"Death of an All*StaR!"

"He turned into fuckin' Boo Radley near the end, what happened?"
"My take on it is that he just stopped caring."
"Why? He always seemed upbeat and shit, like he always had a real solid outlook, however pessimistic and dark it may have seemed at first."
"Well, after everyone settled down, school ended, college came and went, he lost hope in ever being back in touch socially and finally just stopped giving a fuck. He had really high hopes on being someone that could cater to everyone's needs and in the end realized that if he couldn't help everyone equally, why help anyone and risk leaving out some. He used to joke about how he had no real skills or redeeming qualities besides his ears and heart, which we all laughed off and then unknowingly took advantage of."
"Wow, kinda like he stopped giving a fuck when he got fucked?"
"Truedom come"
"Heavy shit, man."
---
"Death of an All*StaR!"
- C. Aledridge

Writer's block = laziness ;)

Resting on my leg, a mess of noise it makes
Turn its tuning peg, perfect pitch; it breaks
awoken from its sleep, the demon begins to feed
gnawing in so deep, instantly I bleed.
Quenching hunger pains, making me its whore.
leaving crimson stains, as it has before
bit the hand that feeds, trapping me once more
satisfied its needs, fell dead t'ward the floor
Bitter in its old age, teeth ripping through my thumb
Emptying its final rage, too weak it had become.
My wound will heal with time, its inspiration I'll abuse.
Exploit it with this rhyme, steal attention with my ruse
The emotions it may bring, and some it might confuse.
How a broken string, has now become my muse.


----
I wrote this yesterday afternoon in about 10 minutes.
I was at a family party and there was a small really cheap guitar sitting in a toy chest that caught my eye. I picked it up and began tuning it up. I figured at the very least I'd entertain my younger cousins with some goofy songs and give their parents a break. What I didn't expect was while I was tuning it to a nearby piano, apparently the G-string was strung improperly and had significant wear to it. So, I had the guitar tuned to a perfect pitch except the G-string, so I began to turn the peg and unexpectedly, the string snapped and swung up, wrapped around my right thumb and left a small "gash". And although it bled like hell and looked like an impressive war wound, it was actually nothing more than a small slice, but it gave me a thought of a time wasting poem. And that's how this came to be.
I mean, I've done it before, tuned a string improperly and ended up snapping it and getting a droplet of blood from a small cut, but this time it was just so odd that it bled quite convincingly, I had to take some time to just admire and then of course document with words this Saint Elmo's Fire-esque phenomenon I had witnessed, haha.
:)
I also had an alternate end to the "Exploit it with this rhyme, steal attention with my ruse" line. Where instead I had "Exploit it with this rhyme, gain attention I can't refuse" but I figured the former fit better as, after all, it's more of a take on modern music than anything. Just a play on "those fuckin' emo scene kids" who apparently just take emotions and exaggerate them until they make money, or at least that's I was told by a friend who is a (self proclaimed) "music fan". ;)

.What the hell have I.

"The truth lies in your dreams"

A phrase I've been desperately trying to make sense of.
-
Does it mean that when you're dreaming, the images you see will lead you to the truth?
--
Does it mean that your hopes and aspirations for the future are where your true calling resides?
---
Does it mean that when you dream, everything you see as true is nothing more than a lie (in this context using 'lie' meaning not being truthful)...just false hope and broken promises?
----
Does it mean that your hopes and aspirations for your future are nothing more than that, just dreams, fictional thoughts of what you want, all the while knowing you'll never fully achieve them?
-----
So is it that the truth lies in dreams as in that's where you will find them?
Or is it that the truth lies to you in dreams, meaning that the truth you see is nothing but lies and deception?
------
After much thought, I have come to embrace this phrase in my own way...

The answer truly lies within the eyes of the beholder...
-------
"We gaze continually at the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. Yet seen from another's vantage point, as if new, it may still take the breath away."
-Doctor Manhattan ("The Watchmen")
--------
One of my favorite pictures of all times. :)

...and I'll look down and whisper, no.

