These are the ideas, thoughts and dreams that are always racing through my mind. If I'm lucky enough to remember something, I will most likely write it down here.
Today is Tuesday December 10, 2013.
It has almost been 12 months since January 1st, 2013.
Crazy.
This year has been... a roller coaster. I've had some very incredible ups.
I've written before about the incredible beginning of 2013 and all my awesome opportunities that have been given to me in some form or another throughout the whole year, all of which I am most grateful for.
I have also had some really low points this year as well.
Which I won't really go into.
You all heard about some of it.
However, I will say that these low points have been some of the best learning experiences of my life thus far.
The situations, arguments, moods you find yourself in. Some of the most terrible / best ever (in retrospect)
But they don't make sense at first. You fight and fight and fight and try to tell yourself you know what you're doing but really, you don't. You think the way you feel can be dealt with easily. It's can't.
And you start behaving in ways that aren't normal and telling yourself they are.
Then later you can look back on them and see them for what they are.
Learning experiences.
I feel like I've brought that subject up a lot in the last year.
But that's what this blog has been really. Learning. An exploration of self. Some sort of strange, Kid Cudi/Kanye West fueled existential crisis shit.
It's kind of like I left my journal open on my desk.
And you snuck in and read it!
You rat bastards. (just kidding)
But really. I left it there for you.
Cause I like you.
I want to let you know about me. But in all honesty I'm much better at telling you about myself through my writing. I have always felt that I was much better at expressing exactly my feelings or thoughts with written (typed?) word.
I wouldn't normally open up to you, in public anyway.
I rarely leave the house. If not only for snacks.
So this is kind of how I keep in touch with you.
And I'm always honest with you when I write.
Except for when I don't tell you things.... ;)
I've had friends (of which I consider a very great deal of you) tell me that they actually read and enjoy my blog.
I never believe them at first. It's always followed by "Do you really?!" with a goofy ass smile plastered on my face.
It makes me glad to know that you all care so much to read all this shit I've been writing about for the past year and to keep reading and even compliment me on it.
Thank you so much.
On another note, this will probably be my last entry until 2014.
I'm headed home for the holidays! and I'm taking the rest of the year off.
(I know it's only the tenth, shut up)
To see my folks and friends back in good old Elko.
You sat next to the door for too long, I know. I’m sorry!
I tell you I’m sorry a lot don’t I? you know I mean it.
I don’t like leaving you leaned there by your lonesome for
so long, it’s just the sun goes down at 5pm and the Mexican market has
incredible deals on a mindblowing assortment of pastries in just about every
color and flavor you could imagine, but I know you don’t care about those
things.
We did dance yesterday though. You were just as surprised as
I was when I got off of work early. And with an extra 5 hours of daylight in my
pocket I think you knew I wouldn’t waste in on Netflix or with my nose buried
in my phone. I packed a bag full of clothes to try and sell at the shop across
town, put on many a layer of my own apparel and set out to stretch both our legs.
Over the bridge we went, storming up it quicker than usual.
Looking out at highest point on the bridge we could see the mountains and
surrounding hills were covered in snow. A reminder that made us sad winter was
so close, that we were only really riding on borrowed time, because by some
miracle the ground was not yet covered in that awful substance that taunted us
from far away.
Over to Main where we followed the rails south, out of
downtown and then east towards Sugarhouse. We didn’t go through Liberty Park, which
is strange because we usually do. Instead we stuck to the small neighborhoods
where there were no cars, or people. OR DOGS TO CHASE US TEN BLOCKS. (that’s
another story)
It was just you and I, and that was nice.
We ran our errands and took our time heading home. I stopped
and grabbed lunch and you waited patiently. After we were home I set you right
back by the door and went about doing my own things for a bit.
I think I surprised you again when I took you up once again
a few hours later. We had one more errand to run before the night was over (I
had to return some video tapes). With more layers on myself than before we left
once again. My feet and head wrapped with wool, my Columbia shell and hoodies
and flannels keeping me comfortably warm from the cold November night air.
Up and over the bridge, this time taking in the city and
it’s lights.
