It's Loud in Here

So, I came to this coffee shop, Brew House in town to check out their wi-fi and see if they had electric sockets near any tables. Wi-fi needs a password, but otherwise free and at least a few of the booths along the walls have plug access, including the table I'm sitting at.

Anyway, here I am just minding my own business, drinking a peppermint mocha and in comes some people with guitars and other electric music components. It stated out humbly enough, a couple guitar players/singers warming up quietly and softly, then they began to take turns at the microphone and more people came into the shop.

I work late during the weekdays and am completely ignorant about what happens in my town in the evenings, besides the shootings and yelling in my neighborhood, the local ghetto. There were no posters on the windows of the coffee shop and no one asked for money. So I suppose it's just a local thing where random people can come in and show off their skills. I don't even know anyone's names or if they are a group or anything at all. But they draw a crowd and I suspect this is a weekly event.

And the crowd is kind of noisy.

I didn't really expect a coffee shop to be the local hangout of kids after school or on holiday break, but I guess they have to go somewhere. There are no arcades or dance clubs around here.

The music was nice and there was even a beat box dude near the end of the "show" showing off his wub-wub effects. The guitar players were all acoustic and borderline folk singers, or maybe you could call them modern folk...I don't follow the scene so I'm pretty ignorant about such things.

I like this environment better than Bigby's. I've been there a couple of times, but it's certainly a more corporate atmosphere. Here at the Brew House I get a sense of independence, a place more welcoming of the arts.

It's just past eight thirty in the evening and there is a faint golden hue outside the large windows overlooking the highway that runs by the shop. The Brew House is only open until 9pm and people are starting to leave while a song writer from California is singing his second song. I've just emptied my second peppermint mocha.

I'll come again.

Something About Metallica's St. Anger

I try.

 I try not to beat dead horses. And it's been so long since I opened the creaky door to this room...

 But I couldn't help myself this time. And I'm a little sick. Coughing, sneezing, snotting, squinting..."sigh"...and tired.

 Anyway, there's a discussion currently running at the Metallica "anything goes" board at Metallica.com. I go there once in a while to see if there's something interesting I've missed, maybe a new song or new album info. But tonight I spotted a St. Anger discussion. I knew what to expect...most Metallica fans hate the album. And sure enough, there was plenty of hate going around (though it was oddly free of rancid mouth foaming and harsh language, maybe the moderators are out in force in that forum?), and I only intended to read the first few posts and move on like I usually do. But something about the discussion captivated me. For one thing, people keep comparing St. Anger with the Load albums. Sure, I've seen St. Anger compared to just about everything, but tonight it was mostly the Loads.

And I have to wonder...why is this a thing?

Comparing Metallica albums has to be done in "eras". For instance, the First Four can mostly be compared with each other. The band was faster, more thrashy, and darker...perhaps even more Metal with all the heavy metal trappings of the eighties. After that, of course, the band lost the fire of creation and albums became much more sparse, but also more distinct. The Black Album stands alone as the first endeavor at serious radio play. Then the Loads which were first intended to be a double album, so they sound the same, but don't really count as individual works, and they too stand alone but as very creative and adventurous projects.

 Then comes St. Anger, another unique experience in the band's short lineup of material. But St. Anger is special. It stands in a whole different light than any of the other Metallica Albums to date, or after. St. Anger is a rage album. It's aggressive as nothing Metallica or even few other metal bands have ever dared to attempt. It has a frantic intensity to it that no other Metallica album can match. It is filled with sheer, raw, bitter emotion. A child will throw a fit, a loud tantrum, if he is denied his wishes. And Metallica's band members weren't quite getting what they wanted from life at the time St. Anger was being written. And so they threw a fit. A metal temper tantrum. People don't often bring up the album that was abandoned before St. Anger was conceived. The band locked themselves away in a barrack and tried to force some creative drive. We've heard some of the riffs and song structures that came from that endeavor, and possibly some of the material was recycled into more recent work, or even slammed into something on St. Anger...we don't know the full details of the aftermath. What we do know is that the band imploded with the stress of the endeavor then promptly ejected all of their rage and frustration onto St. Anger. It's a unique album and stands on it's own, is what I'm saying. It cannot be compared to any of the other albums. It isn't the same Metallica that the fans grew up with. I get that. I respect that. But we can't compare apples to oranges, even if they grow from the same tree (and it's possible too, blended fruit trees are a real thing, look it up sometime!)

