You think Evanescence sucks? You're damn right.
But have you heard them play Nirvana?
Can you believe not only it doesn't suck, but it's also very good?
Trust me on that. 100%. Priceless advice.
Today is the second day that I sleep badly and wake up with the feeling that I had tense dreams all night.
There are indeed some ghosts walking around me.
One is called "seeing someone grow old and lose their independence." It cools the air, makes everything greenish, and blows the feeling that the rollercoaster is slowing down; death is right behind door, waiting with its patient and omniscient grin, laughing at your hopes.
The other one is named "let's get insecure and sabotage ourselves." Makes you paranoid and blurs out intentions, expectations, fears and reality. Makes me scared of losing everything, all at once.
There are others, which I can't define. But they're all around, nudging my shoulder at night, waking me up for no reason.
Fear. It slips in through the smallest breach, like a goddamn virus, and takes over way too fast.
It's about time I quit this shit.
So it is decided. The name of the new band is Bittersweeties, and we're all ready to go.
For the first time since I started having bands, we managed to have a mini-jam session during practice, I just can't wait to set a longer practice and I finally write a song in partnership.
And what a bunch of little characters we are: me, with the trademark glasses, tallness and goofiness; Emilio, the half-japanese cowboy-with-cigarette-hanging-out-of-his-mouth; and finally our own Brian Molko enthusiast, Ugo.
It doesn't even make me mad how Emilio left for fear that we would never be able to get back on track soon enough. Yeah, I would certainly prefer to have had his trust on the fact that I was going to find a good drummer, much better than the ones we've had before. I'm thinking that we just needed some time to get things straight after the turbulence.
We will need another guitarist. I'm pretty sure that will be an easier task. Especially with my newfound status of INTERNATIONAL ROCKSTAR. hehe.
"And when at last I find you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
For the things you do endear you to me
Ah you know I will, I will"
How am I? Just happy, thank you.
All this time just feeding on her, on us, has left me with an angst of impatience that can't go away, as long as the future is uncertain - as if that would ever change?
Good thing it also allows me to sleep with a smile. And to hear all of the beautiful, beautiful songs with a whole new meaning.
All of these sighs and laughter have become my new breath. My lungs inhale creativity, the blood runs healthy again.
Maybe happiness really is a warm gun; I can't help but feel unbreakable with my finger in its trigger.
All of this music mixed together would sound like a civil war.
Random noise, much like life itself.
Tones, riffs, beats, screams, cries, truths, poems, commerce.
Blended by his own convenience.
The sound machine it never stops, and when it does, he makes his own.
Old ladies and cleaning men, all gather round the door.
There is always something more
to play out loud,
for the world to know.
I need to take care of my money.
I only realize this as my bank account is as negative as it can be, I don't have a single bill in my pocket and am starting to appeal to credit card - which I prefer doing only on emergencies.
Where is all that fucking money going? There must be a hole in my pocket somewhere, because I just don't get it.
Microsoft Money is a week outdated and I'm too lazy to sit down and do it, so I'm clueless.
I'll just add that to the endless list of things to do over the ever-so-quick weekend.
Margaret Doll Rod plain sucks.
I had to give her a chance, I mean, I gave BBQ (the canadian bluesman who was also a one-man-band) and The Black Mambas (the two-man-band where one plays it all and the other sings) a chance and I definitely wasn't sorry about it.
But who told this chick she could play anything? Probably the same guy who shot her naked pics with the guitars.
Why does it have to be so boring.
It's just that some people can't really enjoy themselves with the little things, with the subtleties.
But I can, so I did.
It's strange how I'm able to understand people who don't understand me. How I dedicate myself to make them a little more tolerant and how unreachable that always seems to be.
But still, I enjoy myself.
I wish you a good day.
I hope you liked my gift.
I hope I am also a good gift. Ribbon on head and everything!
:o)
Behind the most beautiful things, there lie cold, ugly, impersonal structures.
There's make-up in everything. There are masks.
Everyone is constantly fooling themselves, satisfied with the mask and forgetting about everything behind it.
And when it falls, everyone plays shocked. Or is indeed shocked, because we all fool ourselves so well.
My feet are further away from the ground every passing day.
Working late, at least I'm working.
Maybe then I'll feel less guilty about not doing anything at other times.
Ebony and ivory once again in perfect harmony.
Good old keyboard acquires a brand new flavor after all this time.
