Lunatic Fringe

I am obsessed with death. Wholly and incessantly, in the meantime I am ever-encumbered by thoughts of someone far away from me. I like to think some of this condition is significant of something in the least, though it is not. This much (this state of living) is dross. The odds of our existence are unfathomable, and still each day we live in such a fashion as to take it all for granted. I am a miracle, the thoughts I think are miracles, each moment I see and think and feel; are all miracles unto themselves. It has dawned on me that this sort of curiosity is the single greatest thing within me, within anybody really. Even now I have as yet failed to come to terms with my mortality– the thought terrifies me- the despair in hours like these is as deafening as it is painfully silent. To live is to lose, to live is to fail, is to fall, is to wonder, is to question, is to ache, and to age and then finally, to lose one last time. This is the lesson to be learned, to be applied to even the me

I am the owner of books which terrify me. I’ve not yet read them, but eagerly acquire these various tomes when I can because I think they might have answers. But then they might simply tell me that I am right about everything that has ever kept me up a night in my life, and this would terrify me. My life is about answering questions, or has been since I’ve become the current incarnation of myself that is terribly troubled by “whys.” Which brings me to my question, what does life ask of us? My supposition is nothing, really, if you take life quite literally, from the alpha to the omega; you are born, and you will die- and in the mean time you will be given the task of survival- and mostly that’s all that is to be done, provided you wish to die later rather than sooner. The trouble comes in when we alter our expectations, I think the ideas of religion, and an after-life, and a soul do more for us altering our expectations than any other set of factors (though the pursuit of material plea

I can't say enough about the things I believe in, because I'll never say a word. We all have our own fears, rational or otherwise, which we will forever believe in; until the day they claim us, unless some other malady, seen or unforseen takes us in the meantime. I am a product of my fears, the sleepless nights, the demon waiting to think, the conjuring of images which insist I speak to the night like some silent, auditory mirror. With no one in particular to bargain with, concessions are generally made at any cost, and not for the salvation of sanity, merely the product of the want of some sort of void to fall into. Designs on distraction, thoughts on uncertain rights formerly known as the peace and quiet of a restful night. I want to avoid the repeater, I hate the races, the crashes, the accidents, the certainty of the mundane negatives, and again the repetitions, and of nothing at all, I speak now of repeating nothing in particular. Here I am, all these years later, and the

...and sometimes it seems so dark, really, it’s just that it’s just too late. My perfect state is acceptance, and the realization that all my dreams were merely the stars in a sky you once let me see. But for whatever star you love in your sky- for my sorrow- I wish only joy. I wish too for the pleasant dreams which are the fruit of those who sleep comfortably in the bounty of the thought of being loved. And though the stars may have faded before my eyes, even the darkest of nights cannot extinguish my dreams, and I’ll never remedy myself to the fact that that these dreams will always be of you. There was a time once for everything we ever wanted to say, there were days in the sunshine: these days are no more. So for whatever’s left, for whatever stars you may look upon in your sky; remember that all too soon the world shall forget us, make haste to be content with the earth you once knew, find peace with your share of the deeds done in it. The dawn approaches, and with it the hard tru

Moments deep in the night, just before I’m left to sleep, I dream of things past and their coming days, an impossible proposition. I dwell on tasks I’ve yet to take on, I fret over perils of a distant past still full in view, and through this all courses the vitality of my being and thoughts of one I love. What of dreams can be trusted? They lie ever in wait, the word in that sense reveals both edges of a sword such as this; insomuch that they are merely a lie, yet strong enough in their conviction that they have nothing to do but wait, as we succumb one and all to the need for sleep, returning to these unsolicited musings. These thoughts, the visions of an empty world, they shape the time we keep under lock and key, under spell of dream we are not alone, our greatest fears enrage us, our darkest fantasies enliven us, even as we set our best attempts and intentions against the outside world (keeping it outside our door) we cannot avoid who we are, even if we are unfamiliar with that pe

Joe B somehow defied the laws of everything I have ever learned and turned in a solid day at the ballfield this past weekend. Consistently displaying doubles power with a propensity to pull the ball down the line; this after staying up until 7:30 in the morning and dominating a plate of sin at Marlogg's. Sadly Joe B. Lost, well not sadly at all actually, because I won. And it's never sad when I win. Interesting corollary: It is my contention that whenever Chip and I are on the same team we do not lose, therefore this will now be given as fact, and you will use it as such going forward. Marc Reina has a good thing going with his quote of the day, and needs to begin archiving them for my future enjoyment, check it out kids. Interesting tidbit: Marc Reina's grad party video is set to drop soon, check it out when you get the chance, very nicely done, and above all, hilarious. Random observations: Guys aren't afraid to admit that they enjoy the new Justin Timberlake joint, m

