Posted in Music Mondays, My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I.

Music Mondays: The Sonder Bombs!!! (Again!!!)

So, my idea to make a “Music Monday” post every Monday for 2018 has been a complete failure, but that’s all going to change in 2019. Or not. I can’t tell the future. All I can tell you is that The Sonder Bombs make me happy, and they released an album, and that album is fantastic. I love everything about this band. Their songs hit me hard, and the combination of punk and ukulele is pure auditor bliss. What really brings it altogether for me are the powerful and expressive vocals from the Modern Female Rockstar Willow Hawks (and can I just say that Willow Hawks is a kick ass name?)

Everybody who loves music should check out The Sonder Bombs. And once you hear them, I know you’ll want to immediately purchase all of their music and merch, so check out there Bandcamp (link below) and support this band, because it should be a crime that The Sonder Bombs haven’t gone Triple Platinum yet. Other ways to help support the band would be to share their music on social media. Spam their songs all over Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and of course on WordPress!!

https://thesonderbombs.bandcamp.com/

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I might have said that I no longer believe in love, but today, I realized I was wrong; the love I believed in was never really there to begin with.”

You’re not supposed to fall in love and that be the end of things. When you fall in love proper, you don’t stop falling. Every day is a chance to find something new, to be with a new part of another human and to find out how that makes you feel. Perhaps today’s the day you find out that a person dislikes kale, even if it’s deep fried. Or that caterpillars can make someone scream into a previously unknown octave when discovered secreting away in a sleeping bag. Perhaps you see their face in nothing but star light and make a mental note to find more excuses to spend naked under a cloudless sky, or maybe you are laughing your head off as someone shows you just how inept a person can be at driving a stick shift.

But those are all happy discoveries, and that’s not what’s always going to happen. You will find yourself running 35 minutes late to work because someone lost your keys after a night out drinking with some old college friends, and you will be cursing every red light and slow driver in the left lane and you will come home, still fuming, looking for a fight because you need to let some rage out. The dishes will be unwashed and the blankets on the couch will be spread out everywhere and you will notice that the lamp in the corner has been on since yesterday and will ask if they think electricity is free, and you will end up sleeping alone that night, staring at your phone waiting for them to call and apologize. Instead, you’ll see pictures of them going out again, laughing and smiling with those same old shitty friends, and you end up creeping through old photos they have online, which is never a good idea. You’ll see the person you love in some photo from the past, kissing on someone that isn’t you. Of course, you were aware of the past, but it still stings in the here and now. You know it shouldn’t bother you, but it does, so you bring up how awful that picture looks, how stupid that past was, and before you know it, you’re unleashing an all out attack on their history. It’s not fair, but right now, nothing else matters but the pain in your chest. Nobody can change the past, but you demand a place in that history. Everything hurts so much, and all because you wish you could have been a part of their everything. It’s petty and stupid, and you know it, but that doesn’t stop you or the snide remarks, the arrogant tone of voice, the pointed comments that are alluding to someone’s past as being awful, as if every moment before you was a mistake. But somewhere, in all of that anger, is the pale heart of somebody who just wants to be loved.

This isn’t a movie, and you aren’t sure what would make you feel okay, so you just want something, anything… You just need something to get you through this moment. But it’s precisely in those moments, when doubt has invaded your everything, that you’ll have to answer the one question you’ve been trying your best to avoid…

“Are you still falling, or are you drowning, in your idea of love..?”

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

Every day I feel it, and it hurts, but never enough…I never feel like I’m hurting enough.

Do you want to know what it feels like? To be sitting in a waiting room of a planned parenthood, knowing that only a door away lies your girlfriend who is begging for the pain meds to numb her emotions as thoroughly as they have her body?

For starters it makes you feel useless.

You can feel every individual heartbeat under your chest, the noise echoing into your bones, and even though blood is clearly rushing to provide oxygen to your body, you are short of breath.

The exit sign above the waiting room door begins to shine and grow and shine until it becomes a red blur against the screams you are holding back.

The purse she leaves with you suddenly weighs a ton and becomes the only anchor binding you to that ugly, uncomfortable chair.

You blink as rapidly as possible, praying that with each closing a new tomorrow will be staring you in the face, that you’ll wake up and this nightmare will fade away.

You clench your fists so tight you doubt a crow bar could open them.

You can suddenly smell the other people in the room; the overused cologne and perfume, the scent of sweat rolling over you like an ocean breeze, the stench of bodies unwashed for days that fights its way into the portion of your brain you associate with fear.

You feel all this and still…you can’t even imagine, can’t even begin to fathom what the real pain is like, so you pray to whatever God, any God, every God that somehow, someway you can take any of that pain away, take even a fraction of what she’s feeling into your body so she won’t have to feel the full brunt of it. You do this knowing it’ll only push you over that edge and in that moment you see the truth.

Every single fear you’ve had about who you are becomes reality. You realize the world sees you exactly how you see yourself and you stop having that hope you deserve to smile.

But do you know what sucks the most about sitting in that ugly fucking chair, waiting in silence to see the girl who just went through hell…

~If you feel like your life is over, what does she feel as the one with her body limp on that table, trying to ignore that doctor telling her it’ll be over before she knows it, holding onto that nurses hand as if she’s about to fall off the edge of the world…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

The long weekend has finally come, 4 straight days with no work, and I couldn’t be any more of a piece of shit than I am right now.

Is the light from my window beginning to reach my eyes? No, that’s the artificial light from the lamp beside my bed. Should that make such a difference in how I start my day? I would like to be greeted by something a little more comforting than this light that is a lie. It shouldn’t mean anything to me, no, but still I find it a little bit more than upsetting. Disturbing. Unsettling. How can we as a people be happy with such false artifacts, false signs of life, surrounding us in our daily lives? The real can wait behind the security and convenience of the fake. Fake, like their smiles in the face of their flickering false lights, burning fluorescent light bulbs that line the ceilings of the bars and basements. Fake. How do I know if what I am feeling is nothing more than a false light, a fake…