"Maybe not from the sources
you have poured yours
Maybe not from the directions
you are staring at
Twist your head around
It's all around you
All is full of love
All around you "
Yes, unpredictable.
I don't want to explain anything anymore, just take it as it comes. Everything simply is.
The thing that would make less sense right now would be to succumb to the fear of what could go wrong.
Insanity would be to ignore all that could go right.
I've never been so happily exhausted before.
Darkness invades the room without knocking. Somedays I just seem to wake up like this, like everything in the universe is shit, little black cloud over my head following me around wherever I go.
All the ugliness in the world is back, everything seems imperfect and I turn bitter and hopeless about everything. Like a little kid, really, whining to mommy about how life is unfair.
I enter this loop... because I hate it when people keep bitching to you about things, and I never want to do that, so I keep trying not to sound like I'm bitching and then I end up sounding very strange.
I don't want to be an ass and end up being one. Maybe I should just lock myself up during days like this.
Or maybe it's just sunday night.
"The years have been short but the days were long."
Time. How can you go so fast and so slow, all at once?
During our afternoons and evenings, hours seems to rush by as though they were a fraction of a second. We don't even notice for how long we have been there.
But while we long for our hearts to beat together, those same hours hours can be counted with precision. The clock becomes sluggish; every microscopic grain of sand can be seen clearly, sliding and bumping over each other, diving into space, slowly joining the growing heap of moments wasted, alone, with your haunting eyes branded behind mine.
We have the same disease, of wanting more. I want to fit all of you in my mouth, inject your body and your soul into my system, every day and every night.
Sometimes I get shivers from the things I read. Even stronger when I realize they have been written with me in mind.
Very few people have the gift of using words; let alone saying them in such way that it makes you realize you were feeling even more than you thought you were.
"Baby please let me begin
Let me be your heroin"
ad·dic·tion: n. Habitual psychological and physiological dependence on a substance or practice beyond one's voluntary control.
I never though I'd try it again. I avoided it at all costs, but this time it's simply stronger than me.
And the more I get of it, the more I want it. And I want it because it makes me happy, in spite of everything. Draws smiles from my face like nothing, or no one has done, for so long.
Sets me afloat and gradually turns everything else into a faint background.
While I can't be with you,
let's just split our conscience in two:
what's right for us
and what we want to do.
We don't need to close our eyes to feel,
But there is no antidote,
we took the red pill.
We don't have to forget the truth, just don't pinch yourself right now.
"life is a b movie
it's stupid and it's strange
a directionless story
and the dialouge is lame
but in the he said she said
sometimes there's some poetry
if you turn your back long enough
and let it happen naturally
oh, yeah
hell yeah"
I guess Ani DiFranco agrees with my wild horse theory from a few posts ago...
I think I know why I'm like this.
It's because if I don't do what I want (or have) to do at the heat of the moment, I tend to leave it alone and do something else, so I need to do it right there, right then.
Procrastination is the best word I learned with TS Eliott!
It's bad news and it's good news, depending on how you look at it.
It's bad considering I'm stuck in this hellhole for more half a year.
It's bad that I was on a roll and ready to rock real soon (because, yes my dear, I'm impatient as hell, I want it all and I want it now).
But it's good that I might be able to save more money, enhance the portfolio, make more contacts, know more exactly what the fuck I'll do.
Assuming I can handle more six months of... this.
Long, pleasant conversations that flow through the day and night, inside jokes and memorable remarks.
What, you mean there's more to life?
And oh yeah.
Life is a wild horse, it goes where it pleases and does whatever it wants. The best you can do is hold tightly, try to keep it pointed towards where you want to go.
And slap it every now and then, to tame it as much as you're able to. But not too hard.
Yesterday I broke my record of rock 'n roll stardom by playing guitar until my fingers actually bled.
It really happened, I swear, and I'm not even a leper. I just forgot the pick at home and I guess my middle finger wasn't expected to be scratched over and over by metallic strings, so it was his very own way of saying "enough!"
Then I broke my personal record of stupidity by losing my cellphone at the mall. Oh you dork.
Wonder if she's doing as I am, living on, looking ahead.
I know she's sick as usual, but did she find someone that understands her everyday diseases like I never could?
A week ago these thoughts were painful, but now it's like some blur. I want her to be well, but am I ready to know what she's REALLY up to? It could hurt a lot, or it could be nothing, I have no clue.
For now, I'm skipping anything relationship-related in our conversations, and I hope she does it too.
