Death, Motorcycles, God, and Hell

There is but one life at the end of which a death is owed. Something that only a few people know about me is that I think about death more often than some of the more pleasant things in life. I recently witnessed a motorcycle accident that would have been horrific had the rider not survived...but he did. Why did he survive? I watched the whole thing happen and that guy should not be alive. . . but he is. I wonder if he sees things differently now knowing that he cheated death. I should only hope so.

If I met God today, I would have nothing worthwhile to share with Him. No marriage, no kids... he gave me this life with which to create something and what I have for Him is NOTHING.

But what if there is no God? I'd rather be in Hell than to know that to be true...because if there's no God, then we're all in big, big trouble. There will be no afterlife, then. This is it. . . and if all we have is this world--this sick, disturbed and disgusting world--then we're already in Hell.

This Is A Call...

There is something cooking inside of me. Knowing just what it could be is currently the challenge. The corners of my stomach are twisting... I've got a feeling.

I've got a feeling that something really terrible is about to happen. I can't shake it. It happens every now and then--always followed by nothing. Really, then, I shouldn't worry. To quote Michael Scott

"I'm not superstitious. But I am a little stitious."

I just realized that I hate using the word "I" when I write.

The rest of this blog will be completed without the use of that word.

Currently this blog has about one reader. Two if you include the writer. Why, then, would one waste his time on such a thing? Simple--one has no choice. Once sucked into the void of blogatory-- escape is impossible. Remember the days of passing notes in class? Remember the days of keeping a diary or a journal under the mattress. They're gone now... replaced by internet capable Blackberry technology and Bum bum BUM! Blogs. Plus--the blog is the one place where anything goes. Anything can be written into a blog--and EVERYONE can read it! No secrets... what a concept....

Wow, what a digression...

"This is a call to all my past resignations... it's been too long." --Foo Fighters

The past is just that. The past. Here comes a new era... but what will it contain?

Crazy... Today, friend(s)... this blogger is just crazy.

Amazement...

What amazes me is how after only a few months, you can love someone so much that it hurts when your arms can't carry your fingertips far enough to graze their skin. When they stray from eye-shot, the memory takes over and cues up all the things you wish were still happening, and meanwhile you glimpse the things that you hope tomorrow will hold.

I am ready to turn my life around for one person--and even if I'm not ready as I claim, I am willing. I am willing to do it blindfolded, because I have seen something in her that drives me. She motivates me selflessly. She is my everything. I will succeed regardless of failure.

The amount of time we have pales sorely in comparison to the amount of living left to be done.

Distracted...

I've been trying to write lately. Not blog writing, but fiction... but I can't concentrate. I am even having trouble concentrating enough to write this blog. Every single sound that happens is buzzing in my head and stealing my attention from what it is I want to say. Then, being irritated by it makes it even harder to write.

People bickering, the dog, the cat, the mailman...not to mention all the other things I have going on my life... are distracting me from what I really want to accomplish...to write something really really fantastic that will touch people. But I will never get there if I'm so distracted. Never. What can I do??

Thoughts processing.

The world is standing still right now, and yet the scenery is blasting past my eyes creating a blending tapestry of vivid and tantalizing color. There isn't any way to describe what I'm feeling without stepping into boundaries that I'm not quite sure I am prepared to breach. Happiness is a strange thing for me--almost like a man born without arms or legs who suddenly wakes up one day with a fully functional set of limbs.

I used to know happiness. Now that it's returning, I am not quite sure how to handle it. I feel guilty for feeling happy. Does that make sense? Once in a while, I get this sensation of guilt in my gut telling me that I shouldn't be happy because I don't deserve it. Truth is, everyone deserves to be happy. It's our right... at least in this country, anyway.

We should all just do what it takes to feel good before we die, because for all we know, there is nothing after this. This is all we get. Not that everyone should go "skydivin' and rocky mountain climbin'" but we should at least relax and let the world revolve around us for a change.

Life Behind The Guitar

From another blog dated April 15th, 2008


In such a vicious age for rock and roll music, it's a wonder that anyone even tries anymore. Stepping out onto a stage in front of a group of people who are not only unaware of the value of such a thing but also extraordinarily protective and selfish about music is like venturing beyond the trenches into no man's land. You will dodge bullets and, before you succeed, you WILL fail.

So why do we do it? It's simple: We don't have a choice. Something beyond us selected us and said, "This is what you're going to do," and without even realizing it, we accepted that quest and have thus been at it ever since.

You're at a concert, or a local venue/bar and there is a band on stage. You immediately listen to see if you approve--and wait for someone to make a mistake. Have you ever considered what it might be like on the other side of the guitar?

I'll tell you what it's like. It's as if you have torn open your breastplate and have exposed your heart for an entire roomful of people to see...and have left it wide open to be spit on, praised, rejected or ignored....etc. So much heart goes into what we do, and it's not because we want you to love us, or give us your praise. It's because we have to do it. Some of us are doing this because we love it so much that it hurts. We want so badly to reach someone with our music, our lyrics... our creation.

It's so hard to get anyone to even listen anymore, but we're still out there spilling our blood onto the strings of a guitar and smearing it in with our fingers. We sing until our vocal cords are swollen, calloused and weak. Yet, people aren't listening.

Is it going to stop us from doing it? Never.

I live behind my guitar and I breathe the vibration. It's an escape from a world that has become so concerned with itself that it has forgotten about what's beautiful about it. It's a vacation from perfection and an adventure into the sin that is melodic copulation.

To you, I may be just another local musician trying to become a rockstar, and if I were watching from the outside I would say you were right. But when I'm up there underneath the lights, whether you're listening or not, I'm belting my entire being into the void and the gratification and vindication that I get out of that is enough for me.

So what can I say about life behind the guitar other than if you've never been there, you can never even BEGIN to fathom what it's like. There's something about it that nobody else can ever understand.