The Heathens are Among Us

Yes yes yes, I told you about the music or something. I do not know.

I started a band. It is called The Damn Yankees. I hope that name isn't taken, it probably is.

We are playing songs that I write. People really like it.

This girl Rebecca is the violin player. She has played in many bands, and she has played live many many times. She is my armor and my experienced advisor when it comes to doing this.

We've gotten together twice. Twice for about two hours at a time creating a sound. Then Rebecca drags me and Miles to a bar to play some of my songs.

We have practiced twice, fuck.

But I was like fuck it, let's do this shit.

We go to this bar where another band is playing that rebecca is going to join. This is Tennessee, they are playing country music and bluegrass. When Rebecca is playing these bands, her violin transforms into a fiddle.

Everyone is drinking and listening to southern music. I am telling Miles this is crazy, we are totally not ready. We are not southern.

She asks the band if we can play a song between sets. Dude says no. Then he says yes.

I need a fucking beer.

Leader of the band comes up to me. You guys want to play a song?

Uh, yeah, sure.

Well let's go.

Um, can we wait a little bit until later?

I am waiting for that beer. I want to eat a beer first before I do this. I am trying not to be nervous.

I am getting old though, and more set in my ways, so getting nervous would just be a stupid idea. I controlled it.

No, he says, I cannot wait.

We had just got there.

Shit should have effected me, but it wasn't, because secretly, deep down inside, I knew we had good music, though it was unlike anything anybody has ever heard before.

I am keeping this a secret, because I believe it's true, but I don't know if it was true.

It was true to me, and that's important.

So we get up on stage. I am setting myself up to be comfortable. I drag a chair on stage, people are setting up equipment around me. I have never played my songs live before. Well I did once, years ago, and it went horribly.

I am trying to prevent the horribleness from happening again.

I shook and trembled like crazy last time I did this.

I am trying not to let this happen to me again.

I don't know what I am doing though, with setting up equipment and shit. I am just there to play my guitar and have people listen to our sound. I am going to sing my original songs to these people. Whooo.

They are telling me to check the mike. I am so cool, I put my mouth to the mike and I'm like Check.

Oh yeah, I am a fucking pro.

They are miking my guitar, I am sitting in a chair and people are moving and doing things all around me.

I start playing the riff of one of my songs. I am listening to the chatter. I am comforted by my playing.

I am laughing and cracking jokes trying not to let the nervousness overwhelm me.

Miles has his jembae, this big bongo drum or whatever. He has played it once. He is wearing funny pants, and it is about one in the morning and he has class in the morning. He is facing away from the people, so his drum hole (hahahahhaha) is aimed at them. He is not the focus of this. He is getting away scot free.

I am the musical leader of this band, so they are following my lead. I know nothing about playing live. I know absolutely nothing about anything. I know some facts, maybe. Whatever.

I start playing a song. There are several moments where it is after fucking around, before singing, and we are officially playing a song live for the first time after two practice sessions. Here we go.

My intestines start flushing. My schizophrenia pops up. I realize for one brief moment that I could go completely schizophrenic and ruin this all and we will never be a band.

I get this under control.

I start singing. I am weak sounding. I can barely hear my guitar. This first song apparently turns out to be our best one, later on.

They say play more.

I play another song. We were supposed to play one.

I figure out how to sing into the mike and I start singing with a purpose.

Finish second song. They say play more.

I play a third song. I don't have many. I wrote all these in the span of twenty minutes altogether so we'd have something to jam to, and I could practice my singing.

We finish. I am done.

We step off stage.

Here is what happened:

People complimented me on my music.

Also, there was a guy there who just happened to used to be an independent label music producer for six years, and still had contacts with a radio station in Austin Texas, and other music contacts.

He is telling me that we were really fucking good. He would consider us easily in the top tier of independent bands that he has come across. That we are everything important. That our sound was the most interesting sound he has ever heard out of cookeville, and trust me that that means a lot he says. That our first song he could easily get played on the radio. We could play at SXSW.

Crazy shit. I wanted to call the band Strange Days, but that was apparently already taken.

My secret is out. The revolution proceeds forward. You knew about it first.

Oh yeah, if me and Lars ever get around to it, we are going to make a banner and hang it on campus.

The banner will say "Attention! This is a banner."

Another part of the revolution of the mind.

Stay with me.

The Used and Frail

What adventures. What charisma, what awesomeness. What a joy is found.

Hello you, it is me. Hi.

I am back, if only for a little bit, to tell you special things.

I am secret in my love for you, just whispering when you least expect it. It is beautiful.

I will begin my story, or something.