How many times did we see this same exact view this summer?
How many times did you carry me away?
When I was sad. When I was happy. When I couldn’t even think
because I had so many thoughts.
This trip was short, much shorter than the day’s earlier
trek. It was well needed, as is all the time I spend with you.
I set you by the door once more, and said goodnight.
Lucille you’ve seen so much since we’ve started riding
together, not just of the road but of me.
Before Lucille, I had a bike named Anubis.
Anubis was quite the problem child. In addition to helping me remove the tip of my finger, he was also plagued with many problems that hurt my pocket book and eventually lead to his demise as a piecer that has sat in storage for about a year now.
Anubis will rise again, as something else. His time as a fixed gear are over, he will be much happier as a mountain bike or a hybrid commuter.
Enough about Anubis, I was trying to make a point about Lucille.
Despite my rigorous use of her throughout this whole summer, she was solid.
So a few months back I though I was losing my mind.
I was at a very strange point in this year of 2013.
I spent a lot of time in bed. Self medicating as I saw fit,
something that may not have been healthy, not so much for my physical body, but
rather my mental health.
This summer was long and hot. The heat and my madness and
situations I found myself in drove me to a point I had never been to before,
bringing out something I had never seen in myself before.
Writing about it makes me uncomfortable.
Fast forward a few months later. Some more things have
happened and I’m very confused by them and what they mean.
My best solution was to hide. To sit away in the dark of my
room from the time I got off work to the time I had to be ready in the morning.
Medicated and numb I spent the fleeting summer months in a haze and got lost in
nothing for a while.
A few weeks back I wrote a post about checking back in.
Things were still hazy then but are getting clearer now. I can look back now
and wish that I hadn’t just shut out the world, but I’m glad I chose to. It
showed me that if I come to a point in my life that drives me to behave and
think the way I was, that I would much rather talk some shit out with friends
than to let it drive me into life as a recluse.
I must say though, the recluse life is where it’s at. When
you make cookies, all the cookies are yours. You get to pick which movie is
next every time. I can lay around in my underpants (with the door closed of
course) and eat Ritz crackers and be covered in a blizzard of cracker crumbs
and salt, without judgment. As much as I
would love to tell you more about the lush life of the recluse, I’ll get back
to the half-assed idea I was trying to get at earlier.
For me it was a learning experience. Looking back, it’s
interesting to see how everything unfolded. How what I did or didn’t do, and
how it affected how the last year has been playing out. Now is a very good
opportunity to take a moment and see what I have learned.
I won’t go into that.
The thing that gets me is that everything is still just a
learning process. I left school and thought that was it.22 year old me was stoked on everything and
totally got how the world worked. 24 year old me knows better! (I love
everyone** and everything in my life. I am very grateful for what I have and
whatever comes my way.)
I have said it before, I never really understood that people
are people and they are doing the exact same thing I am. Thinking.
**and by everyone I mean there is a select group, there’s
still a whole lot of dickheads out there. Don’t worry. If you’re reading this
there’s at least half a chance I think you’re pretty neat. ; )
Since the
weather has started getting colder, it has encouraged me to stay inside. I feel
like once the summer is gone, that my fun is as well. I haven't ridden through
a winter before, and I always play with the idea, but at this juncture I'm not
to sure how fond I am of riding through snow, sleet, hail or whatever the fuck
Utah's viciously uncertain weather is going to throw at us this season. The
colder months I usually find myself inside, trapped in bed with movies and the
internet. This fall however, I've been finding myself out and about a bit more.
I have been very lucky to already have multiple chances to see quite a few
shows, both from local and national bands.
Tuesday
night I found myself at The Complex attending the Sleigh Bells concert.
I usually
stand off to the side, as close to the stage as possible, without crowding
anyone or letting myself become crowded. (Other show goers have this incredible
ability to invade my prime chilling spots. You bastards.) If you saw me, I
wouldn't be smiling or dancing. I would just be chilling. I would probably even
look like I was upset or disgusted looking! (I have actually had people mention
this to me at a show before) My friends call this a "pissy chill
face". But in all honesty I'm concentrating on taking the whole scene that
is unfolding in front of me.