 For my part, I love classic Metallica. I've been following them since ...And Justice For All and instantly fell in love with Puppets and Lightning...Kill 'em All took some time to grow on me, it has a different production value to it and I have to be in a "classic mood" to enjoy it properly. The Black Album hasn't aged well with me and it also took some time for me to get past the fact that it wasn't another Justice album, but I still love some of the stuff on it. The Loads...oh man, talk about needing some time to get to know somebody...A country song? Are you serious? (first impressions and all that) but I really grew to love Metallica's take on bluesy riffs.

And I love St. Anger.

There, I said it. I've been a closeted St. Anger fan all these years. It's a rage album, and I sometimes need something filled to the brim with rage...something other than the weirdness that comes with old Manson or much of the Korn catalog...just pure, unadulterated rage. And that is what St. Anger is for me. I don't listen to it for the lyrical content or high production value. I prefer this album to be rough and splintered, jarring. Though I do sigh sometimes when the "kettle drums" pull me out of the experience, or when I have to change my focus to skip over "Invisible Kid". You see, Invisible Kid has no place on this album. Sure, it has a story that fits, but it takes the listener out of the rage fueled flames...it's that guy at the party that always makes you feel uncomfortable and makes you wonder if he was really invited or if he just crashed the place.

 I love St. Anger for what it is, just a rage-filled, uncompromising, rough-around-the-edges album. And it has no business being compared with other Metallica works.

A Movie Called Trespass

So, I'm a little half-way through this movie tonight and just had to pause it so I could gripe a little.

Never mind that I might be getting a little tired of seeing Mr. Cage in every other movie, or that Nichole Kidman only seems to have two facial expressions (otherwise I really don't mind them in movies to be honest).

What I want to point out is that halfway through this movie I became tired of seeing guns pointed at people's heads. When done right, a threatening move makes for some nice drama, but as with anything, too much is just too much.

This movie has already had two or three moments that could have been played out very well but were used so often they have simply become played out...and I'm only a little over half-way. How many times does Cage need to say "no" when told to open the safe, for that matter, how many times does he need to be staring at the safe when he says it? How many times does he or his wife need to be tossed to the floor? And again, how many times does a gun need to be pointed a someone's head?

Repetitive moments lose their impact very quickly in cinema.

Is the movie actually any good?

I'm not sure.

There's a bit of mystery...maybe, but beyond that the movie is just full of repetitive moments. Even that movie that only showed a guy buried in a box had more originality than this.

On the other hand, I do like the elongated art-deco lights on the wall.

Learning to Walk Tall

He was a friend
but we managed to get into some sort of
argument
I guess it was time to throw down
and swing at each other

I told him I would let him hit me first

He didn't seem sure of himself, but
he did it
Curled up those fingers
bulged out the knuckles
and let fly

My head snapped sharply
to the right

It stung

But it passed quickly

I remained standing still and
just looked at him

"Is that all you've got?"

He swung with his left
My head snapped to the side

More stinging that passed quickly

I stared at him some more

"I'll let you hit me one more time."

