Look at em all laugh, look at em all carry the pictures of days left behind. Carrying thoughts that are decaying in their minds.
Look at em all sing, listen to em carry the melody of their silly sappy fuckin heart strings.
Follow me down the path, down the beaten road that leads to a celibacy-ridden riddle of a past.
Hear me gasp, a cough of bricks and claps to clutter the landscape of places I will never go. Listen to me tell you tales of forgotten apostles and proselytizing con artists who bring their shows to the road. Of beggars and thieves, of cowards on their knees arguing over the best way to not let you get away. Of days and nights all wrapped up tight like they had a choice.
Like I have a choice.
And here is my chance, my choice to leave my days of searching behind me. Stuttering my steps and I realize "not looking" will never be the way someone defines me. You play the chords and I'll hum along, I'll seek the retribution but never earn being wronged.
I like to play the role of the heartbroken, pity suits me well and I can stay kinda soft-spoken. Kinda one step behind the winners and kinda falling apart like one of the broken.
Look at em all dancing around the fires, screeching their tires to light the pilots in the ovens, burning me down, dirty by the dozen.
Look at em all fall in line, each one more deserving of never earning my time.
Follow me feeling sorry for myself, you can all read along in your illustrated guide I left on the shelf.
Hear me cough up one more plea, a never-had dialogue involving you and me. There are no clever lines, no show and tell, just a little history. A too-sad-for-T.V. tale of one boy's misery. Just a request to put out the fire on me. I'm burning down as plain as can be seen.
And here is my chance, my choice to forget the days behind me. My twelve step seminar to alabastering the darkness from where I can see. Welcome to my every single day. Where I pay my life fortune to sit and waste away. Where I'll sell your nieces and your cousins to the fires in the ovens to feed my growing addiction to doing nothing at all.
Welcome to the uprising, I can't wait for the fall.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Lepidoptera or The Moth Effect
I had a dream this morning. It wasn't an inspirational dream or something that's going to change the world. Just a dream. Well, a dream about an ex-girlfriend. It's been almost two years since I've last spoken with her and as far as I can tell I probably won't ever again. This doesn't make me sad however. She is a jerk.
I'm not sure why I dreamed about her, I wasn't thinking about her at all the last couple of days. And now that I come to think of it, although it was her in the dream I think I was dreaming about someone else. It's a mystery you see, dreams often do not make sense and when you think you have them figured out you're actually completely wrong.
The person I was dreaming about was someone who recently came into my life. For reasons of my own safety I will change the names of those involved.
Natasha was always there. Just a few feet away but so off my radar I had never noticed her before. Once I did though it was all over. A slightly crooked smile, talk of music and Harry Potter and a death threat or two.
I had never had a relationship like the one I had with her. It was blistering passion, with two parts nerd and a quarter of secret agent mixed in for good measure. I was falling hard, I wanted something so much that I closed my eyes as to what I really had. It felt real, I was happier than I had been in a long time but it was false. It was a joke. An absurdity wrapped in a lie. It went down smooth and ate out the bottom of my stomach.
It ended not once, but three times and in a way it's still not over. The first two times had something to do with her boyfriend not exactly loving the attention I was giving her. The third was me realizing this girl was a moth girl. Not literally of course, but she is for all intents and purposes a moth. I will explain shortly.
I think this dream though, about someone I haven't spoken to in almost two years, was trying to tell me something.
The dream itself. I was in a diner or cafe or truck stop. I was standing at the register ringing people up when I turn around and see her. The bob haircut sitting right beneath her chin. She looked a little taller, a little bigger, but she had the same perfect smile. The fucking smile that could change from the prettiest most heartwarming thing you've ever seen to a scowl that could strip paint.
I immediately knew it was her and wanted to hurry things along to minimize the amount I had to talk to her. She felt the same way. It gets a little fuzzy there, but I remember her wearing the exact outfit that Natasha was wearing the last time I saw her. She said to me very heatedly, "I can really see now that we have nothing in common to talk about. Just get this done so I can leave."
I pleaded with her to try and talk to me, but I couldn't quite talk right and she wasn't having it anyway. The last time I spoke to Natasha, which was fairly recently, for an agonizing moment or two, I felt like I had almost nothing to say to her. I felt something in my stomach, not butterflies, but something. Maybe there is another small insect feeling you get when see someone you're excited to see but immediately realize they are the last person you should be speaking to. The moth effect.
Her crooked smile and beguiling charm doesn't work as well when I remembered how much pain they caused. She just seemed like a fake. Like she had this whole act perfected to entice men. To make them fall for someone who was never there in the first place. She reeled me in and I took the bait hook, line and sinker.