Hahaha, I don't know where to begin.

Well, let's start with this. I'm off the klonopins, that nasty nasty drug. It can cause addictions, it is just a shitty drug. I'm on gabapentin. It is for neuropathic pain. It increases Gaba.

It has healed something inside me.

Return of the Mack

Oh my god I'm back baby.

and the days

I am not like this all the time. I am just often scared to be like this, because it is unexpected when it happens.

Masterful Domains

School is starting Monday. I am excited.

Let me explain to you a bit of what it is like to be schizophrenic.

Imagine having a near death experience. Maybe you have had one. Imagine the thoughts going through your head, the fear, the everything.

This is what it is like for me on schizophrenia. Inconsequential things become indicators of my demise. My heart is beating. I feel like I am right on the edge. Throw in some mystical crap, some mental everyone is connected and knows what is going on in your life and they are just players and there you have it. It is fucking scary. It is scary to live like this daily.

Ahh well. It is the lot for my life.

I will tell you more later, I wanted to make this quick.

A rage head of goodbyes.

I feel like I owe you something.

Let me take a klonopin, and talk to you.

I am back. I am sitting here, on my stolen mattress. I have a styrofoam cup of Dr. Pop in my hand, with ice, though the soda is cold. I am liking the ice, lately. Later, when I find the cup, the ice has melted, and leaves water. I am pleased by this, and I dump the water out. I take use of things, and then I leave them behind, to find them later, and see how they/ve changed.

They are not really klonopins. They are generics. I am chewing off-brand nicorette gum. My life is full of cheap knock off's. I am ready to talk to you, I have everything set.

I do not know what to give to you, my reader. Everyone is so vastly different, though there are things that unite us. I could appeal to that, to those uniting factors, but then I would be the same as everyone.

I will choose a different tactic. A harder one. I will be myself, though it pains me. It shouldn't pain me to be myself. I do not know why I am telling you this. You deserve something.

I said today that the only problem with stupid people is that you have to listen to them. This is true, and I shouldn't say these things. The only ever problem you ever had with a stupid person was that you had to listen to them speak.

No, this is the case most of the time. You can avoid them. People, I have found, have found ways of avoiding people that cause them discomfort.

Some people go right for it. The discomfort. Maybe there is a high, there, somewhere.

I am from a poverty background. I believe people live for their different highs. I do not know how to feel about this. I do not know if you feel the same.

The top two things that a woman looks for in a partner is honesty, and a sense of humor.

Hahaha, everybody does and has that. Well, a lot of people. They want the right honesty, and the right sense of humor.

I have developed a bad sense of humor, and I laugh too much. Girls think this is just fine. Girls are silly.

I am slowly starting to not view myself as a smoker anymore. Or, conversely, if you like the big words, I am starting to view myself as a non-smoker again. Whatever.

I will enjoy the occasional cigarette and probably cough and hate it.

I made really, really good grades this semester. This is something to be proud of. Though I am a schizophrenic, I really show a lot of promise and potential.

All good things.

All my friends have been calling me over the break. I am touched. They like me.

This is good, because I want to be myself, and I am a person who likes to be liked. Heehehe. I am sorry if this offends you. This desire of mine, of liking to be liked.

Will I change to be liked? Ho ho, that is the question. Many will debate this.

We always change, to be liked. Sometimes.

See, I said always, and sometimes. You must hate me.

This is the part where I would add a really good quote about something. Like, despair is just a stone's throw away from a fucking rainbow, or something. That would be some awesome shit. You would tell all your friends. Laugh for me, and my dream.

It will not be me to say this, but everything has already been written and produced. But new things keep popping up everyday. It is always quite possible. It is always a new rearrangement, every day.

It would be really cool if I lived your life for a day. You might not think so, but I bet I would find tons of neat shit about it. It is always good, this new perspective.

The revolution is a new perspective.

I wish I could have a cigarette, and write to you. That would be so chic. I am so anti-chic. I like chic people. I secretly envy them. They have a gift of life.

Another set of sorrys

A lot has been going on in my life. I should probably tell you about it. It is sensitive. I am scared to open my heart to you strangers. I expect your attention, yet I cannot let you in. Yet.

That singer Sarah McClachlan or whatever has been letting people know that for sixty cents a day, you can help save orphaned puppies or whatever.

I like how we now have a choice of whether or not we're going to sponsor a third world kid, or an american dog. For the price of a cup of coffee, you can sponsor this abandoned puppy. Or this child. The choice is yours.

I, like most americans, will be buying that fucking ridiculously cheap cup of coffee, where do you get that at.