I'm not sure what I thought would happen
but one thing was for sure

If he hit me again, I was going to
put him in the hospital

It wasn't a boast

It just felt like a matter of fact
An inevitability

Something was happening here
and one way or another
I was never going to be the same

He looked me up
then he looked me down

His shoulders sank

He turned and walked away

Defeated

I had taken his best
he had nothing left to give

Something dangerous had
just been planted within me
and suddenly I could walk
a little taller

The Music

It was the music

It has always been the music

Pulsating within my veins
my blood
my soul

The hardest and heaviest
most energetic and intense
rhythms I could find

I didn't care about
the lyrical content
most of the time

Just needed to have the
nerves pounding

Thunder crashing in my skull

I would lie on my bed
stare at the ceiling
my eyes burning through the
roof
seeking a glimpse of
that eternal fire
the flames of passion
the molten plasma
of creation itself

And once I was
fully engulfed
I would sit up
and write

I was a teenager then
just a young, ignorant
boy

I still have the music
it's angrier and harder
than ever before
and now I have thirty-six
years of damnation
and sin
and madness
to draw upon
for inspiration

Let's rock

Riding the Orange Rocket

I don't know what
kind of car it was
I wasn't any sort of
car guy at the time
All I know is that
it was mean-looking
and orange

All American muscle

My friend and his
buddy let me
crawl into the back
and the tires
spun out at the
end of my dirt driveway

We took a couple of turns
sharply and maybe a
little too quickly
but when we got to
the long straight
back road
that led to his house
the driver
dropped that
orange beast into
ferociousness

I was pushed hard
into the seat
the engine roared
like a monster

The world passed by like a blur
and I knew for certain that we were going to smash
into a
limp-engined
soft pussy
of an oncoming
vehicle and die
in an inferno
of twisted steel
and devil's hooves

But instead we
slowed and pulled into his
driveway.

It wasn't my
first brush
with death
but it may have
been my first
brush with life

Safe in My Home

I live a fairly safe
life now
with my
children
and wife

I often feel
as though
I don't belong
but most
of the time
I like it

It's not about
being safe
It's about
setting aside
my insanity

But the joke's
on me

Everyone
in this home
is mad

The Culture Wars

They're coming.
The survivors
The refugees
The soldiers
The seducers

They're coming
With their music
With their clothes
With their dances
With their baggage

They're coming
Ready to unload
Ready to share
Ready to shout
Ready to rage

They're coming
For the freedom
For the riches
For the glory
For the fame

They're coming

And they're hungry

New Blogger Interface Issues.

Wow.

Just tried the new Blogger interface and what an abysmal ride it was. Couldn't edit an older post, couldn't publish the new post on first try, couldn't preview, and when it finally posted the format was nothing like I had wanted. So I had to delete it.

When I tried to go back to the original interface I was given the option to leave feedback so I did...but after I sent it off I received an error message suggesting that my feedback was lost...so I guess they don't get to know what my problems were?

Thankfully I was able to get back to the original interface.

The Madness and the Magic

Bukowski.

He is my personal evidence that there is always something new under the sun if you look. Yeah, he's dead now and plenty of people were aware of him a long time ago. But he's new to me.

I'm reading my second book of poetry by him. Sometimes he can be bore, but other times he completely blows me away.

See, he is familiar to me. I've known a lot of people who have lived like him. Many of his words are my own thoughts.

He writes often of a madness among people. And a certain kind of magic that is waiting to be wielded.

His poetry is full of the madness and the magic.

The madness is defined by how we live our lives in that quiet desperation other poets have written about, it is the trap. The magic is the seizing of the day, the escape. We trap ourselves into lives that slowly kills us, numbs us, sucks everything of worth from our souls. But the magic gives us peace, frees us.

One of Bukowski's observations is that you can't have it all. Sometimes you may have to cut off some limbs. It is painful. We fear the pain, so we stay in the trap.

Safe.

There is a Christian musician who married into a family full of worship. He had children with his beautiful wife. He wrote many hit songs proclaiming the greatness of God.

One day he made a public statement that he was gay. That he had been lying to himself and everyone around him for over thirty years. He was finally ready to live an honest life, to free himself of a great burden.

He is now divorced. I found a website online with a recent song of his, something about how no one can tell him what to do, how to live his life. He seems happy, though his children and ex-wife are likely confused and full of turmoil.

Bukowski would probably congratulate this man and declare loudly, "What took you so long?"

I'm sure that this musician is taking care of his children financially and visits them. I don't know how old they were when he freed himself. But that's a long time to stay in the trap, to dance with the madness. He is free now. It was probably a painful amputation, and he probably tries to scratch where the limb once was. Some people probably hate him for what he put his family through.