I
mentioned being into hardcore music in a prior post of mine. My friends and I
lived for shows. Friday would roll around and we would get out of class and
meet up. We would decide where to eat before a show started. And after we were
full of mexican food we would load up into at least three cars and mob deep to
the venue. We would dance and laugh and fuck off. I remember one time we had a
dice game going in the middle of a show. We really didn't care. We would hurl
our bodies around with orchestrated punches and kicks. And it was all because
of the music. It was our fuel. Sure we could windmill in the Wal-Mart parking
lot, blaring xSHARKPUNCHx as loud as we could out of my friend Alex's Grand
Vitara all we wanted and as close it it came sometimes, it would never compare
to seeing a show live. You can feel the music. That was about
as involved in seeing a participant at a concert as I got. I still catch a
hardcore once in awhile, and I won't lie, my heart does race, my palms get
sweaty and I get so anxious that my knees shake every time I'm at one and I see
the pit going crazy for the band spewing forth noise just for them. I like to
think I'm retired from spinkicks and picking up change but back then the music
was such a part of me it's hard not to be sentimental.
I like to
watch the scene unfold before me. I used to be so involved in what was
happening that I didn't realize how intoxicating it could be to watch the
effect of music on a large group of people. These days I'm an avid people
watcher and live concerts are most definitely the way to fill my sick need to
watch people and what they do. A lot of the time I'm looking at the crowd more
than the performers (unless you are Chelsea Wolfe or Alexis Krauss... good
lord). The fact that music can make people behave without inhibitions or
worries is incredible and this feeling definitely shines through at a show and
it is one of the most interesting things to observe. People could be doing
anything. Laughing, crying, taking drugs, dancing, kissing or just about any
other thing you could imagine someone doing or getting away with.
I am
keeping my eyes open for any opportunity to see live music this winter.
Absent, is how I would describe myself lately. I've been, how would you say... checked out.
When I first started this blog it was with the intention that it would help my writing. Help me sort out my ideas. Maybe help me make sense of things that had happened, were happening or that were to happen. I found that writing was something I really loved, and since starting this blog I have had many incredible opportunities to display my ideas not only on the internet via this blog, but also in print with local mag, Salt Lake Underground. I used to tell someone very special to me that "I would never want writing to become my job, or something I had to do. I think I would end up hating it."
Spilling your ideas onto a piece of paper (screen) is an incredible feeling. Have you ever written out exactly how you feel about something? Explaining exactly what your thoughts are? What drives you to think a certain way? It is cathartic. Find something that drives you. Be it good or bad or sad or happy. Write about it. Explain everything. Write for as long as you need too or until you just can't anymore. Then sit back, and look at what you've put down. Consider how many pages it took, how your words or even your handwriting was affected by what you were feeling, how much time you spent doing it, and so many other countless things only yourself could notice... and I guarantee you will feel better. You will feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, or that you have accomplished something, or that something you have been meaning to say is finally out there and not just in your head. (where things don't make any sense at all.)
I haven't posted on here in about a month. I have had some things going on in my personal life which are not only firsts but which I have no idea how in the fuck to deal with (yet anyway, it's a work in progress sort of thing) and to be honest this blog has been the last thing on my mind. Like I said, I've been a bit out of the loop lately, but I'm also working on that.
I realize now that I should have kept writing in those hard times. Instead of just saying fuck it, I should have been penning out what I was thinking. I have always thought myself better at expressing what I'm feeling and thinking through words rather than actually speaking them. It's part of this crippling disorder I have known as SuperFuckingSociallyAwkward, but that's beside the point. Maybe I would have handled things differently, maybe things would be different. But who has time for the maybes when the here and nows are bat shit?
The only thing I can do now is make a continued effort to write. I feel as though I may have been taking it for granted just a bit and it's time to make amends.
wish me luck.
Let's talk again about this time next week? ... or two weeks from now? or three?
