something feels as strong and real as my feelings for you, it's difficult to believe you could ever have those same feelings for anyone else. I feel complete when I hold you in the circle of my arms. And people tell me you can have feelings for someone else, they'll just be just different ones. And I say, what's the point then? Always wanting what you know you can't have. Pretending to be happy and content here when all you want is to be there. Because those feelings don't disappear. They just get filed away along with dead dreams and hopes, ready to leap back into my heart at the first sight of you.

I can't imagine I'll ever be able to put my arms around someone, kiss someone, hold hands with someone, love someone...and not wish it was you.

In the Kingdom of the Blind...

I wish you could see what you look like through my eyes. Maybe then you would understand. Maybe then you would really see.