But sometimes, it takes sacrifice to set things right.

The madness and the magic, live happy or die miserable.

Slowly, swiftly

When it comes,
it comes slowly

but when it goes,
it goes swiftly.

That spark of creativity,
the burst of inspiration.

It rides upon a beam of light
picks up speed as it comes nearer
then,

WHOOSH!

It's gone.

Be quick
lest you miss it.

Changing Seasons

You can feel it in the air...something is different, something has changed.

Yesterday I had some sniffles and a scratchy throat, I thought I was sick. But today I'm fine.

I've turned the air conditioner off the past few nights, only leaving it on for a few hours during the day.

The morning takes longer to brighten and the night is coming more quickly.

First comes the Fall, then the Winter.

The Company Men

First, don't confuse this movie with the similarly-titled, In the Company of Men. Two different movies.

Second, this movie is a farce.

I enjoyed it well enough and will likely watch it again but it has some issues that reminded me of Wallstreet 2.

The main character loses his cushy corporate job and finds himself in the wonky world of the Blue-Collar man.

I think we are supposed to feel like he learns something important about how lucky he is to be living the corporate lifestyle and that the Blue-Collars are important too. But that message is lost somewhere. Maybe I'm wrong and only suspected that to be the plot since most of the White-Collar-man-turns-Blue-Collar stories go that route.

But not this one.

We find out he's been working with his company for about twelve years. He is currently making 120k per year. After a few weeks of being unemployed he has to sell the house and move in with his wife's parents. Sell the Porsche. Get a job with his brother-in-law the carpenter...oh and spend some quality time with his son...I guess.

The problem here is that there is only one major splurge...a golf club membership.

At 120k a year, with only one child, why is he still making payments on the car? Maybe the house was a little big for a three-person family, but it's in the middle of an average middle-class neighborhood...or maybe slightly higher than middle class. It couldn't have cost more than 500k. I'm actually thinking is was more like 200-300k.

So, he's got the house, the car, and a club membership. There is no boat in the driveway or mention of one elsewhere. No additional properties. No evidence of lavish expenditures (we see one corporate wife has just purchased a table that costs a few thousand dollars). He seems to be an average man with average luxuries. Yet with his high income, he is actually ushered into the poor house after only a couple of months. I think we missed something here.

Anyway, he throws a hissy fit an out-state job offer, gets angry over the competition he faces, snubs his nose at his secretary when she asks about her own job security, reluctantly accepts the carpentry job with his brother-in-law...but thankfully gets back into the corporate setting after losing everything.

So, what was the point of this movie?

Was it just to show that corporate executives are people too?

Because with winning quotes like, "I don't want to be just another asshole with a resume!", I think something was lost in translation. Yet, it sums up exactly what the movie is about.

The Numbness

When you are standing on your feet for a twelve-hour shift, it does something to your body. It's a strange soreness. Not like muscle aches or strained joints. It's kind of like the pads of your feet go to sleep and spend all of a day off trying to wake up. Lot's of tingling ensues but if you actually rub or scratch the heel you are not sure there is any feeling.

The sensation goes away. By the time you clock in for the next day of work you're feeling "peppy" and bouncing on those feet like everything is good. And it is, until somewhere around that ten-hour mark and you still have two more hours to go.

Also, it doesn't matter how many hours you work. Be it four hours or fourteen, the last hour will always be the longest part of the day.

Been Awhile

It's been a long time since I posted here. But, honestly that seems to be the suitable intro to most of the posts on this blog.

I've got some personal adventures to share. Lot's of changes (positive ones!) in my life over the past year.

Sleep Apnea
A new house (our first!)
A new baby (or two, depends on how much of myself I've already shared here)
A new job
Writing projects

So much new stuff I haven't shared!

Thanks to Jessica, formerly of the World of Warcraft blog, The Pink Pigtail Inn, for inadvertently inspiring me to dust off this old house!