I don't want her anymore, I just feel like we have become one for so long, she's been my hiding place forever. Erasing someone from your past is hard enough, let alone from your future.
The more I get to know others, the more I realize it just wasn't meant to be. There was no interaction, we were not complementary colors: we were both the same color, with different pigmentations that simply couldn't mix well.
Different is good, kissing the mirror everyday is so destructive. You can't help but keep criticising someone else for things you can't control yourself.
Today I'm definitely seeing "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind".
They used to sound too much like Nirvana.
Britpop has that thing, they only lose for the Japanese when it comes to absortion of American musical styles. Of course they hardly admit it, more for the common hatred of the country than its artists.
But this album (Free All Angels) has so much personality.
In "Burn Baby Burn" there's still something suggesting the influence, but more like a happy as hell Kurt - that has to be original, right? Songs like "Nicole" and "World Domination" try to ressucitate the Cobain spirit in a new body, that now wears a smile.
"Candy" uses a sampler from Burt Bacharach's "Make It Easy on Yourself," and like the track "Sometimes," is a shock to those of us who grew accostumed to Ash's angry, homogenous previous work. Radio pop indeed, lovely and cute, but very catchy and cleverly melodic.
There's a Weezer haze sorrounding the whole disc, and I think I've seen Rivers Cuomo's ghost materialize himself more than once, in songs like "Cherry Bomb," giving the impression they only switched references.
The heavy scent of bubblegum can make you a little sick at times, also.
But there's more than that. Ash has finally achieved enough personality to sound more like Ash than anyone else.
So have you heard of the Covers Project website? It's got to be one of the coolest things ever invented. For music geeks, anyway.
Type in a band name, or a song name and you'll get a comprehensive, user-fed list of covers performed by that band, and what's best, all bands that covered songs from them and which ones.
It's a great way to meet bands possibly influenced by other bands you like. Try typing Big Star and you'll see names like Superdrag, Jeff Buckley, Evan Dando and Elliott Smith.
Of course, the fact that the list is user-kept is also a disavantage, given that some people tend to just throw in whatever they think they have heard, without even confirming, producing certain oddities.
But that doesn't make it less cool finding out that Faith No More has covered Britney Spears.
Fuck.
I feel like that uncredited, nameless character opening up the front door in his underwear and facing Jimmy Gator, questioning about his daughter. How intimidating.
I guess the process had to stop somehow, some time. I guess that tattoo saying kindness is very well deserved, but all kindness has to have some kind of limit.
Fucking Plato. I could be happy enough just to live in the plane of ideas.
Culture has all these levels, and the underground is the cradle of all of them.
Every civillization has its underground, formed by those who refuse to believe culture is a crystalized concept.
I choose to be where new things are sparkling. Why settle for the ripples - the effects, the way things reflect in the estabilishment, when you can understand what's generating the fuzz?
Among the new things, there are artists that merely spawn from others; there are innovations, some of which don't work, some that are interesting and some that are brilliant and will change the world.
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | Low |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | High |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | High |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Very High |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | High |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Very High |
| Level 7 (Violent) | High |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | High |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | High |
"Bust the lock on the front door
Once you're outside, you won't want to hide anymore.
Light the light on the front porch
Once it's on, you'll never wanna turn it off anymore."
Today there's extra sunshine.
Everything on earth looks like a child's Crayola drawing.
Every note that resounds in my eardrum brings me some sort of realization.
And boy, does Teenage Fanclub speak straight to my soul these days.
Well she was an American girl, raised on promises. She couldn't help thinkin that there was a little more to life somewhere else.
After all it was a great big world, with lots of places to run to.
Yeah, and if she had to die tryin' she had one little promise she was gonna keep.
---
It was kind of cold that night. She stood alone on her balcony. She could see the cars roll by out on 441, like waves crashin' in the beach.
And for one desperate moment there, he crept back in her memory.
God it's so painful, something that's so close and still, so far out of reach.
Sometimes, it takes time, not words.
Sometimes it just takes life.
A look in an eye, a heartbeat, a sigh,
A meteor in mid-flight.
Sometimes it goes slow, builds up forever
And when crashes down with all might
Or it floats in the air
Like magic, and our minds.
I think what I hate the most in life is to keep making the same mistakes. I hate being wrong, feeling dumb.
But I guess it's wise not to run away from something because it went wrong once. When you fall from a bike, you gotta hop right back on it and keep riding, or you may never ride again because of fear.
