This is me.

🎺- This is me as I toot my own horn. It’s a great day to be me!

🏃- This is me going for a run down the street. Still tooting my own horn!

👪- This is me visiting the fam. Not my fam but a fam all the same.

🎶- This is me playing my song on the horn. Toot toot!

😨- This is them as they apparently don’t like my song I guess?

😖- This is the child as their ribcage exits their body in despair. My melody is powerful!

🚕- This is me hailing a cab cause I’m too cheap for 911.

🚃- This is me as I pay for transit instead cause I’m too cheap for the cab.

😤- This is the parents for some reason I paid for the transit what’s their problem?

👫- This is them nowadays. Why isn’t the child there?

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We all know the song “Fly Me To The Moon,” right?

Just so we’re in the clear I love this song just like everyone else in the world (and not just because I was brainwashed to do so by Bayonetta). However, the whole romantic flight to space thing that has been mentioned many times in popular culture has left me more than a little puzzled.

Right off the bat there’s the attire you’ll both be wearing. Either you’ll be remaining within the spacecraft to have a more relaxed variety of clothing options in which case you’re just spending your trip inside (although the view out the window would be nice I guess) or you’ll be outside of the space craft and wearing space suits. I’ve honestly never been in a space suit but I have never seen a picture of a person wearing a spacesuit that has led me to thinking of anything particularly romantic. Aside from that bit of craziness in Final Fantasy VIII of course.

Then there’s space itself. Although the scenery would be extremely beautiful and two people could truly feel alone together, I feel like the latter would be a novelty that would wear off quickly. Realistically two people can only admire themselves with no interruption for so long before boredom would set in. A time that would be much, much shorter than the time it would take to get into space in the first place.

All in all it seems like an excursion would to space may be somewhat romantic if you could make the trip easily, but with that said if it became easy to travel to space then everyone would do it and it would take much of the power and intimacy of such a trip in the first place. Or maybe I’m just jaded.

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I should start a band.

Actually, I tried to start a two-man act with a friend of mine (Let’s call him DJ Sven again because he still be spinning like mad yo.) a couple of years ago. It was going to be called Anger Cake and our band logo would have a cake being smashed with a hammer. It was pretty friggin’ awesome. The only thing that got in our way and the very thing that destroyed our endeavor was the fact that we had absolutely no ideas about anything whatsoever beyond those two things.

I need to start over beginning with a new name. Using Anger Cake wouldn’t be cool since that was something I was supposed to start with somebody else. I’m thinking something along the lines of Birthday Box for now, but I’ll dwell on that for a bit.

Now I need to pick a genre of music. I don’t really have any talents with an instrument, but I hear that ‘spoken word’ is a genre? Basically someone loudly tells a story while someone else plays music. Not really singing per say, but I feel it’s something I could do with some practice.  As for the background music I’ll need something that will stand out. Nobody’s really made it big with an accordion player in their band recently have they?

As for subject manner I need to pick something agreeable that hasn’t already been covered a million times already. Social/political commentary is overdone, hot-button issues will drive people away and I have to avoid being too preachy. So I guess I’ll have to use my spoken word music to raise awareness of the dangers of carnivorous jellybeans and the like.

Anybody wanna sign up to be my accordion player? I can’t promise that I’ll be able to pay you anything but we’ll have a hell of a journey at least.

The life I dream of.‏

I sit in this chair,
Thinking about how life isn’t fair.
If only I could drop everything,
And travel without a dare.

To simply travel with the flow,
How I would love to make it so.
I’m envious of the people,
Who can just drop everything and go.

. . . Ugh, I can’t write anymore of this garbage. I’ve read this story too many times to count. If you’re stuck in a rut take up a hobby or something. And before you say it’s a waste of time clearly it can’t be any less of a time-waster than what you’re doing now or else you wouldn’t be complaining about being in a rut to begin with.

Let’s talk about music for a moment.

My favourite album from the past month is easily ‘Vichada’ by Kashka. But then again I’m arguably in love with the lead singer, Forest City Lovers (Kat’s former project) is my favourite band, I’ve recently gotten into synth pop in the last year and I’m generally easily persuaded by any woman who can belt out a decent tune so I’m pretty bias on the matter. Have a listen anyway: http://kashka.bandcamp.com/

I bought the cassette and just got it the other day along with this postcard. Whenever anybofy asks me why I’m a fan of Kat Burns at any point in the future I’ll just point them to this:

I love music. I love having a 5500+ song collection that’s 99.9 percent legally owned. I don’t have the patience to create any of my own however. I generally pick up an instrument, learn how to play something that’s like 20 notes long and drop it after spending a total of an hour or so, never to touch it again.

I don’t believe I’m really going anywhere with this. So here’s a .swf of Colin Mochrie dancing and a picture of a bee on the beach: http://internet.thoughtdump.net/DancingColin.swf

Let’s talk about cool people for a minute.

Okay, so we all know that cool guys don’t look at explosions right? But that can’t be all of it. What else don’t they look at? Come to think of it, I feel this applies to everyone regardless of age, race or gender. What else don’t cool people look at?