Wallstreet 2

I think Oliver Stone was a little off his game with this one. He didn't seem to have much of a point. This would have been a good time to show how technology has largely taken the middle man out of the picture and left the most of the action to near-light-speed information transfer systems. The industry calls them black boxes, I guess. Anyway, Wallstreet is a shell of what it once was, almost all the of businesses that once thrived there are gone now. And the floor isn't as full as it used to be.

So then, what was this movie about?

It jumped around a lot. We got a glimpse of banks collapsing, getting handouts, and investors shutting out green technologies to keep the oil profitable.

The lead character was just as fractured as the story. His mother shows up in the middle of the movie but we don't really know why. Then she shows up later asking for money and we learn that her son (our lead character) is having financial problems and can't help her. We missed something here. We know he got fired, but when did he become broke?

His girlfriend breaks up with him because he is a liar and a manipulator, but everything turns out ok because her daddy has a change of heart? How does this change her relationship with our lead character?

So, yeah, this movie lacking in the story department. View at your own risk.

Wealth Beyond Reason

Recently Afghanistan was found to be loaded with copper, iron, and lithium deposits worth over a trillion dollars.

The "officials" who commented on the finds said that all the people of the war-torn nation need do is lay down their arms and set up an industrial infrastructure and all will be fine and dandy.

But, if it is that easy, then why has the African nations and their people not seen similar results with all of their diamond mines? They too are in need of an infrastructure and then things will get rolling for them as well.

The sad truth is that these natural resource markets are quickly sucked up by large corporations and then the product is severely controlled. No system will ever be put in place for local people to learn what they need to know to create their own infrastructure. The third world governments enjoy their personal relationships with foreign banks too much to care about their own people.

It would be great if I could be proven wrong, but I doubt it will happen.

Accentuate Writer's Challenge: Why I Write.

I'm late to the party, but I'll do this anyway. The challenge is simple, write about the first time you felt like you were a writer.

I don't remember what grade it was, but one of my junior high school English teachers somehow inspired me to go home and write a short story. It was probably one of our assignments, but it was just too long ago now to remember. I also do not remember asking her to read the work or even if I actually handed it in for credit. What I do remember is her coming to my desk with my story and telling me how good it was.

Apparently that is all it took for me.

Somewhere I still have my first three short stories packed away somewhere with other odds and ends from my past, but it's been so long since I even accidentally ran across them it is quite possible that they've been tossed.

One was a sci-fi story about an attempt at establishing a colony on an alien world and the doom that engulfed it.

Another was more sci-fi but tinged with horror about a young man walking alone one evening and encountering a stranger who professes to be an alien and also the young man's father...this one was very moody, lots of shivers in the dark and the scuttling of leaves...I like it. I remember reading it over on several occasions and transporting myself to that lonely, cold and dark place in the woods.

The third was ultra violent. It also had a sci-fi twist. The violence was inspired by a novel I read called The Blood of the Children by Alan Rodgers. I don't remember much about my story except that it was about an older sister who violently loathed her younger sister. The younger sister was largely hated by their mother also. So, there was this huge dramatic darkness within the younger sister and she was getting ready to do some very bad things. This was the longest of the three stories (about three times as long as the others) but I never finished it, didn't hardly start it really, but I was certainly proud of the endeavor.

Throughout the rest of Junior High and High School, when I wasn't starting stories that would never be finished, I was writing a lot of dark poetry. I was heavily inspired by heavy metal and the occult. My 10th grade English teacher in High School was impressed with one of my writing assignments and introduced me to the head of the High School English department who would go on to be my 11th and 12th grade English teacher, my Creative Writing and Modern Mythology teacher, and also my instructor for three years in the High School magazine course. It was through him that I would find my greatest motivation and also my greatest failure. He taught me to write about things that I know and observe rather than veiled copies of what I had read in the latest horror publications. Once I was elected to represent my High School for the literary arts in an annual regional competition, I forced my writing for the first time. I wanted to impress absolutely everyone that I could imagine. I did not write my entry for myself. I don't know if I would have won anything at that competition if I had done things differently, but I know now that I never gave myself the chance.

