Losing and Winning

Are we slaves to our passions, mere drones on the sidelines cheering ourselves along?

Losing my sense of wonderment.

Icky Thump: The First Impressions

(this is not finished)
I, like many others, have taken for Granted the talent of The White Stripes. I had written them off, life many others, as a notion of "unique;" that subcategory we hate to love to hate. I am blazed up, curtains drawn open to show the sunset during the foggy first rain, and headphones turned up. (my feet are up, the lights are perfect, and the skyline's fading out grey from the apartment's first rain).

(will get to earlier songs later)
(odd feeling that me and Jack White would get along, like be complementary musicians. what a strange thing to say.)

St. Andrew (This Battle In The Air)
Continues perfectly from previous track, slides in, takes 'what was' and turns it into 'what is or will be (or will be?)'
Where the fuck is my medication!!! ((St. Andrew (he screams into the night))

Little Cream Soda
I'm drunk and dancing in the middle of the floor
blurry lights
ruby rings do the same thing
Ridulin wonderchid (oh well oh well)
save the world / fuck you world (oh well oh well)
blink*******

Rag And Bone
dinner time
take two on the commentary, take two
Poetry Catacombs (gramarphones licking icecreamcones)

I'm Slowly Turning Into You
needed drums sooner
but when they come (bringing with them the bass instruments) hell couldn't feel better. (hell being indulgence.)
be stronger longer
faker
*dingdong**foodIShere*
i ordered pizza but the air tastes like graham crackers
slowlyturningintoyou (goddamnit=
guitar 3:48

A mArtyr For My Love For You
hear boy

Catch Hell Blues
Jam that turned into a good idea, "wait, what if I added this part"
The moment cloudy creativity locks into a stream of creativity
Watching a western that's not black and white but that brown lens color, looks like the film was buried in a cow field

Effect And Cause
Felt like I walked into a saloon
if you're headed to the grave you don't blame the hearse
I'm reacting to you

For the Birds

My current girlfriend and I traveled to visit my parent's last weekend for Easter. She hates when I call her 'my current girlfriend,' but I like to think it gives her a note of ambiguity.
The sun was setting when we arrived at their country home. Clouds turned pink. The sky switched sides on the spectrum until the clouds turned to a misty gray. In the garage my old faithful dog, Katie, lay sprawled out on the cool concrete floor. It had been brought to my attention that over the years Katie had developed a severe case of arthritis. No longer could my childhood companion bound through the grass after jackrabbits or chase me around our acre of grass, seeing who was faster. She let out a sigh, as I approached. Perhaps the best she could do to say 'hello.' I knelt down to pet her, finding the exact place on her belly that made her hind legs do a sideways-gallop. Her eyes followed me as I got up to go inside, flicking off the garage light as I closed the door behind me.
Though Katie suffers from acute arthritis this has not seemed to impact her appetite one bit. Startling at first, my sister has warmly bestowed upon her the nickname of "Katie-Seal" since the two had first met. Since giving up the daily routine of walking around the property, Katie has gotten larger and larger; requiring us to loosen the notch on her collar a handful of times. She sits down in front of me, the weight on her shoulders forces her to lean slightly to one side. I loosen her collar again for added comfort, she's not trying to escape.
There is a marsh outside the window of my current apartment. Birds of all kinds share its waters and its food. Humans share the view, along with the path that runs through it. While walking along this exact path earlier today, I came across an alien breed of sandpiper. Sandpipers can be distinguished by their needle-like beaks which they stab into the sands along a water's shores, probing for their next wiggling snack. The specific bird that I spotted had a fiery orange head.
If I were this sandpiper, I would have gotten used to the taste of sand by now. It's not that it was particularly bad at what it did, it was the fact that this bird let its mouth hang, partially open, as it dove its tool into the buffet. The orange alien retracted its head violently, shaking it forward and backward with such force that any heavy, non-snacky particles would jettison loose. This is a gold digger's trick. If the sand weren't as malleable as it were I would suspect that these birds would quickly pace their beak-diving expeditions.
With their mechanical engines, the planes overhead butt into the conversation. How it is that a large, hunk of steel manages to stay afloat while a penguin cannot I can't tell. Something about bones. Something about propulsion. Flight is a gift reserved for the evolutionary elect and those with enough paper money to ward off gravity. "Flight" can be replaced with any number of words.
The planes' tiny reflection out swims the ducks. Reflection and real thing soar unhindered through the blue. What it must be like to be free, floating alongside the birds.