Is this what I wanted? To be alone, scrawling frantic thoughts onto the darkness? Doesn't matter now, wouldn't have mattered no matter what. These were choices made in different times, the present is merely a consequence of the past. But they're all right, and it's alright, about how you won. If I had a choice I'd have wanted it this way anyhow, or at least I like to believe. In way it's true too, the first time you say I love you, the first time you really mean the words, "I love you." Well, that's it really, every moment from there on out are your great expectations of what love should be, no matter how hard we fall, or how easy you fly away, it all goes from there. You see, everything, for everyone, no matter who you are, is new at least once, some things are new a million times over, this is certainly true for the lucky ones, who never lose that "holy curiosity." And that just might be me, but I'm not really sure, I kind of always

Tired of the sunset. I can't stop listening to Boston, by Augustana. Fantastic song. And currently one of the myriad of books I'm plowing through is Killing Yourself to Live , I hate Chuck Klosterman, he steals all of my thoughts somehow and writes them down with much better syntax than I. Which in actuality makes him awesome. I was in Seattle this past week, I am decidedly neutral about Seattle, and for that I blame Seattle. There's some sort of impasse between the region and myself, supposedly it's beautiful, I can't say I disagree, though I can't say I myself found it to be a beautiful place. The feeling is like early November, the clouds seem real heavy, like a storm is near, but nothing really happens; two days of that is more than enough for a mindset like mine. But I'll digress for a moment, in the interest of sounding interesting, and relate the events of Thursday evening as I found them to be, well, interesting, for lack of a more interesting turn o

I'm in Seattle. There are a good amount of solid looking broads. They hide their restaurants cleverly, it gets dark out later here...They put peppers and carrots on my fettucinni alfredo, I did not like that. Also I realized I like when two girls dance with each other, in a fun-having fashion, it's a little party in my mind, that I invited myself to. And that's a good gift, one you give to yourself. I am rather jet-lagged right now, so are you, aren't you?

We're older now, and though time for it's part may have forgiven us our tresspasses, it seems a subtle shade of experience is about both our visages. The years a lonely mind has known show up like a long lost friend thought dead, and appears first in the face, whether it's welcome or unwanted. We both know it. And still she looks to me like she looks to the past, I suppose she sees in me something she's lost, like an old necklace or a warm, sunny day that's gone missing to the mind. A subtle smile brought on by nostalgia no doubt crosses her lips, and she's 17 again and wondering just where it is I'd gone to for so long. Though I've always been right here. She reminds me of things I've done, things she can't wholly remember, they're just feelings now, and it's not that they're anything beyond trivial. It's just that we were both there, so young once, and so beautiful; I'm sure she'd like if I could remember things as well,

Ahh, the Stag Party season; that wonderful time of year when men of all ages are allowed to get together for one night and celebrate the end of one man's life of making stupid and questionable decisions as he enters into that state of being where all his stupid and questionable decisions are made for him: marriage. How does said male mark this passage? By getting all of his friends together so as to allow them to make his stupid and questionable decisions for him (you see, his fate is sealed, he can't make s+q decisions anymore, so must blame it on his friends when they do it for him). And depending on the type of friends the condemned man has, err, the groom to be, stag parties can vary from your basic, f-b-r (food, beer, raffle) setup to your more extravagant f-bo-m.r-btb's-s-a.p.h. (food, booze, multiple raffles, bus to bars, strippers, and possibly hookers). Short and sweet, or prolonged and painful, there is always one common element to these stag parties (two if the g

Albany, this past weekend. The stage was set, people's birthdays were occurring, people's birthdays were on the brink. Tons of people born within a week, who can even stand it? To celebrate the sheer lunacy of that many days of birth I decided it best to get a room downtown at the Hampton Inn, it was a classy move on my part, and I highly recommend you do the same when you get a chance, it really completes the experience. For the sake of the principle parties involved, the bulk of my night was spent in the company of this guy, that guy, and the other guy. That guy and I showed up to this guy and the other guy's apartment around 7 or so, we had some delicious pizza, watched some hardcore tapes (wrestling, you dirty birds) and then Steve Maley and I headed over to Beth Wallace's/Chrissie's region for Beth's birthday, I was bored, because I was driving and could not drink, so I moped and then we left, because I was moping about the place (more accurately I was sitt

First off, Happy Mother's Day - nice work ladies on creating people like me ;) You don't really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and why his parents will always wave back. ~William D. Tammeus Love ya mom. 7/2/06 MKJ FARM Deansboro, NY -LYNYRD SKYNYRD- 7/4ish/06 Independence Day Insurrection (Think Turkey Bowl, with nicer weather) -details to come, cool website to come 8/8/06 SPAC -O.A.R. with Jack's Mannequin- 8/13/06 SPAC -Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers with Allman Brothers Band and The Derek Trucks Band- ---More to come, including my thoughts on Philly, Mitch-a-palooza, girls (of course), and the intrigue and splendor that is nonsense, personified. Stay tuned!

Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun. Society is based on time, each day we are inundated with all things ranging from menial to monumental- things arranged by time. This is not new, we are aware of time as a thing limited, as precious as it is perpetual, our part of it of course being finite. In light of this we are ever punctual for work, never to miss a dentist's appointment nor show up late for any sort of meeting which allows for the further scheduling or multi-tasking of our busy, compartmentalized life; we're always on time for obligations. Dutifully we tune into the bad-news at 6, we watch it all again at 11. Perhaps we are creatures of habit, all things being cyclical, perhaps these are our responsibilities, things we must do. Waits, and will not go away; Waits, and will not be gainsaid; By the cares of yesterday Each to-day is heavier made; What is curious, however, is how we never fail t

It's something singular really, when love goes down. Maybe in a day, or in a night, or in the succession of those times both, as they encompass a life. All love is selfish, but I guess it's supposed to be that way. Or how it should start, at least. From the moment of inception we learn to love the things we do out of a familiar feeling of well-being, a sort of inherent, happiness-survival instinct. And I say that because it is how I remember my life - my own memory being of course the ultimate subjective entity I could ever think to convey. Selfish love is that flame which burns brightest. It is the mystery by which all other high emotions in our later lives are judged, and in turn they somehow pale in comparison; first love is a fatal affliction, one which we first encounter when all is innocence, we struggle to remake the hour, the inception, and the sheer profundity of the moment, even at times to the detriment of all other happiness we may have perhaps experienced. Selfish

Loverboy has said as much, and it shall be so. This weekend by the numbers: Money spent= way too much (we're going to get a personal advisor to handle that from now on). Hours of sleep= 2 (as in far too little, having been woken up to find missing keys). Number of chicks passed out on the couch with me Friday night= 2 Number of chicks I got action from Friday night= 0 - 2 (they're sleepers, these ones). Ounces of malt liquor consumed outside for the parade Saturday morning, 40, of course (St. Ides, I love you). Age of hot girl downstairs at Jillians= "24, but I'm engaged." Number of seconds it took me to eat the most breathtaking chicken sandwich ever, probably 24, and it was single (unless you count the fries it came with, in that case it was married, with fries). Number of doors broken by me= 1, but it was encouraged and a nice thing to do, in order to gain entrance. Friday, Evening: But let's get back to the matter at hand; Friday night was a card playing,

so I won't. How's that? And then there are dreams that cannot die, but those are all the same too, so nobody really wants to hear about them. So how about Valentine's Day? Everybody get a dozen roses and a box of chocolates, or jack shit like I did. Not to say I'm complaining, on the contrary, it takes about five minutes of semi-lucid thought to weigh the pros and the cons of having a significant (b)other on this most auspicious of holidays (or most commercial, depending on how you feel about it's conception as a marketing tool). In the spirit of that, let's do a list and break this whole thing down. In no particular order, the top two reasons why it's nice to be single on Valentine's Day. Why two you ask? Well February is the second month of the year of course, and two is my second favorite number (who really gives a shit about that one): Relationships-wise, I really suck at holidays. I mean seriously, ask former significant others, if they can talk abo

Friday night was an Albany night. Buck, P.J. Grates, and myself made our way down to the capitol region to visit and frolic with the Belmonts, one last shot for all that is happiness and the enjoyment of good friends. Of course gambling occurred, of course we went to the Washington Tavern, of course there was a fight, because I'm a magnet but that's ok. That being said, when three o'clock rolled around it was decided that DiCarlo's was the best order of business for all involved, at this point two girls were included, and that made us cool on the strip club circuit. B.Y.O.B. = bring your own broads and you look like a boss player, we brought our own broads. The drinks were a gazillion dollars a bottle, I'm probably gonna have a hard time getting my wife to relinquish our first born child, as it was deeded to DiCarlo's for a round. Easily the night was enjoyable, and I wish repeatedly to convey the happiness, it was a special night. But like all good things, we w

...Unless that walk is to a gun shop or to cause much destruction. This here is the truth as I saw it, as it was handed down Saturday night, and like Ice Cube once said, "the names have been changed to protect the guilty." Hindsight being what it is, I believe I should have seen it all coming, and if I had Saturday to do over again I would have stayed home by myself and cried because I wasn't cool enough to get invited to Syracuse with the rest of Frankfort; rather I soldiered on, and boy was that a mistake. Of course the night started out peaceably enough, but don't they all start out that way? A small gathering was had at Timmy's, where we were all subjected to Patriots football, which probably put the crowd into a bad mood right out of the box. I countered by watching Cheaters, which is a phenomenal show, and there was this ugly guy cheating on his incredibly milf-worthy and tall and wonderful wife, but you know what they say, no matter how good looking a