I imagine cool people don’t look at the band when they’re playing. But not in the sense that they’re doing something like watching the show through their phone’s camera or other such silliness. It’s like they don’t need to look at the band because they’re there to feel the music, not to just stand there and watch y’know?

Cool people don’t feel the need to look at the people behind them on the sidewalk. I’m pretty confident that this is true. After all it’s a pretty pointless thing to do unless you think you know the person or people behind you. If one can ignore an explosion than surely a small detail like a random person you will have no interaction with is also something that won’t capture your attention.

Not looking back when someone says ‘boo’ has to be a mark of the cool.

My girlfriend mentioned car/train crashes along with most disasters in general. I say she has a good point there. Having that much discipline is pretty badass. Not looking when a building is being professionally imploded would take a lot of discipline as well.

Oh! Cool people don’t look at the muggers they’re fighting off! It’s all like bam, elbow to the throat followed by casually walking away. This is officially now on my bucket list. Come at me bro.

* * *

Even drawing a bee in Duke Nukem Forever sucks. Although I don’t hate this game as much as I’m told I should. If only it came out in the late 90’s like it should have.

You know you’re going to have a bad day when taking a shower scares the crap out of you.

You ever do that thing where you close your eyes and all of a sudden all you can envision are the most frightening things you can possibly think of?

So I’m in the shower getting all lathered up. Then I put the shampoo in my hair and run my head under the water. Just then all I could think of are spiders (I’m extremely arachnophobic.). But with a face full of soap I couldn’t open them again because then I’d have eyefuls of pain.

Man, that was a scary five seconds.

On a side note, I totally want one of these:

The following is my sister doing her absolute best to draw me a bee in a poorly drawn fashion. She actually has some legit talent, and you can check out her sewing projects over at http://envisionedstitches.wordpress.com/.

Cheers!

So I decided to drink to spur the writing process. This is the result:

I press on. With one hand under my robe I firmly grasp the neck of a priceless violin. The other I use to hold the robe in a desperate grip, the kind you use to hold a lover for that final moment knowing you won’t see them again for a time that is always too long. I had forgotten why I needed to leave so badly, but it needed to be done.

The dusty trail is all that I have known for quite some time now. I wander and I wonder as I wonder and I wander. Man I love that sentence. The trail seems never-ending. Of course it hasn’t been the same trail for all of this time but that makes no difference in my mind.

Maybe it’s time to stop deluding myself. I know damn well why I had left, and it wasn’t because of the romantic travelling fantasies that I’ve had my entire life. I was running. Running away from things that anyone else could handle with little effort. Or so I’ve been lead to believe anyway. My flair for the dramatic had laid its roots far too deep though, to the point that it was the primary cause of many major life choices.

It was the same old tale you’ve surely heard over and over. Yes, there was a woman. Memories of lying on an open hill watching clouds while my hand found hers for the first time, urging her to play me a song on her bass until she finally caved in and shyly played a jazz solo she wrote, making love while covered only by the light of the moon . . . These things constantly push their way to the forefront of my mind. Sometimes with my consent, sometimes without. Like a passionate kiss from an angry god they always leave me confused and hurt regardless.

Why things fell apart so quickly was beyond me. But alas they did. Disagreements turned into arguments, arguments turned into confrontations and confrontations turned into fights. Then I abandoned it all. Leaving only a spiteful note for her and an apologetic note full of vague explanations for my roommate with enough money to pay for a month’s rent I ran away from my problems. Given my approach it was probably safe to assume that everything was my fault. With that said though that’s my thought pattern towards most things in life.

Pawning off my expensive goods for some quick cash and leaving most of the rest behind out of convenience I departed for nowhere. Aside from clothing all I took with me was a cheap violin. Priceless not because of its monetary value, but because it was my first. You never forget your first love. I did sign the bottom of it though. If that act ever made it more valuable than any instrument made with a high level of craftsmanship . . . Well, it’s a fantasy I have. A common one I’m sure.

Years later and I find myself on a desert cliff somewhere in the great southwest. What makes it so great I’ve yet to experience. This is as good a place as any though. I survey the scenery in front of me. Still can’t decide if these things are better experienced alone or with the company of . . .

A tear forms as I remind myself yet again that the answer to that one is obvious.

With my right hand I cast off the robe behind me in a dramatic fashion. I pull the bow from a sheath I wear on my back over the shoulder. It feels like I’m an archer who just pulled out the arrow that will pierce the target of my desire. Which is excellent because that’s the precise reason I designed the sheath to begin with. Hesitating for a few seconds I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I position the violin on my shoulder . . .

The song I play is a song of my own concoction. A concoction of hope, love, sorrow and regret. I play to an audience of nobody. Even in my craft I strive to hide my innermost feelings from the world in fear of judgement.

After I finish I loosen my arms and let them hang by my sides. My violin gently taps my left calf as tears begin to stream more freely now. I stay like that for what seems like forever before sheathing my bow and re-donning my robe. I leave to go find shelter for the rest of the night.

I will continue doing this until everything makes sense. But by then my old life will be completely gone if it isn’t already. Maybe the only reason I keep this up is because familiarity breeds comfort. I await the day this cycle ends . . .

(Editor’s Note: After finishing this I didn’t feel like sketching a picture, so here’s something I pinned to a poster board on Barrington Street.)