Recently, in the search of my brain for things to write about, I decided it would be interesting to take a look at my taste in music throughout my life.
As a small child, I don't think you really care what you listen to. If it sounds cool, it's your jam. I listened to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles soundtrack on cassette at least a thousand times while I banged my head into my mattress to the beat. I was a weird little fucker, okay?
You remember this shit?! I DO.
As I got a few years older I started to pay attention to what I was listening to. I was into what my parents listened to which included Pink Floyd, Jethro Tull, BB King, Eric Clapton, John Lee Hooker, Rush and many more. I spent hours upon hours upon hours traveling the country with my parents with all these artists being the soundtrack. I could sing along with the entire The Wall album by Pink Floyd. I knew every word to every song. I can still remember that Rush was the fuel to our weekly early morning drives through Yellowstone National Park when we lived in Montana.
I moved to Nevada in the fifth grade and spent the rest of my school days there. I remember one time in fifth grade, my friend Rikki had left his walkman with the new 50 Cent, Get Rich or Die Tryin', CD at my house. Now, I had never heard anything like this, much less did I even know who 50 Cent was at the time. I was nervous as I put on the headphones and hit play. After the intro played through, the first 50 Cent song I ever heard came into my earspace. "What Up Gangsta", is still a guilty pleasure of mine to this day.
At the time I had no fucking Clue what Curtis was talking about. But it was new, and scary and I know for damn sure my mother would have looked at me funny if she knew what I was listening to. I made Rikki play that CD every time we hung out or when I spent the night. It was my first venture into a new genre of music.
Regardless of this little taste of new music, I was still reluctant to give up my oldies.
By the time I was leaving Junior High, I was getting into skateboarding. I did what every kid at that age does when they're into skateboarding and that is buy every piece of skate clothing and gear I could get my hands on. I was a little Dickies wearing, skate billboard. I eventually ended up getting my hands on a copy of Girl's "YEAH RIGHT!". At the time I had no idea that this film was revolutionary in skate videos. I just thought it was badass. And this is where I really started to find my own music. I remember when Brian Anderson's part came on, early in the video.
I didn't catch onto it right away, but after watching the video a few more times through, the song sounded better and better. I quickly found out that it was, my now all time favorite band ever in the whole world, Interpol.
I became obsessed with their first album, Turn on the Bright Lights, and the particular track "Obstacle 1" would forever be my anthem and I can say that it still is to this day. I would skate, walk, ride my bike, do homework, kill time, everything to this one album. It was my first musical discovery that had been totally random. Interpol would put out an album and I would be at Wal-Mart as soon as I could with the money I had scrounged up. I learned every song title, word, everything just as I had with the oldies my parents had shown me when I was younger. No one really knew who this band was at the time and that made it even more special to me. I bought a few t shirts and listened religiously.
As high school began I made friends and started to hang with them more often. We didn't really have any taste in music, we just listened to what ever. I remember a friend of mine, outside my usual group, mentioned the band Atreyu and how loud it was and how the vocals were screams. I was intrigued.
Soon after, our hair got longer and our pants got tighter. Our shirts grew two sizes too small and people started to think we were weird. We didn't really give a shit though. The music was loud, fast and full of energy. It was perfect for feeding our angsty, confused teenage brains. We started listening to more and more. As I Lay Dying was a regular. I never really got into stuff life From First To Last or The Used but as soon as I discovered Job For A Cowboy it was game over.
NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT DUDE WAS SAYING. But goddammit did I like it. I eventually looked up the lyrics and was into what they were saying. This just lead me further down the path.
The music got heavier and heavier.
A group of friends and I finally got the nads to attend a local hardcore show. It was a band called Catherine, which I ended up listening to for a really long time after that. This was also the first time I had ever hardcore danced. I remember standing at the edge of the pit watching everyone. Watching all the badasses who had been listening to this music long before me, rage and throw their bodies around to this music. It was infectious.
There was that weird grindcore phase.
SCOPE THE GOAT. anyway.
