Lunatic Fringe

When I believed I knew the soul was weak, when I believed I was prone to wishing, no longer do I believe, nor count faith amongst my vices- I can find no more use in perpetuating such folly. My design now is a grand scheme no greater than resignation, given to a fate, diminished to some destiny; though decidedly one out of my hands. No, my part lies elsewhere, alone in the interior, maybe in the depths of the un-quiet mind, maybe in the recesses of a black heart. A void anywhere else, but in my eyes and in my misgivings these are real promises. Perhaps now as I whisper I am dreaming, I realize now we are dying, and I see the finality of such a state -- even as it’s quite certain, if nothing else, that I am crazy. Even now it occurs to me -perhaps- I am wrong, though I guess that I am not; I’m never wrong when it comes to recognizing that familiar, unsettling, feeling which is the biased-arbiter, truth. Logic allows for only two ends, the truth -and it’s unsettling madness- or the quiet...

What is a legacy, truly? How does one tackle the task-strictly in the mind of course-of being remembered? Is it enough that everything concerned him? The greater hope of that being that one was able to be shaped by the world as much as he shaped it. For better or worse that should be an obligation, at least I would like it to be so. Would it be best that everyone enjoyed his company, or greater still that everyone sought his counsel? Would it be better that everybody thought him to be just, or just that they counted him as a friend, for better or for worse these two very often are at odds. It is the quiet man who carries the burden of thought most heavy upon the back. Which should be of more concern in the mean time? The ability to avoid becoming encumbered by the world’s many measures in the short while (even as he is counted upon as a man of regard in the back-rooms of youth) or to become mistaken and confused by the many years that are to follow if the first task at hand is indeed g...

There were a record number of birthdays tonight at the Outback Steakhouse in Middletown, New York. I don't know how I truly feel about that just yet, but I feel like someone may or may not have been lying... Roger Clemens will be making 147,ooo dollars a day, I'm still working my head around that one. I just found out tonight Kurt Vonnegut passed away recently, very disappointing news to hear, even after the fact. The world has lost a brilliant thinker, I urge you all to read anything by him when you get a chance. I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.' -Kurt Vonnegut November 11, 1922 - April 11, 2007

Always starting over, but somehow I always know where to begin. The concessions that are required of one who wishes to truly start over escape me just now. I'm north-bound, just beyond the inviting Charlotte skyline. I've just begun to unwrap the emotional bundle I've just been left with. More and more the moods seem to strike me as an afterglow, a sort of numb sensation, an alarm going off sounding me out about how I used to feel, or should feel. The sun today is inviting, though it is a fool's invitation, fools like I being the ones to answer. Life's just that, a series of call and answers, it takes real guts after a while, to have the courage to face the sound, sometimes the phone rings all day. It occurs to me how heavy today is, in my place along this sunny highway, where it's chilly for this time of year, my thoughts are miles away, and lifetimes become me. I've been lucky today, my sunglasses (being ever so dark) make people more polite, and make me ...

Got to see Chipper today, lookin pretty sharp. Columbia, SC ain't too shabby either.

"Cody wanted people to smile, so he started the contagion by smiling all the time himself," the Rev. Mike Pratt said. "That's what makes him so unforgettable and his legacy enduring." I hope to change the world when I die so when looked upon they say he was a good man. -Cody Holp

Coming soon! Still hammering out the thesis, getting my facts in order, documenting the phenomenon.

Wesley Autrey is the man. Rage Against the Machine is getting the band back together. They'll be headlining the Coachella Music Festival . Good stuff. N.Y.C. this weekend, who's in? Send a care package to a soldier over-seas: http://www.anysoldier.com/ http://www.militarycheerpacks.com/ http://www.ed-foods.com/militarycarepackages.html

Good times come and good times go, I only wish the good times would last a little longer. I think about the good times we had, and why they had to end. Life goes by so fast, you only want to do what you think is right. Close your eyes and it's passed: story of my life. So I'm in my hotel room in Baltimore it's 4:53, and I have to be out the door by 6 to catch my flight back home, and it's getting a little dusty in here, and maybe I should explain why. No, I'll get to that, in the mean time let me preface facts with nostalgia, it's a favorite past-time. One of my favorite pictures in the whole wide world is of my family and my Uncle Tom and his family, the back-drop is a large rock in the middle of a lake, the directions to which nobody for the life of them can recall. But we were there none the less, and I love that picture because I can remember how wonderfully happy I was in that moment, I remember that it was actually kind of breezy, as it was late August, ...

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...