Every time you fall, there's something important to learn from it. I know it sounds cliché, but it's simply true. The next time you take the same path, you'll have a much better view of what awaits you, and know where not to step - even though the traps change everytime.
Fuck fear. My life moves like waves and I just want to see where it leads me.
Consequences dictate
our course of action
and it doesn't matter what's right.
It's only wrong if you get caught.
I'm pushing my walls and they're slowly stretching back to the Staind-listening-16-year-old days. Somehow heavy distortion, keywords like fear, rejection, hate, sickness, kill and monster become appealing to me today.
I know. It's Self-Pity II: The Return.
So here's the menu: "alternative" rock, emo, hardcore... all those Deftones, Coal Chambers, koRns and Braids in the planet are on.
This Beach Boys album is one of the strangest things I've ever heard, filled with strange sound experiences. It could be the soundtrack to that Imagination ride in Epcot Center, I can just picture Figment jamming to this, while all hands in fluorescent gloves wave from inside a box.
"dear mama can you hear me whining?
It's been six whole weeks since I left your home.
This sudden feeling's left me trembling
'Cause now it seems that I am out there on my own
And I'm feeling so alone."
I need a serious break. I think I'm allowed to ask for one now, although I feel like I shouldn't, for certain reasons which should only be revealed later.
I've been going three years without a break, skipping from job to job without completing an entire year, how healthy is that? My shoulders are stiff as stone everyday.
It's fucked up to wake up and the first thing you think about is the last girl you kissed accompanied by the words "I'm alone." I still wake up and look sideways to make sure nobody's in bed, fuck. It's like losing a hand and still feeling it afterwards.
Maybe it's time to look at the bright side! Yes, there's that bright future waiting for me. It demands me to do things for my own sake, which are more hard work, but it'll pay off.
Probably after more months of hard labour. Capitalism stole my virginity.
I hope the end of a relationship doesn't mean we can't play together anymore. Music I mean.
I was listening to these old scraps and found this song (Nothing) [MP3, 2mb] that we made together, back in the day... not as if anyone will download this, since this is a secret underground blog, but at least no one will say it sucks!
I miss your presence very much. It's very strange and painful to realize how lonely this world is without someone you rely blindly upon. And you and I know that friendship is so much less than that.
That is why, I believe, people like my father can't stay alone for too long. It takes quite some emotional preparation to feel good with yourself when you're by yourself.
I hate to sound like one of those fake american TV commercials for Ginsu knives, but I have to say this George Foreman grill gadget is useful as hell. I'm sure it's just as good as any other electric grill, but since I never owned one of those, it's all new and awesome to me.
"Fry burgers in ten minutes! Drain all the fat from foods! Buy, buy, buy!"
Yeah it's really da shit, gang. When you live by yourself, it's a pain in the ass to cook and clean up, especially frying pans are such hassles. So maybe this thing will allow me to eat meat more often (YES, MEAT, DELICIOUS AND JUICY STRAIGHT FROM THE ARSES OF LIVING ANIMALS!) which is great.
Everyone, at some point in their lives, has certainly raised the white flag to their enemies. Mature people tend to grow out of pointless fights and, having forgiven their offender, many times raise a friendly hand, only to get slapped in return.
There' s a solution, and it's simple. The Black Flag technique, also known as the "middle finger approach" is easy and straightforward. When they treat you like shit, and there's no shadow of doubt they don't want to treat you any better, BLACK FLAG.
Zero tolerance.
The basic idea is: I give a shit to you if you give a shit to me. If you're indifferent, that's cool too. But if you're mean, BLACK FLAG. I just won't try to make you like me. I will avoid any contact with you and mock you behind your back, just like you do to me. No more mr. nice guy. End.
A cliché in marketing says that "you do not buy the drill; you buy the holes." In most cases, it is correct: people buy things because of the values they attach to them, whether those values are concrete or abstract features. Despite that, a minority indeed buys the drill (or drills) because they really like them.
That's how I see computer users. With the lower prices of personal computers, and the demand for almost everyone to use the internet, a reduced number of users are "computer illiterates." Yet, most have the machine only for obligation, or to make use of the programs and games, which came installed, or were bought by legal or illegal means, or download mp3.
The remaining users like computers for themselves, their features and components. They are the fanatics - or simply geeks - who see the PC as a lifestyle.
In french, the word for computer is "ordinateur," that is, the machine that creates order, which matches most geeks, who are organization freaks and can't stand to see their things out of their correct place.