To wrap this up, my friend Dustin eventually got me into electronic music. And since about 2010, he's introduced me to a lot of different composers and groups and I've eventually found my own. And nowadays I'm either listening to really stupid rap music, A$AP Ferg and Rocky, Kanye West and Jay Z, and god almighty, even 2 Chainz once and a while or the electronic music I've been listening to for the last 3 years. Is this the music that's going to stick with me? Is this the music I'm going to pass onto my children?
I don't even want to think about what music is going to be like when I have children. I'll probably think it's bullshit and try to push some Interpol or Kendrick Lamar on them, maybe even The Doors. And they'll probably tell me to suck it, while they hover away on their HOVER NIKES blaring Skrillex the 4th's latest edit of animals banging at the zoo.
Below is a piece I wrote for my old blog, a day in the life of carl.
I have been pretty overwhelmed with sleeping and eating, so I haven't really had the time to give a shit and write something so I figured I'd recycle this particular entry.
I really like this story though, it still makes me laugh. Just a Youngin'
Do you ever think back to when you were a little kid? And realize what you had done so long ago?
I personally remember being about the most well behaved child that could have ever lived. But I also remember one time, when I wasn't the kindest young man.
I want to say I was around five, or six when this particular story happened. I was living in a small copper mining town in Michigan at the time. And my best friend in the whole world at the time was a kid by the name of Robert. My mother used to drop me off at his house for the day sometimes, and I remember when that happened I had a blast. I mean, this kid had a Super Nintendo! That was a large step up from my NES. Robert also lived by a paved alley where we would always take our action figures, and our bikes, and we could spend hours at a time out there. Robert also had a neighbor kid that lived just down the alley. This kid was very strange, not just because of the fact that his parents bought him girl's toys, but that he gladly played with these toys. I remember one day, Robert and I were playing with our G.I. Joes in the alley, and this kid, let's call him Jimmy, came over to where we were and started showing off some fairy princess toy his parents had just gotten him. It was some thing you put on a rip cord, and when you pulled it, it would fly up into the air and slowly find it's way back down to the ground, any girl my age probably knows exactly what I am talking about. Anyway, after a few minutes of this kid talking, Robert and I knew exactly what we were going to do. We were going to take this kid's fairy princess bullshit, and make his day miserable. Needless to say, we used our little kid art form of deception, and fed Jimmy some line like, "oh wow dude, that's pretty cool, do you mind if we try it?" He was hesitant at first, but eventually gave in and handed it over. Big mistake, Jimbo. We proceeded to tell him that we were going to keep it, and that if he tried to take it back, we were going to smash it with a hammer. Jimmy was in shock, not only that, he was on the brink of tears. Robert and I told him we were kidding, and pretended like we were going to give the toy back, yet more use of our little kid deception. As Robert went to hand it to him, he passed it to me at the last second and I took it and hid it by a shed in the alley while Robert distracted Jimmy. When I came back, I told him Jimmy that I had done the unthinkable, and smashed it with a hammer. Jimmy burst into tears and ran back to his house. Robert and I had a good laugh about the whole situation, and went back to playing with our action figures. About fifteen minutes later Jimmy was back, this time with his mother. She told us that we needed to give Jimmy's toy back, and if we had, in fact smashed it with a hammer, we were going to be in big trouble. I went to the spot I had hidden the toy and reluctantly gave it back to the little shit. We told him we were sorry (all lies, every word of our "sincere apologies"). Jimmy stalked back to his house with his mother giving us a scowl the entire time.