I'm 34 now and still have problems writing for myself. My blogs are my most current attempt to do just that though. I dabbled in freelancing to a couple of online article sites, but I just wasn't enjoying it. I gave NANOWRIMO a shot in 2008 and wrote two short stories for entry in the Accentuate Writer's Forum contests.

I am happy for my blogs though I am still unfulfilled. But at least I can say that I am still writing after all these years. It wasn't until I submitted my work to the Accentuate Writers Forum that I learned how bad my grammar is. Since then I've started college and am taking English refresher classes as part of my course study (electronics). Who knows, maybe I'll get something written (and finished) that I am happy with and is also well-written within the next year or two.
The sky's the limit!

How many children is too many?

I did a Google search for this question recently and was stunned by the overwhelming popular answer: two is too many. Or maybe three. Certainly more than that is too many.

Points made in some comments I read:

People with a lot of kids are selfish and irresponsible.

The world is already over populated and people should aim for 0% population growth.

Please, give me a break!

I'll tell you what selfish is. Selfish is blowing your 50k-100k salary on frivolous material possessions. Selfish is having a full freezer and refrigerator while watching starving third-world children on the news.

And how about those starving children? Why are they starving? Because there are too many of them? Or because the the governments of their nations strive to keep the populations uneducated? Maybe because even when first world nations do give charitable donations, those government officials keep most (or all) of the gifts for themselves?

What about the agricultural industry that has managed to place patents on enhanced seed and grain while pushing the original, natural seed and grain almost into extinction? So that if a third world nation wanted or could grow its own grain, they have to purchase the seed from the patent holder? In North America, private farmers are sued all the time when some stray, patented seed migrates to their fields.

Fresh water requires an infrastructure to clean waste and direct the water where it is needed. But it doesn't matter if your nation has one billion people or twenty billion people, if the government does not want to spend money on that system, or they are so corrupt that no private industry can afford to stake a claim, than any number of people becomes too many.

No, parents of large families are not guilty of selfishness (ok, I'm sure some are) but rather they are guilty of living a fantasy where people are free to live how they want to live.

Land of the free? More like, land of the gotta-have-it-alls and want-mores.

What these population control freaks often neglect to share in their published comments or articles is the number of parents who look back and wish they had dared to produce more children.

Even church is not a safe harbor for Christian families who would like to have more children. But the number of Christians who wish they could have more is steadily growing.

The truth is, having a large family is time-consuming. Do you have hobbies and self interests? A pile of kids is going to change that. You can still have hobbies, you can even get away once in a while for some quiet time. The problem is that many parents just can't fathom sacrificing for a family and when they see another set of parents who appear to be successfully raising lots of kids, jealousy abounds.

It's funny how all these educated people say we need to control the population and reduce growth. Vasectomies should be handed out to everyone. What a bunch of slackers. Here's some science for you, straight out of the Theory of Evolution, if you don't use it, you lose it.

Self-Loathing

In my life, I have tried not be too proud or arrogant. I really have no reason to be either. However, there appears to be a fine line between humility and self-loathing that I have managed to cross over.

My wife and I recently scheduled an appointment with the Pastor of our church. It is the first time we have done this in several years. He asked if we would like to meet him right away, he had an appointment, but he could post-pone it for us. I said no. We wound up scheduling the meeting for the following week.

When the phone was hung up, my wife asked if I was sure we shouldn't meet him sooner (we had some personal issues that needed to be addressed quickly) and I said that he was certainly willing to put off his plans and drop everything for us, but I didn't feel I was important enough for that kind of attention.

My wife looked deeply into my eyes and said, "You ARE that important and I wish you could see that."

This is potentially my greatest struggle. Do I have the right to stand up and declare that I am important enough to warrant special attention from anybody? I confess that I have begun to believe that doing so might be better than believing that I am worthless. My self-loathing could be the greatest threat to my family that we will ever face.

Am I up to the task to change this?

Am I man enough to demand respect?

I just don't know...