My dream girl, pardon the expression, was right though. We have nothing left to talk about. We are so similar in so many aspects but because you are who you are we are on different ends of the spectrum.
Beware of this kind of girl, she is beautiful and deceptive. She will give you that same warm, invigorating, everything-in-the-world-is-suddenly-right sensation but it's fake. It's a similar feeling but instead of excitement, all you end up with is ruined clothes.
I'm not sure why I dreamed about her, I wasn't thinking about her at all the last couple of days. And now that I come to think of it, although it was her in the dream I think I was dreaming about someone else. It's a mystery you see, dreams often do not make sense and when you think you have them figured out you're actually completely wrong.
The person I was dreaming about was someone who recently came into my life. For reasons of my own safety I will change the names of those involved.
Natasha was always there. Just a few feet away but so off my radar I had never noticed her before. Once I did though it was all over. A slightly crooked smile, talk of music and Harry Potter and a death threat or two.
I had never had a relationship like the one I had with her. It was blistering passion, with two parts nerd and a quarter of secret agent mixed in for good measure. I was falling hard, I wanted something so much that I closed my eyes as to what I really had. It felt real, I was happier than I had been in a long time but it was false. It was a joke. An absurdity wrapped in a lie. It went down smooth and ate out the bottom of my stomach.
It ended not once, but three times and in a way it's still not over. The first two times had something to do with her boyfriend not exactly loving the attention I was giving her. The third was me realizing this girl was a moth girl. Not literally of course, but she is for all intents and purposes a moth. I will explain shortly.
I think this dream though, about someone I haven't spoken to in almost two years, was trying to tell me something.
The dream itself. I was in a diner or cafe or truck stop. I was standing at the register ringing people up when I turn around and see her. The bob haircut sitting right beneath her chin. She looked a little taller, a little bigger, but she had the same perfect smile. The fucking smile that could change from the prettiest most heartwarming thing you've ever seen to a scowl that could strip paint.
I immediately knew it was her and wanted to hurry things along to minimize the amount I had to talk to her. She felt the same way. It gets a little fuzzy there, but I remember her wearing the exact outfit that Natasha was wearing the last time I saw her. She said to me very heatedly, "I can really see now that we have nothing in common to talk about. Just get this done so I can leave."
I pleaded with her to try and talk to me, but I couldn't quite talk right and she wasn't having it anyway. The last time I spoke to Natasha, which was fairly recently, for an agonizing moment or two, I felt like I had almost nothing to say to her. I felt something in my stomach, not butterflies, but something. Maybe there is another small insect feeling you get when see someone you're excited to see but immediately realize they are the last person you should be speaking to. The moth effect.
Her crooked smile and beguiling charm doesn't work as well when I remembered how much pain they caused. She just seemed like a fake. Like she had this whole act perfected to entice men. To make them fall for someone who was never there in the first place. She reeled me in and I took the bait hook, line and sinker.
My dream girl, pardon the expression, was right though. We have nothing left to talk about. We are so similar in so many aspects but because you are who you are we are on different ends of the spectrum.
Beware of this kind of girl, she is beautiful and deceptive. She will give you that same warm, invigorating, everything-in-the-world-is-suddenly-right sensation but it's fake. It's a similar feeling but instead of excitement, all you end up with is ruined clothes.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
First Official Blog: Matt About Town and Incubus
Hello everyone, hopefully there is an everyone out there.
I have decided to start this blog based on true events and the encouragement of those who have been intrigued in either my writing or the zany misadventures of my life so far. The title of this blog, Matt About Town, was inspired by the column I wrote for the Sacramento City College newspaper under the same name. I wrote initially about different things I did around town but it eventually grew into a place for me to write about all aspects of life and things that interested me and made me think. It is one of the things I am most proud of to this day. I hope to keep up this tradition with this new incarnation for my writing and I also hope all those people out in cyberspace will appreciate it.
Well, no reason to keep some of you waiting.
This weekend I am embarking on the longest journey I have ever made without my family. Myself and my dear friend Susie are going to Santa Barbara to see Incubus and spend some time in the sun and well, not being in Sacramento. This will be the fourth time I have seen Incubus and I am very excited to say the least. I started really listening to them when I was in the ninth grade. I had heard a few of the singles from Make Yourself on the radio and wanted to get a little more in-depth. So I bought S.C.I.E.N.C.E.