Despite this minor set back in our otherwise awesome day, Robert and I went back to being little kids. We found a can of WD-40 and a lighter and started spraying it on spots of the alley where the birds had shit from the powerlines overhead. This was an amazing time for us young kids. After a good twenty minutes of this incredible passtime, guess who came back? You guessed it, Jimmy, fairy princess flier firmly clutched in his hand. He proceeded to ask what we were doing, and we answered with some smart ass comment like, "what's it look like dummy?". Jimmy was as amazed as we were. Jimmy must not have been a very bright kid, because he asked what the white spots we setting on fire were. Robert and I both realized that this was our chance to get him back for getting us in trouble with his mother earlier. Robert told him that it was ice cream, and I backed it up by saying we had been eating ice cream and that it had melted and dripped onto the pavement, earlier before he came out. We assured him it was still good, and that he should probably lick it off the pavement, because we didn't have anymore in Roberts freezer. Jimmy was apprehensive at first, and told us that we needed to prove that it was really ice cream by licking it first. We somehow performed Oscar winning performances, taking turns putting our faces down by the sun-baked bird shit, and pretending to touch our tongues to it, because Jimmy was all in after seeing us do it, and proceeded to lean over and actually lick the spot of bird deuce on the pavement. What in the fuck was this kid thinking? We had just been spraying WD-40 on the exact spot and putting fire to it. Robert and I started laughing hysterically, and spilled the beans to Jimmy that he had just licked dry bird shit. Once again he burst into tears and ran home. Robert and I continued to laugh, and decided that we should probably head inside before he came back with his mom this time.
That was the last time I would ever see Jimmy, the kid my childhood friend and I had tricked into licking a dry spot of bird shit in the alley where we used to play.
I recently remembered this little tidbit from my past and decided to write about it. I don't know why, or how I remembered it. It's all very faint to me, and almost seems like a dream. But it really makes me think, why would I have done that to someone? I mean, they say "boys will be boys", but I think that takes it a bit far. But then again, I was just five, or six years old, and there were no repercussions for what we did, but does that really make up for it? I now wonder about how Jimmy turned out. Did this event have some sort of impact on his life? Or would it just be a cliff note in his childhood, that he doesn't remember?
Recently, there has been much on my mind.
I've been itching for a real ride, but due to my schedule lately (work, office, laying around doing jack shit) I haven't been able to make it out at night.
To make up for this lack of activity I decided that I should use the errands that I needed to run as an excuse to get a good use out of Lucille. So with this decided, I packed my bag full of old clothes, to sell to a local resale store about 7 or so miles away from my place.
I threw my bag on my back, mounted Lucille and set out.
Leaving my place I could feel the burn in my legs already. I had skipped breakfast and was already set on making good time on my run to the second hand store, so I decided to continue on rather than head back home and grab anything to eat.
There was so much on my mind that I realized I had hardly been paying attention to the world around me. I had been passing through traffic, without a care. I had been mentally exhausted before the ride even began.
With my body burning and my mind running, my riding was becoming more and more shitty. I had to refocus. I decided that I had to focus on one thing, and that was riding my bike. I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and let the burn in my legs take over my brain.
I felt the road. The bumps. The dips.
I felt Lucille. Her handlebars on my palms. The way her tires gripped the road as we took hard turns.
I felt my body. Burning. Sweaty. Hot. Tired.
I felt a weight lift off of me.
My lungs opened.
My pace quickened.
My legs spun round and round, my chest heaved in sync.
The burn left.
After the resale store I decided I would swing by the Bike Collective and find a new seat post for Lucille.
The store minions had only take a few of my items so I was still stuck with a pack full of clothes.
Which I decided to welcome, as it would only add to the exertion I would have to put forth to continue on my ride.
The ride to collective was smooth. 21st South is lovely.
As I headed home I reflected on my ride.
In the beginning I had almost regretted even leaving the house.
Malnourished and tired, I had pushed my body (albeit, this was no Tour de France but you get what I'm saying) and was now on my way home, tasks accomplished.
After getting home, I put Lucille away and made my way to my room. I sat on my bed and assessed myself. (With a ham sandwich and Squirt to help me hash it all out)
I felt as though I had been crying. You know the feeling; tired, fried, both mentally and physically exhausted, yet I had not shed a single tear.
When things aren't clear, I ride.
It gives me my time away from everyone, even myself.
All the feelings, thoughts, ideas, bullshit are left in my midst.
Cycling gives me an outlet, not only a way to burn the fat off my body but also from my soul.
You're probably getting a bit tired of my bike related rantings, but sometimes I need to write to remind myself.
Sometimes I need to remind myself that no matter what, even though it might take a little while, the burn will always fade and I will always push through.