Mischievous Mirages

...the job hunt warbles on...

At the moment, I'm feeling a bit like a desert camel, climbing dune after dune after dune. The sun is warm. Jeering vultures circle overheard. Palm trees waver like silverfish. But spirits are high and good company keeps me sane.

You're Qualified. Apply Here! =

Daring Duck

I'm staring outside my window at the marsh. The wind beats down on the flaccid waters, creating waves from stillness. A lone duck battles the unforgivingly-natural force. To me it's just wind, but to the duck it's a typhoon. I watch as the duck tries to remain calm, bobbing left and right like marker buoys do when caught in the tide. The creature presses on. Abandoning its first plan the duck kicks its little webbed feet as fast as they go, knowing that a lift-off is out of the question. What is going through this duck's brain? Certainly death is not worth any amount of bread crumbs. Perhaps our feathery-friend is a thrill-seeker. No female ducks (or male ones for that case) can do what the rush of a near-death experience does for said duck.

It moves from left to right, across the marsh, and eventually out of site.

This entry took an unforeseen turn. My intention has been overridden. Thrill-seeking ducks only seem powerless.

7 seconds of fame.

Tonight, March 23, 2008, the song "Hearts and Minds" from The Red Eyes was featured on the critically acclaimed, oscar-nominated television show: Dirt. This would not be as significant if I had not been previously associated with the band. Yes, me the music star, the bass player of the critically acclaimed, oscar-nominated musical group: The Red Eyes - that is I.

And then it was over.

Our short lived bout of gratification and accomplishments included a run-time shorter than the following outrageous statements, "They sell adult blow up animals?! What kind of sick fu-- wait, how cheap?"

But all jokes aside, the fact that one of our songs was featured on live TV made me smile.
It's just too bad that our song couldn't have debuted in conjunction with one of the episode's many uplifting examples of family values. Like when the rich asshole (who's married) slept with Courtney Cox (who's also married) but then stopped mid-thrust to answer an important phone call. We could've been that douche's ring tone! Alas, maybe next time - since there's bound to be more of this in the next showcasing of the show's moving-picture morality.


So boot up your favorite Bit Torrent clients and download episode 4, season 2 of Dirt. We come in sometime after the 2rd commercial break.

Cheers,

Teapots and Telekinesis

Dear reader,

This blogger is frustrated from the fact that the only creative thing he has come up with all day is the title of this post.

Tomorrow holds a chance for me to be uprooted from unemployment. While the imagery of being torn from a comfy patch of cold soil may allude to the subconscious me screaming out to be left alone (carrots don't talk) (why have I labeled the inner-me a carrot?) the fact remains that I truly enjoy steamed vegetables.
The interviews will be taking place in the "city" - why it's called this and not San Francisco I have not yet deduced. Why I've stamped "Teapots and Telekinesis" as this blog entry's title I also have not deduced. Just my brain being random. Creativity is one of the few things that soaks outward.

Unemployed hack out.

Chicken Zoop for the Soul.

Do you know what zoop is? Don't got nodding your head, you've never heard of it. So unless you have developed a brainwave inspectrometer and aimed it at me w/o my knowing (an ethical debacle in itself) then shush.

Truth be told I'm not quite sure the meaning of zoop either. This is what I do. I make up words w/o explanation to be inserted into conversation. Look at my oceanic depth of the English language. Investigate it's rooting if you wish, but the editors employed at Merriam-Webster are solid dunder. Now pass the '84 Lagune Bordeaux and let us speak on the 19th century petty bourgeois.

If more people talked like that we'd have greater casualties in the war on conversationalists. We must have a society that does not converse! Viva la DeEvolution!

(This post makes no sense to poultry.)

How Unexciting.

Hello.

Guess this works.