Upon first listening I discovered a different band than the one I had heard on the radio. I could hardly understand any of the lyrics, there was frenetic guitar playing, bass and drums were everywhere. I was beginning to regret my purchase. I forced myself to keep listening though, time after time, track after track. Eventually it clicked, it was like that scene in the 13th Warrior when Antonio Banderas' character began to pick up on the Nordic language his new companions we're speaking. Slowly each word started to make sense and I could pick out multiple lines, I could start to make sense of everything. That is when Incubus truly started to open up to me.
S.C.I.E.N.C.E. quickly became my favorite Incubus album and I became proud of the fact that I knew about it when a majority of my friends had never heard about it. It was in high school that I really started to grow my own taste in music. I was able to branch out and away from the classic rock foundation that my parents bestowed upon me. It is something that I feel has defined me ever since then and is something that I find almost necessary in other people. One of the things I hate most when I meet someone is to hear that they listen to, "all kinds of music."
No you don't. And if you actually do, stop and make up your fucking mind. Ridiculous.
Normally I wouldn't have a problem with someone having a diverse taste in something, but when it comes to music I feel like there is too much to choose from to honestly say you like all of it. In addition to that, different kinds of music say a lot about the people who listen to them. For instance, someone who listens to the Jonas Brothers probably won't share similar opinions on life as me. I could be wrong and I'm willing to admit that, but ultimately our musical tastes define us.
Incubus has been my favorite band for years. They've changed from album to album and the change, in my opinion, has never been a bad one. How does this define me? Does it say I have changed throughout the years but managed to remain the same person at the core? Or does it simply mean I like a band with commercial success as well as relative longevity?
It doesn't necessarily have to mean anything. But it does mean that I am passionate enough about this band that I am willing to go over four hundred miles to see them for two hours. I care enough about the music I love to spend hundreds of dollars to experience it for the fourth time. Maybe it means that I have a better answer than everything when people ask me what kind of music I listen to.
I have decided to start this blog based on true events and the encouragement of those who have been intrigued in either my writing or the zany misadventures of my life so far. The title of this blog, Matt About Town, was inspired by the column I wrote for the Sacramento City College newspaper under the same name. I wrote initially about different things I did around town but it eventually grew into a place for me to write about all aspects of life and things that interested me and made me think. It is one of the things I am most proud of to this day. I hope to keep up this tradition with this new incarnation for my writing and I also hope all those people out in cyberspace will appreciate it.
Well, no reason to keep some of you waiting.
This weekend I am embarking on the longest journey I have ever made without my family. Myself and my dear friend Susie are going to Santa Barbara to see Incubus and spend some time in the sun and well, not being in Sacramento. This will be the fourth time I have seen Incubus and I am very excited to say the least. I started really listening to them when I was in the ninth grade. I had heard a few of the singles from Make Yourself on the radio and wanted to get a little more in-depth. So I bought S.C.I.E.N.C.E.
Upon first listening I discovered a different band than the one I had heard on the radio. I could hardly understand any of the lyrics, there was frenetic guitar playing, bass and drums were everywhere. I was beginning to regret my purchase. I forced myself to keep listening though, time after time, track after track. Eventually it clicked, it was like that scene in the 13th Warrior when Antonio Banderas' character began to pick up on the Nordic language his new companions we're speaking. Slowly each word started to make sense and I could pick out multiple lines, I could start to make sense of everything. That is when Incubus truly started to open up to me.
S.C.I.E.N.C.E. quickly became my favorite Incubus album and I became proud of the fact that I knew about it when a majority of my friends had never heard about it. It was in high school that I really started to grow my own taste in music. I was able to branch out and away from the classic rock foundation that my parents bestowed upon me. It is something that I feel has defined me ever since then and is something that I find almost necessary in other people. One of the things I hate most when I meet someone is to hear that they listen to, "all kinds of music."
No you don't. And if you actually do, stop and make up your fucking mind. Ridiculous.
Normally I wouldn't have a problem with someone having a diverse taste in something, but when it comes to music I feel like there is too much to choose from to honestly say you like all of it. In addition to that, different kinds of music say a lot about the people who listen to them. For instance, someone who listens to the Jonas Brothers probably won't share similar opinions on life as me. I could be wrong and I'm willing to admit that, but ultimately our musical tastes define us.
Incubus has been my favorite band for years. They've changed from album to album and the change, in my opinion, has never been a bad one. How does this define me? Does it say I have changed throughout the years but managed to remain the same person at the core? Or does it simply mean I like a band with commercial success as well as relative longevity?
It doesn't necessarily have to mean anything. But it does mean that I am passionate enough about this band that I am willing to go over four hundred miles to see them for two hours. I care enough about the music I love to spend hundreds of dollars to experience it for the fourth time. Maybe it means that I have a better answer than everything when people ask me what kind of music I listen to.
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