I promised myself I wouldn't forget that meeting people online is a curse.
I swore I'd always remember that people show their best side and leave the rest for the offline occasions.
But then you find someone interesting as hell, and talk to them for a million hours, you can't help but think of them for the rest of the day.
It's like when you stare at a light bulb and that spot remains for a while, what can you do? It won't leave your eyes even if you shut your eyes or look at other things. Now imagine looking at the bulb every day, each day a little longer.
If only you knew it's slowly making you go blind...
(The Lucksmiths)
I’m not typically one to rush to judgement
But I’m having difficulty dealing with adjustment
I suppose that I’ll get used to it eventually
But so far I prefer the twentieth century
Even when the evenings aren’t so shitty
I can’t see any stars because I’m too close to the city
True, I’m looking forward to the advent of space tourism
But for now I’m merely bored
And as a matter of fact, who isn’t?
I know the picture that I paint is none too pretty
Self-portrait, up to elbows in self-pity
Welcome to the testosterone club, where only those guided by the wrong head belong.
Today I'm a bit better. Yesterday I was shit.
Last night I had some friends over for dinner, which made me excited enough to prepare something good. So I went and bought some bacon to go with the steak and spaghetti.
But going to the supermarket and even cooking by myself has shown itself such a hard task that I was on the verge of crying, or blowing up, every single minute. It's just so hard to do things alone that you were used to doing in pair.
I'm pretty sure my guests felt that because they were seemingly ill at ease, and that makes me feel a bit worse for my failure as a host.
The bottle of wine, which I had been keeping for a more romantic occasion, just made me more whiny, but was a great way to make me sleep early.
There are other situations bugging me, on the professional side, which I prefer not to cite in public. I'll just say for now that the big train of life is passing by and I'm jumping in.
Grandpa's sick and seems in a pretty scary state. Fuck, I don't want to get old...
The song "the one I love," by R.E.M., could be a suicide note.
Strange how some things come through your mind when you're down.
I don't know when it started, but all of a sudden, the Red House Painters make so much more sense for me.
Long, slow progressions. A voice that drags itself through the song with a melodic, melancholic apathy, echoing poetry over the vibrating dissonance of harmonized guitars.
Mark Kozelek sounds sad in a hospitalized way.
Time nowadays seems to move so slowly that it just matches the mood of songs like Have You Forgotten, or Byrd Joel. Who cares for three minutes, radio playability when you have all the time in the world - or at least, your whole life.
He was never the straight-A student. He wasn't crazy about studying, and unlike some of his friends, he couldn't be careless and still manage to get good grades. Yet, it was deeply disappointing for him to realize it and he always wanted to be the best somehow.
Growing up with his mom was positive, it taught him how important communication and honesty was to close relationships. But at the same time, being an only child with certain disabilities, he was unsociable, content to be alone in his room all day, with his thoughts and his toys.
Children were always such a hassle, especially the ones who admired him - such annoyances, doing things in such childish, unorganized way. So he mistreated those friends and went after the others, who he wishes he were: brilliant, sociable, good in sports, everyone's buddy. Then when they mistreated him, he just couldn't understand it.
He just wanted to get the A's. To do things right and make everyone like him. Acceptance was like air, and he was always asphyxiating. Teachers and adults were easy to please with his nature, they were a safe harbor, compared to children his age, so unpredictable and mean. And he was indeed a good friend of many teachers, colleague's parents, much more often than kids his age.
As he grew up, he fell in love deeply, madly with girls, but their moms were always so much easier to conquer. Many times he found himself chatting with girls' mothers in parties, while the girls themselves were dancing, making out with other boys, not him. And he was constantly frustrated with those to whom he opened up his feelings, so inadequate, exaggerated and deep: he barely knew them, although he knew they were, each of them at a time, the woman of his life; the one destined to be with him forever.
Everyone, or at least those who really knew him, kept telling him not to be his worst judge, but he didn't see what they meant. Until one day he realized how much he needed compliments, and how seldom people are able to give them, without wanting something in return.
He realized growing up involves lying, hiding, and that every culture in the world is a hypocrite and it was suicide not to lie.
Friendship and charity don't mix.
Sure, nobody likes seeing people get in trouble, but the way some people act brings shit upon themselves.
There are proportional consequences to everyone's action, we all have to learn those consequences for better or worse. Trying to stop those consequences with your pity is like trying to stop a freight train by jumping in its way.
Just a twisted kid, never learned to ride.