So I finished reading 'The Watchmen' recently and I was blown away. It was visually stunning and vibrant, yet so dark and true to reality. I urge anyone and everyone to get out and read it. Even if you aren't a "comic book geek" or nerd, get your hands on a copy and read it. It's quite possibly the greatest piece of fiction I've ever read and I am so excited for the movie. Hearing what Kevin Smith had to say about it makes me want to see it even more. He said something to the extent of think back to the excitement of seeing Sin City from a book to movie perspective and multiply that. Sin City was a beautiful adaptation as well and I have the utmost respect for Robert Rodriguez for staying true to Frank Miller. How Zack Snyder portrayed Miller's '300' is also very fulfilling, so I'm sure that paying extremely close attention to detail was a priority for him in making Watchmen.
The trailer was amazing especially with the music selection. Honestly, that song makes the trailer even more dark yet eerily peaceful knowing the coincidental significance of the title of the song...
'The Beginning is the End is the Beginning' by the Smashing Pumpkins (Yes previously released on the filth that was called Batman and Robin). It just pulls together the whole anti-hero theme to the book.
One piece of the book that I found so amazingly well written lies within the last piece of Chapter IV: "'Dr. Manhattan: Super-Powers and the Superpowers' By Professor Milton Glass". The first three paragraphs are quite possibly some of the most beautifully well written political/war related literature I've ever read in fiction. It almost seems if he was relating to the world as it in is reality and not in the reality he writes about... ;)
Do yourself a favor and read the book. You won't regret it...


...but if you do, you might as well burn your entire library because your taste and opinions in literature or media in general is automatically null and void...kinda like if you claim to be a music fan and argue that the Jonas Brothers are anything more than dollar signs in the eyes of their creators and the writers behind their "music". :P

Writing process Sept. '08

Just a few pictures for documentation of the writing process on my current set of songs. :)




...and two pictures just here to be goofy. :P

QFT

Stan V.: "When is the last time someone grabbed you firmly by your shoudlers, looked you in the eye, and told you the truth...Regardless if it would hurt you, they just told you how it was and made sure you understood what's going on."
Scotty P.: "I honestly can't remember anyone ever even looking me in the eyes, let alone telling me the truth."
----
These words never rang so loud and true as they do now. Even four years later, I can still relate.

Our future is history (I wish you had told me)

How much longer can I take this,
(Bleeding regret of my lies)
No longer will I fake this,
(Epitome of what I despise)
Told you I'd listen
(You spit in my face)
Told me you miss him
(I'm full of disgrace)

I
Was
A-Lone
(Hope had arrived)
You
Were
My Home
(I felt so alive)

Now listen intently
(This won't be repeated)
These hints that you've sent me
(They won't be repeated)
Straight from your heart
(Already defeated)
Broke me apart
(So fuckin' conceited)

Just Take Me Home!
(You don't even know)
Just Leave Me Alone!
(But don't let me go)

I Never let you down
(Told you I wouldn't)
You still stripped my crown
(Told me you couldn't)
My queen on her throne
(Ignored my advice)
And now she's alone
(It must be so nice)

Just
Take
Me Home
(I'll fall back asleep)
Can't
Be
A-Lone
(Fall back asleep)

(It must be so nice)

curtain call

...and just like that, he fell back to sleep.

Enter Mike Standards

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out her note. He opened it up to see it was a blank piece of white notebook paper. It was the kind of moment that sent shivers down his spine...he drifted off to high school, where she passed the note to him. It was a crumpled up piece of notebook paper which read,
"His love withheld, life goes on.
His life's withheld when that love is gone."
Looking back to that day where he'd felt so confused, he now understood. It was the old "If I can't see it,it's not there, so it can't hurt me" scenario. Keep my thoughts to myself and she won't get hurt. He never saw her again. He figured that she was better off walking into the sunset because at least that way, it still seemed like she was walking toward a bright future...
---
Chapter 2-Page 37-Paragraph 1
Smile [like you've lost it]!
by Mike Standards

To be continued???

So here I sit, almost 9 months exactly to the day when my heart was shattered and stomped to pieces. I had no one to talk to about it thus sending me into a downward spiral into the depths of depression which I honestly wished ended in more dramatically "tragic" fashion, but it did not. I was pulled up by the helping hand of a stranger. One who I had thought would finally lead me to the light of happiness. Little did I know that after a summer of deception and (looking back) painfully obvious awkwardness, I'd be sitting in this same chair contemplating sleeping forever, but this time in solitary confinement so there would be no more mirages to draw me out only to kick me in the gut Sparta style right back into that rut of dislogic and smut...
It just seems that I'm meant to be alone. It wouldn't have been so bad if I weren't (whether intentionally or not) mislead into thinking there was something at the top of that ladder to the proverbial mistletoe of love...What can I say, once again, I was thinking with my heart, though I saw behind the eyes of a fallen angel stricken by tragedy, she still didn't notice me. She used a word that I consider more heartbreaking to hear (and then subsequently get abruptly roundhouse kicked back to the bottomless pit of Sparta...err, uh, depression) than that four letter word that usually send guys running, love. No, she used a word that went far beyond that...perfect. Perfect is the most fucked up word in the English language because it implies that there is NOTHING wrong with it. Now, maybe it's just me, but if I hear perfect, I get those butterflies and think, maybe this is her...maybe I've dried up the well which contained the liquid repulsion and found this new well of hope...the honest truth is I'm not perfect. Hell, whatever the opposite of perfect is, flawed, mess, whatever, that's what I am, and I full well know acknowledge and embrace my place in the scale of perfection...the lowest.
Truthfully, she was perfect; gorgeous, she had an amazing personality and never failed to make me smile whether it be online, texts, calls, whatever, it always brightened my day. She's the last thought before bed and the first when I wake up. She exemplifies everything I could ever want in a girl, except for one thing, mutual love. I don't know if I could go as far as saying I loved her yet, but I'd say it's pretty close. I knew full well going into it that I wasn't perfect and I knew her heart was reserved for another, but when she called me perfect, I thought that was my cue to take the reigns and finish the race with her by my side.

Now honestly,. I don't know when/if I'll update this again because I have a lot of searching and thinking to do, but let me end with this final metaphor for my current situation.
It's the bottom of the ninth, 2 outs, bases loaded, we're down by 1 and the guy behind me is Mr. Clutch...I'm up to bat, it's a 2-0 count. The pitch comes in and it's a ball. I got a 3-0 count. the odds of striking out now are slim to none. I most likely will either get a hit or walk...Next pitch, a lollipop curveball that drops in for a strike, Ok, I can deal, caught me off guard, it's cool. Next pitch, blazing 98 mph fastball right down the pike, I swing as hard as I can and foul it off. I know I can catch up, I made contact and I'm ready for this guy once again. He throws a 63 mph change-up right down the middle of the plate, and I swing so hard and so early, that by the time my bat is around and back on my shoulder and I stare in disbelief, the ball is just hitting the glove. I crumple to a heap in the dirt...defeated. This was to be my retirement game, and I hadn't told anyone, but I would have afterwards when I was clutching my trophy. Beforehand, I went out and bought a beautiful trophy stand that I was hoping to display proudly...But now that I had torn my rotator cuff and shattered my wrist swinging for the fences, my career was over. My trophy stand now sits at the foot of my bed, empty. It'll stay there, taunting and haunting me, while I go into my deep slumber hoping to achieve that aforementioned "tragic" ending to such a miserable existence...

Thanks for everything.
Much love,
"Nitro" Nick Murphiez

Colt Seavers makes his triumphant return!

Now that the boys of summer have gone, I guess that means the fall guy's back...right on time.

"soap opera to sitcom, sitcom to suicide"

Open my eyes, stare at the ceiling
can't seem to shake this kicked in the gut feeling
I reach toward the extended hand before me,
firmly grasp it in mine and pull as hard as I can.
I get to that point just before standing,
start to smile and see that I'm awake,
the hand disappears and I lose my balance,
I land flat back on the ground, back where we started...
Drift off to sleep, back where I started.